I went for an assessment to the Sheba Neurological Rehabilitation unit this morning and was evaluated by their panel. I was last there, in the same unit, at the end of my rehab in 2023, and the difference was staggering.
Of course the team as always was awesome!
Firstly, I arrived there last time on my own steam; this time, I was driven. Two years ago, I was so mobile, and it was not so easy to detect the impact PD was having on me. I was actually nervous because I looked too healthy and undeserving of needing rehab.
Today was completely different—the evidence of the disease was simply so clear. I couldn’t balance properly and shuffled slowly with a walking cane, which the panel deemed far too unsuitable for my current state. I was stunned by the transformation. No longer am I a little nervous about looking too well; I have progressed at an alarming rate.
On one level, it was soul-crushing, but it only fuels my drive to stay in the game longer and in the best health I can manage.
On the ride back—you couldn’t have scripted it if you tried—the cab driver and I started talking. After I shared why I’d been in the hospital, he revealed he’s starting 27 cancer treatments over the next few weeks following a recent diagnosis. We had a lot in common, and we shared a broadly humorous conversation (gallows humor) about our predicaments—we debated whether 27 sessions of treatment beat no available treatment. We laughed over some of the insane things people have said to us (for example, the person who suggested I had been given a “gift”).
He was far from positive and struggled to cope, but I think in our short ride together we gave each other some comfort. We both have three kids, and we spoke about how vital it is to live on and hope for the future as fathers (he has grandchildren). I wish him all the best.
No, it hasn’t been the brightest day, but I can’t pretend every day is a bowl of peaches. It’s hard. It’s tough to take. But that’s my reality, and despite that, I must power on, look forward, and push through the coming days using every available tool, including rehabilitation.
I’m not sure I can fundamentally change the disease’s path, but I’ll go down trying my best to do so—and hopefully easing the way for others facing the same situation.
This might sound negative—honestly, I don’t see it that way. It’s a realistic view of life. When I started this blog, I promised to be open and honest. As I said earlier, I can’t treat it as a gift to be grateful for—it’s terrible and scary, but I have to face it down, enjoy every moment I can, and live life despite it.
We fight on.
2 Responses
Hi Ben
I must congratulate you on your well written articles. They are kind, funny, realistic and inspiring. I’m rubbish at writing. Yesterday I began to reply to your post about your visit to the hospital and your lovely conversation with the taxi driver. I didn’t post my reply😂I got side tracked and branched off making notes about our ‘journey’ when my husband was diagnosed with MSA. You have helped me to do this so thank you so much ❤️. I wish you and your family all the very best wishes in the world xxx
Thank you for the kind message it is much appreciated