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 business generates around themselves.
At that point, multiple sclerosis (MS) had stopped me from playing tennis and chasing buses — to flag them down at request stops, not like some irate dog barking as they passed — but that was it.
In March 2009, I’d felt something tear in my gait as I was on my way to work. I’d played enough sports to know it wasn’t something muscular, though. It also wasn’t just in my mind — it was my mind!
