Sailing

In the early 1980s, when this dratted MS was just starting to affect me, my wife Margaret and I went for a short break to York.

Whilst we were there I decided with Margaret's agreement to hire a rowing boat to go for a trip down the River Ouse. I had never rowed a boat before, and I was surprised to find how easy it was.

I assumed that Margaret would be very impressed with the professional manner of my rowing, and we went speeding down the river with ease.

After we had gone about half a mile, I thought that we had better make our way back to base before our allotted time was up. But what a difficult job that turned out to be. We were now rowing against the current. Needless to say I was well and truly knackered!

As Margaret was pregnant, she couldn't help. I was very tempted to dump the boat, but that meant losing the deposit. Through sheer perserverence I managed to get the boat back to the starting point. Never again did I want to go in a rowing boat!

But some years later, after we had three sons and two daughters, we bought a superb 14 foot Skipper sailing dinghy. We joined the Bala Sailing Club where I took a crash course in how to sail. I needed to learn how to sail against a prevailing wind. This involved 'tacking to the wind'. With some tuition I soon got the hang of things.

As BSC members we were expected to do a duty about 6 times a year. As we didn't know the finer rules of dinghy-racing we were given a 40hp rubber dinghy, which was a little easier to handle. We were required to wear wet suits because the water was so very cold. If you were to fall in without a wet suit on, you could die of exposure.

I have ridden and enjoyed motorcycling over 1000s of miles, and have done two sponsored tandem parachute jumps, the first from 10,000 ft and the second from 16,000 feet. I didn't particularly enjoy the jumps, but it felt excellent raising money for MS research.

For the sheer thrill and enjoyment I would say dinghy sailing is my favourite pursuit. Alas this is just a fond memory now.

MS diagnosis

"You will have to go into hospital", said my doctor. This was in 1980.

I thought to myself, poor chap, he's obviously overworked. How could I, a very busy farmer, possibly afford the luxury of 'skiving' in a hospital?

"We have just taken over a badly run-down farm, and there is a tremendous amount of work to be done. There's no way that I'm going to any ruddy hospital", I told my doctor.

As I got up to leave his surgery, he told me bluntly "Look Glyn, please sit down. I don't usually tell my patients so bluntly, but as you are so stubborn, I'm going to be blunt. We (a consultant had also seen me) suspect that you may have a spinal tumour. This could be what's causing your falls, and why you sometimes walk about as if you're drunk. It could also be the reason for this unexplained fatigue you're having".

"That's all very well", I told him, "but there's no way you're getting me into any hospital until I've finished off our Spring work".

So, after working very hard, I managed to complete our Spring work of ploughing and seeding. I checked into our hospital the following day.

The Registrar who booked me in happened to be a neighbour. He asked me, 'What do you want first Glyn, the good news or the bad news?"

Being a coward, I asked him if I could have the good news first. He told me that I didn't have a spinal tumour. However, they would like to give me an injection in my back, and perform a lumber puncture (spinal tap), as they now suspected that I may have multiple sclerosis.

So they performed the lumbar puncture, telling me that I mustn't lean out of my bed afterwards. No problem, I thought. But later on I was reading a book, and as I have two left hands and ten thumbs, I dropped my book on the floor, and had to lean out of my bed to retrieve it. As I was leaning right out of my hospital bed, a ward Sister snapped at me, "What on earth do you think you're doing, leaning out of your bed like that?". I jerked back up quickly, too quickly, and I had a nasty headache later for my stupidity.

When the test results came back, the Registrar (my neighbour Brian) told me that it was now confirmed that I did have Multiple Sclerosis.

So that was the 'bad news'. Being quite ignorant about what having MS meant, I asked Brian for an explanation. He tried patiently to explain what MS was. "If you could imagine that over there is a generator producing electricity. Then there is an electric motor here, needing this source of electricity. But the cable carrying the power has become frayed, making it difficult for it to carry out its important function. That basically and very crudely, is MS."

And so my life with MS had begun.

Starting out

It has been said that getting married and moving house are the two most stressful things one can do in a person's life time.

Margaret and I were married in 1955. Since then, we have lived in 8 different homes!

My first home was on my father's farm in Flintshire, where I worked very hard, unpaid.

My loving father compelled me to leave school (which I had loved) at the age of 13. I worked very hard for Pa until I was 25. Then, after a disgraceful family dispute, my father decided to disown me - I was going out with an English girl, a heinous crime according to Pa, and just the excuse he needed. I could see no future working for him, unpaid, any longer.

In 1955, I married Margaret and other than our clothes and my ex-army Norton motorbike, we had less than £4 to our name. But we managed.

I began work as a head tractor driver on a large farm in Cheshire. We bought just the essential bits of furniture from a Cheshire store, who gave us 6 months free credit. I was working more than 72 hours per week and took home to our cottage - after deductions for rent, milk, eggs, insurance and tax - £10. Margaret was also working part-time at an egg packing station, bringing home another £5, so our combined income was an astronomical £15 a week.

However, in less than 2 years, we had saved £120. I was desperate to have our own farm. With an aunt of Margaret's standing as a guarantor for £500, we applied for and obtained a 11-acre Flintshire County Council farm.

After much hard work, we progressed through a series of larger farms, to a 36-acre, then a 65-acre, finishing up on a 120-acre farm milking about 70 Guernsey cows, plus their followers.

