Haven't Told a Soul

I had a most horrendous childhood and was brought up in violent surroundings, often shipped off to Nan's. I was a cute kid, sharp as a tack, agile and unwavering, spoiled rotten like an English Rose. My symptoms started when I was around 40 years old. I had a shaking leg like a trapped nerve, then cramping of the foot, and pain. That passed, and restless leg set in.

Surely I was in the wrong department

Many doctors later, I strolled into the Royal Free London for a full body scan and lumbar puncture. Surely I'm in the wrong department was my first thought. How wrong was I this time? I received a PPMS diagnosis. I'm fine with it, though, as it seems a fitting end. I'm blessed to know mine. I won't be staying for the final chapter, but I don't tell it, it thinks it's got me, little does it know.

I make sure to find the humor

I have the usual fatigue that you've all mentioned, one dodgy eye on route, walk like a drunk sometimes, and was even tempted to start carrying an empty can of beer around to substantiate it. I still look fit, and that's the trouble. I'm nine and a half stone, 61 years on the clock, a fighting man who can win this one too, but he can't win it fairly. I've enjoyed writing this for you all to read. I always laugh at each day, I'm mischievous and talk to everyone. Anyway, I'll be around, I'll read your words, I wish you all the very best, go on, get on getting on.