A few columns back, I wrote about my lack of time to get anything done. Sure, the way around it would be to get up infernally early — well, early for me. But I’m most certainly not going to pay to be punished. And that’s the story I’ve always…
Fall Down, Get Up Again- a Column by John Connor
About a month ago, I embarked on what might have been my last-ever solo outing. You can file it away with my other lasts: sitting down and getting off the sofa on my own, walking without mobility aids, doing a controlled Frankenstein’s monster stumble into my bedroom, putting myself to…
The original title for this week’s column wasn’t so much of a headline, but more of an essay. I had to shorten it. I’d also better write a bit more here so that my opening paragraph is a tad longer. Ah, being all meta about it has saved my vegan…
I haven’t seen my mate Nige for years. Actually, to his face I call him Nigel, but it’s Nige when I, or anyone else, talk about him in the third person. It’s weird — I’d never thought about that before typing his name just now. And it’s not like he…
Big breath, for my travails below necessitate a catch-up on my story so far. For once, my multiple sclerosis and the myriad joyous comorbidities it’s conferred on me — trigeminal neuralgia, lymphedema, diplopia, spasticity — have given me a break. So have the fellow travelers who’ve…
How do you start a column about depression that isn’t, well, depressing? That’s a question for me to answer rather than you lot. If you’re still reading this week’s musings, then so far I’ve done pretty darned good. It was a confluence of events that fortunately involved water. I’d…
I don’t have a Napoleon complex in the sense of being small. My body still spans 6 feet, though that’s only when I’m lying down; I doubt I get anywhere near 5 feet tall while seated in my wheelchair. Saint Jane (my wife) is 5-foot-2, and I now look…
What follows is something of an emergency column. All of yesterday’s writing had to be scrapped. I’m now down at the bottom of Column Mountain, squinting up through the clouds and mist, trying to work out again what’s the best route to climb. Last night, I knew the dreaded urinary…
It’s a new week, so it’s time for a new comorbidity. Not content with affecting my brain, spine, and bodily functions, secondary progressive multiple sclerosis is now making my body break down at a cellular level. Make something funny out of that, Connor. Toughie, this one. Maybe later —…
In 2010, I strolled into a new hospital to meet my new neurologist. In them there far-off days, I was indeed strolling — nay, striding — but it wouldn’t last. I was surrounded by an aura of self-confidence that anyone who’s survived the vicissitudes of nearly three decades of show…
In 2007, at age 47, I had my first-ever consultation with a neurologist. It was during my longest-ever hospital stay, as of then — a whopping eight days. It amazed me that some of my fellow patients in the ward managed to gather themselves and struggle outside for a ciggy,…
I was never a hypochondriac until multiple sclerosis (MS) whacked me. A catastrophic fall while playing tennis in 2007 resulted in a shoulder separation that took two operations to fix. The pain was so bad that, at the time, MS was just something else I had. To be accurate,…
Long ago, I acquired a pair of speakers for my laptop. In fact, they’ve survived many, many iterations of the things. Laptops become outdated quickly, their inbuilt fans fail, or, as in my latest version, the installed RAM is only 8 gigabytes. I’ve been made aware that RAM, or random-access…
As last week’s column ended, I’d just negotiated with my ambulance driver and paramedics to take me to any London hospital other than the one where I’d spent the Christmas months. They offered me St George’s Hospital, which I knew to be the major trauma center ’round these…
There was no column from me last week, and here follows the reason why: “In the wee small hours,” as Frank Sinatra so eloquently crooned, I, too, was abruptly awake. Only I hadn’t drunk my way there. Instead, my wee was indeed a real one, though painfully…
It’s only day one, but my eyesight has already improved. It may not be that of a hawk’s, but at least I can tell the difference between a lumbering pigeon and a bird of prey. The world seems brighter — and not just because of that vision thang, peeps. If…
Nobody’s life is eternal, but let’s face it, peeps: Much of the psyche of a multiple sclerosis (MS) patient is internalized. I spend an inordinate amount of time, physical and mental, on my illness. Yer, OK, I’m not turning this into a therapy session. Or am I? A serious…
For most of the past six years, I’ve been suffering from that weekly journo disease known as “columnitis.” One column is finished, hurrah! Bathe in the relief of getting that one in the net. (It’s a football reference, American “Ted Lasso” finale fans.) We’ve also just had the…
It’s not often that I dig into my somewhat sketchy knowledge from the Bachelor of Arts in economics I earned in 1980. Admittedly, it should really be described as ugly. Although I scrapped nearly one-third of my units of study, I still have the right in the U.K. (and perhaps…
My sleep schedule, according to mathematics, leaves me 11 hours — so what’s my problem? My current ultra-efficient carers arrive at 9:30 a.m. and usually get me into the wet room 15 minutes later. Maybe 20 if my bottom has been misbehaving. It’s been something of a miscreant ever since…
Ah yes, I’m starting this week’s column with a headline that’s a conundrum (that is, if the ol’ editor lets me keep it). That’s because I’m starting with a slang word. I’ve checked, and it seems that the main slang word for diarrhea both in the U.K. (where I…
Who’d have thought of the following shenanigans? It only took four days of constant badgering to fix. Last summer brought exceptional (actually, likely to be semi-regular from now on) hot weather in the U.K., with parts of England surpassing 100 F for the very first time. This caused a…
So I’m back home. Four months’ worth of bureaucracy lay in front of me. In truth, quite a wodge had grown before I went into the hospital. Hey, I hadn’t been well in the months leading up to my hospitalization late last year. Thankfully Saint Jane — my…
I’m worried that my tales of recovery may have gotten a tad boring, so let me liven things up with the weirdest thing I now have to live with. The head of my “thing” has been sliced half an inch vertically. By “thing,” I of course mean my penis! And…
Ceilings. Oh yeah, I’ve become quite the expert on ceilings. If you spend much of your life prostrate, it’s hard not to. The very first column I wrote for Multiple Sclerosis News Today opened with this very topic. As it was an unsolicited spec piece, I was pleasantly…
COVID-19 had finally left me. Its only trace was a pair of slimy hands. For a month, I requested a towel in bed to wipe them dry. My wife, Jane, told me my hands were fine; my phone’s screen, however, didn’t agree. As my companion in the hospital…
It transpired that I’d gone and fallen at the worst possible time, landing myself in the midst of a major news story. I’d been aware that what had toppled me was most probably my persistent urinary tract infections (UTIs). They were different and numerous, and acted like allied combatants…
If you haven’t read last week’s column (ah, another discerning nonreader), all you need to know is that I’m in a pain sandwich very much of my own making. And this was an improvement! I’d rather be turned into a hefty snack by a Molift Raiser and a…
Things had been more than dodgy for the past three days. My right shoulder had gone into complete spasm, and even diazepam couldn’t relax it. I’d also upped my antibiotics as instructed. Nada. As ever, I shouldered on (a naff play on words already, John? Dearie me), stuck on…
If you noticed my sudden disappearance, it wasn’t because I was sacked. Surprising, I know. Just “MS MIA” — missing in action with multiple sclerosis. While raving in the hospital, I was suddenly moved to my own private room. In Britain’s National Health Service (NHS), this could only mean…