Late night social events were the first casualty, but within two years I had to give up teaching night school at a local college and needed to structure my business travel itinerary to be less rigourous. The grinding fatigue continued to worsen, the more I fought it the worse it seemed to be.

After living over three decades with MS I now know that you need to roll with the punches, but in my mid-thirties I was just angry and determined to beat this disease.Only when I hit the point of sleeping a solid 10 hours and waking up exhausted did I make a major lifestyle change to accomodate this unrelenting disease.

When I accepted the need to live around the requirements of MS I started to regain some control over the quality of my life. My productive hours were shorter than before but each hour was more productive because I was not perpetually tired. I had my life back, albeit a reduced life compared to my pre MS years, but six quality hours are far better that nine mediocre hours in a day.

It does not seem to have anything to do with the MSr, but everything to do with the insecure friend who apparently cannot accept the sometimes brutal reality that is part of life. Rather than feel angry we need to pity them.

On the plus side I feel better, have more energy and am able to move about much better than would be possible if I did not spend the time staying limber and strong, speaking relatively of course. That does not mean I have regained my power grip to open tight jars, but I do move around better and with greater ease with a stronger, lighter body.

How does an MSr, buffeted by earth-shattering changes in the fundamental elements of their life that they had used to define themselves, the things that gave a purpose to their life, survive? What does it take to make a wholesale change of focus and values to ensure that the person does not get lost in the disease?

This was a major hurdle for me, a type A personality who was always ready to help others but rigourously independent and proud of his ability to ‘handle’ anything. MS and I wrestled often over the years following my diagnosis, and MS won every match. Eventually I came to respect this adversary that I could never defeat, certainly a grudging respect that is very like that accorded the schoolyard bully. Yes I admit it, the respect is firmly grounded in fear because I am defenceless in the face of what MS is capable of doing to me.

Having accepted the notion that I need ‘help’, which later expanded into the much heavier term ‘care’, I then had to answer questions like ‘With what?’ ‘Who from?’ and jump several hurdles to get to today.