Now we have retired from farming altogether, and for the first time in my life, I am living in a detached house with Margaret and our son, Russ. We are all very happy here.

Parachute jumps

Although I don't care for long haul flights these days, since I was diagnosed with MS I have done 2 tandem charity parachute jumps!

One jump was at 10,000ft and the second was at 16,000ft. I didn't particularly enjoy doing them, but I was keen to do something to help raise funds for our local MS Society branch, where I was secretary.

I was always quite happy to arrange house-to-house, in-store and street collections. But no way would I stand anywhere holding a box and giving away flags - and have the public pity me? No way!

As I was determined to raise some money though, as I knew of many folk with MS far more ill than myself, and I wanted to help.

I happened to be watching a programme on the TV, that featured a lady was suggesting different ways of raising money for charity. I was getting fed up listening to her as I knew I couldn't do sponsored swimming, cycle riding, or any of the physical activities that she was suggesting. Then she mentioned that sponsored parachute jumps were very good money-raisers.

I thought that however disabled one may be, anyone could jump out of an aeroplane!

So I phoned the number that she gave, and the parachute jump idea started from there. The jumps turned out to be very good money-raisers, and seemed more dramatic than having one's head shaved.

But I was rather disappointed, as when you're over 50 they won't let you jump by yourself! Instead, 'they' prefer that you do a 'tandem' parachute jump (strapped to another person).

I did two charity tandem parachute jumps, and raised a lot of money for our local branch. Why not give it a try yourself!

Flying high

Our eldest son lives in Australia. He is a vet, and his lovely wife Jane is a hospital administrator.

The last time my wife and I went out there to visit them was 12 years ago, when we had to endure a 26-hour flight, with a stopover in Singapore. Never again!

There is no more boring form of travel than flying at 38,000ft, as one can't see anything down below!

I remember we flew over Moscow to avoid the Iraqi air space, but for all we knew, we could have been flying over Birmingham!

Whilst we were flying over India, the stewardess told me that the pilot had noticed that a farmer was on board. Turns out he used to have a farm himself (in Australia) and fancied a chat with me!

The stewardess asked me if I could climb up some stairs into their cockpit. I told her that I would be delighted!

When I arrived in their cabin, the pilot and the navigator had their backs to the window. I asked them hadn't they better look where they were going in case another aircraft was coming towards us! "No problem, Cobber! If there is anything within 80 kilometres of us we will be told over the radio!"

As a computer was in charge of actually flying the aircraft, they were very bored, and grateful to compare notes of farming in the UK and Australia.

In fact, all the Australians we met on our trip were everso laid back and easy going.

I haven't been out there since, but my wife has been back a couple of times. The last time she was there the temperature was over 40c, so I was glad that I hadn't also gone with her!

BST

I have now had an electric lift fitted into my new house and am living full-time in our new home.

Our son Russ, an ex-double undisputed World Champion Kickboxer, has the ground floor of the house fitted out as a gym, where he holds classes in self defence. The classes are very popular with ladies in particular. Margaret and I have the first floor of the house, and Russ has the top floor all to himself, with an ensuite bathroom.

We're moving into Autumn now in Wales. I have always preferred the Spring time rather the Autumn for a number of reasons, not least because the days get shorter and the weather gets colder come Autumn.

I have always detested our British policy of turning our clocks back an hour in the winter. Why must we do this?! It's certainly not helpful to farmers as far as I'm concerned.

Cows are creatures of habit, so when we were milking our Guernsey herd, I would turn the darn clock back half an hour, and a week later turn it back the other half hour, so not to upset the cows' routine too much!

Yes, complaining about the weather is a favourite passtime for us in the UK. Though in reality we shouldn't complain, as we are very fortunate that we don't get the violent storms, hurricanes, typhoons, powerful whirlwinds and dreadfully long droughts like they have in Australia for example, where our eldest son lives.

But why can't we have BST (British Summer Time) all the year round?!

Respite home

Glyn is in a respite nursing home at the moment while he waits for his stairlift to be installed in his new home. But does this stop him from writing a blog entry? No way! Glyn writes...

I turned 73 in May, but some days I feel like I'm going on 90.

As they, say one is as old as they feel, but I still maintain that although I have MS and prostate cancer, I'm one of the lucky ones. My MS is the relapsing remitting type, and at the present time, I'm in remission.

But when I do have a relapse I go just like a lump of jelly, and my wife cannot cope with me. So we have a couple of carers in every morning to shower and dress me.

Sometimes my diabetes goes berserk. Recently, instead of its normal 8, it went up over 40, and whilst I was hospitalised, they woke me every 2 hours for blood tests. I had an intravenous drip, instead of my normal 4 tablets a day which normally keeps my diabetes in check.

My diabetes always has to be sorted out, before any remedial therapy for either an MS relapse or cancer therapy can go ahead.

The prostate cancer's prognosis is very good. Instead of going onto Chemo or Radium therapy, I signed a declaration that I was willing to go onto a new therapy. I was very fortunate to be on this new therapy.

There are apparently, only 90 of us in the UK on this therapy.

In the first week, I had to visit the hospital every day. On top of providing meals for my wife and myself, I was given some injections in my tummy and my heart and some blood tests. Then in the second week we went in 3 times a week. Then only twice a week. And now, as the blood tests and heart monitor are satisfactory, I only go in once a month, so I most certainly thank God for that.

Until my electric lift is installed at hom I am at this very pleasant respite nursing home, and feel very fortunate indeed.