It Was a Lazy Sunday Afternoon — Not!

It all started on the hottest day of the year here in the U.K. My phone said it was 99 F.

An old friend was coming over, and my youngest son, Jack, had kindly cleared a route to the garden. So, when she arrived, I took the route.

We all sat in the shade 6 feet apart, which took some organizing, and chatted about showbiz for an hour. She’s a TV producer currently on furlough. My nephew, who recently won a British film award for a short film about boxing, also dropped by. My wife and I first met in the biz of show, and we spent our lives working in the field.

Not to show off (OK, maybe a little), but feeling normal again felt worth it.

I didn’t do anything extraordinary, I just tried to be part of the group. After an hour I was broiled, so we retreated to the kitchen. Jack knocked out an excellent vegan barbecue. Then, I retreated to my bedroom and bathed in the cool air provided be two frozen lemonade bottles, as suggested in a recent column.

Friday evening and Saturday were a write-off spent in bed. But Sunday started with newly found energy. So much that I managed to get on the commode on my own!

I never thought I’d brag about getting on the bog, but MS creates specialist Olympic events of its own. Making instant coffee and transporting it to your room is a modern pentathlon event for instance. I’ve also added cleaning one’s own bum, then transferring to a wheelchair, and clearing all the detritus.

No one in the family was bothered. All was quiet on the Sunday front!

That’s until a neuropathic spasm erupted in my right arm, and in the agony that ensued, I pressed forward on my wheelchair instead of reverse. I was at my desk at the time and not only ripped the electric plug that fed the controls but also jammed myself good and improper. Now I was screaming for help.

My family was now involved. Well, my wife was, as everyone else had since gone out. She finally managed to unjam me.

Serious drugs were consumed, mostly diazepam. Jack pointed out later that diazepam used to be known as Valium. I remember the street name as “jellies.”

Many had to be consumed without the joy of ice cream. And yes, there are loads of vegan ice creams. Not so many jellies, though.

Full confession time: Thankfully, my arm is no longer screaming in pain, but I’m just now recovering from the onslaught of the drugs. I never knew a side effect was to type with one eye closed, like some sort of pirate.

It’s all right, I’m not imagining a parrot. Not even the dead Python one.

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