The Years of Loving You. Ella Harper
was going on with her once and for all. Wasn’t it?
Anxiously, she walked into the consultant’s room and sat down.
‘Mrs Bohle. Good of you to come in so quickly.’
‘Good of you to see me.’
Mr Ward smiled politely. ‘Now. Obviously you initially went to see your GP about the tremors and stiffness in your hand and it was explained that there were various things this could be attributed to. A neurological movement disorder, perhaps. A few other conditions, but you haven’t presented the predominant symptoms.’
Molly found that her mouth had gone completely dry, as though someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool.
‘Are you feeling depressed at all?’
Molly flexed her hand. ‘Only about not being able to paint properly.’
‘But not in a general sense?’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘But you are having trouble sleeping?’
Molly nodded. ‘Not every night. But quite often, I suppose.’
‘Memory loss? Confusion? Balance difficulties?’
‘No.’
Molly felt panicked. She had forgotten what she had gone to the corner shop for the other day. And had suffered momentary confusion until she remembered that they had run out of milk, hence her jaunt to the shop. And she had lost her keys a few times of late. Did those incidents indicate memory loss? Was she confused? Or did most people have moments like this? Sam often went upstairs, laughed and came back down again, claiming not to have a clue what he had gone up there for. No one was saying he was ill – no one was suggesting that Sam might have something scary.
Mr Ward nodded calmly. ‘But you have noticed some painful muscle contractions in your ankles and shoulders?’
‘Y-yes.’
Molly was loath to admit to these symptoms but she knew she had to be brave about this. There was no point in hiding things. She had forgotten about a few things but her GP had jolted her memory the other day. It had been horrible, like pieces of a jigsaw slotting into place.
Mr Ward cleared his throat. ‘A degree of numbness and tingling?’
‘Very slight. But – yes. I have felt those sensations.’
‘I see. And on one side of your body predominantly? The right?’ Mr Ward tidied the papers on his desk. ‘Well. I am going to give you my opinion, Mrs Bohle. And it’s up to you if you get a second opinion, of course. I would, in fact, recommend it in this instance.’
‘You – you would?’
Mr Ward sat back and regarded her. ‘There is no objective test for this condition. I can’t run a blood test, do a brain scan or carry out an ECG. Unfortunately. The great thing about those tests is that they give us definitive answers. What we’re dealing with here is something rather more vague.’
Molly’s heart sank. It was bad enough that she was waiting to hear news that could cause major shock; she didn’t need to hear that she might not get a definitive answer.
‘However. I have carried out a thorough neurological examination. And what I can say is that you are presenting what we call “cardinal” symptoms. Typical symptoms associated with a disease that is fairly uncommon in people of your age, but increasingly on the rise. There is a scan we might be able to run – it’s not a diagnosis in itself but it could confirm that we have a movement disorder which could give us a clearer picture of what we are dealing with.’
Molly’s stomach lurched. She wondered if it would be grossly inappropriate to throw up in Mr Ward’s wastepaper bin.
‘You are exhibiting what is known as “resting tremors” – tremors which occur when your limb isn’t moving. And rigidness when it is. Typically, these symptoms – which appear gradually and increase in severity over time – begin on one side of the body and migrate to the other side later on.’
Molly suddenly wished she hadn’t been silly about this. She wished she’d spoken to Ed. She hadn’t even been honest with Sam about it, in case his reaction had been scathing. No, that wasn’t fair. It was just Sam’s way to be dismissive about illness until a firm diagnosis had been given; he had been like it with his father when he had been diagnosed with dementia some years back. Hadn’t accepted the signs and symptoms until a formal diagnosis had been received.
But Molly knew she would have spoken to Ed truthfully, for some reason. Perhaps because he wasn’t married to her, because he was only a friend, he was able to be more objective than Sam.
‘Mrs Bohle, my diagnosis, like that of your GP, is that you have early-onset Parkinson’s disease.’ Mr Ward gave her a sympathetic glance. ‘Now I know that can sound like a very scary thing, but it is not – I repeat – not a death sentence. There are various drugs we can start you on. There are also clinical drug trials you might be interested in. Once you’ve had a second opinion, of course.’
Early-onset Parkinson’s. Early-onset Parkinson’s. She had it, she actually had it. Oh my God. Molly’s head was reeling. She had furtively perused the internet over the weekend and she had found that early-onset Parkinson’s fitted as a possible diagnosis. She wanted to be in denial about possibly having it but nothing else fit. There had been many less-frightening conditions she could have latched on to, but Molly hadn’t fully believed that they matched her symptoms.
‘I have some literature here for you,’ Mr Ward was saying. ‘About drug trials, about support, about different symptoms and long-term prognosis. Different for everyone, of course, but it can be helpful to know what is ahead.’
‘Oh God.’ Molly leant over and started crying. ‘This can’t be happening. I’m – I’m in my thirties, for fuck’s sakes. Sorry. Sorry for swearing.’
‘No need. And I understand that this is very hard for you to hear. People as young as twenty-one have been diagnosed with this and it can be incredibly distressing, whatever age you are.’
‘But I’ve read such awful things about this – about bladder and bowel problems, slow speech, the freezing thing where you seize up and can’t move. Not being able to do bloody buttons up.’ Molly was openly sobbing now. ‘Are all of those things going to happen to me?’
‘Not necessarily,’ Mr Ward said soothingly. ‘It affects everyone differently. Many people of your age tend to focus their energy on managing the non-motor symptoms of this disease because quality of life is the most important thing.’
Quality of life. What was her ‘quality of life’ going to be like now? Molly felt shock wrapping itself coldly around her body. Would she be able to drive? Dress herself? Remember her own name? Was this illness going to render her incapable of conducting a normal conversation? Was she going to turn into a manic depressive? She had read that people suffering from this disease often experienced depression – either prior to some of the motor symptoms, or later on once the diagnosis had been received.
‘Get a second opinion, Mrs Bohle,’ Mr Ward reiterated firmly. ‘I could be wrong about this. It’s one of the diseases I dislike diagnosing because of the lack of definitive testing. So as strongly inclined as I am to lean in this direction, I would genuinely like you to run this past another professional.’
Molly stood up, nodded numbly and thanked Mr Ward. Clutching the literature he had given her, she left his office and walked out of the hospital. Once outside, she gave in to the nausea and threw up down a once-pristine side wall.
September 1995
‘Who’s that girl, Middleford?’ Ed Sutherland nudged his best