Fifteen years ago, I developed MND: one-year prognosis. But as more things went wrong, life became increasingly hilarious. Illness brought the healing gift of laughter.
At the peak of my career pioneering eco-architecture, I developed MND: one-year prognosis. But the more that went wrong, the more hilarious life became. Now, fifteen years later, I’m multiply disabled, can’t speak but have never felt better in my life.
Progressive incapacity brought ever-new challenges, requiring innovative gadgets, improvisations and techniques: some of which actually worked. The government wouldn't help until it could fit me into the right box. (Disabled life in boxes isn’t easy.) I discovered disability gadgets aren’t idiot-proof: power-beds imprison residents and demolish ceilings; recliner-chairs trap (or eject) sitters (depending upon which button I sit); on stairs, wheeled Zimmer-frames require mono-cycle skills. Cobbled streets rattle me from wheelchair, teeth from mouth. Kerb-stops mean flying invalid, faster-flying teeth.
Some of my treatments were medically conventional. Others, like bee-therapy (for me, not for the bees) weren’t. Some were inexpensive. Others cost an arm and a leg: not easily spared if already disabled. I’ve learnt that life isn't fair (for anyone!): things go wrong. But nothing going wrong would be stultifying. Nobody would laugh. Things going wrong make life worth living.
HEALTH WARNING: READING THIS BOOK CAN CAUSE YOU TO WET YOURSELF