The face of the consultant neurosurgeon told me the story before he even pronounced his diagnosis.
“You have Parkinson’s Disease.” I had expected this verdict, but it still chilled me to the core.
I had diagnosed myself several months earlier, and my GP was also sure, but legally in this country only a consultant can make a formal diagnosis, and I had one of the best in Scotland treating me.
He diagnosed me as I walked along the corridor, as I have that shuffling gait and stoop that’s so characteristic of Parkinson’s. The trembling left arm is a dead giveaway – thank goodness I hold my drinking glass in my right hand – and at 63, I have never been more tired at times.
I am at the very early stage of the disease, apparently, and the consultant was very positive about my case. Very shortly afterwards he was asking me this question: “Did you ever play rugby?”
He was the second Parkinson’s expert to ask me that question, the other being a brilliant advisor at Parkinson’s UK.
I answered truthfully that I had played at no high level for 15 years from the age of 17 to just after my 32nd birthday when one too many knee injuries ended my playing days – as the surgeon predicted back in 1991, I had to have that knee replaced.
In all that time playing and training, I was never knocked unconscious, but like any forward I took my fair share of dunts to the head, though the worst incident of ‘seeing stars’ was actually when I played football and misjudged heading a sodden leather ball.
I know now that I had suffered concussions, but like almost every player I knew, I just laughed them off. What an eejit I was…
One of my last thoughts before the consultation was ‘please don’t let it be Motor Neurone Disease,’ because I knew I would never have the same strength and willpower as Doddie Weir. MND is also fatal, whereas Parkinson’s is merely life altering. Merely? It will be a huge upheaval over time, though I am determined to stave off the worst damage for as long as possible and am already on medication.
I had numerous dealings with Doddie during his playing career and felt almost a personal connection when watching his extraordinary courage and resilience since his diagnosis, and yes, I shed a few tears when his passing was announced – the scene at Twickenham at the weekend when the crowd rose to applaud his image on the big screens had me in floods.
Doddie and Jimmy Johnstone, my favourite footballer of all time who I interviewed when he was in the midst of dying from MND, and also Rangers’ great Fernando Ricksen that I also interviewed, have inspired me with their courage and their willingness to speak out to raise awareness of MND. Their example has caused me to go public with my diagnosis and I will be doing my level best in years to come to raise funds and increase awareness about Parkinson’s. I feel it’s the least I can do.
We will never know what caused their MND and my Parkinson’s Disease, though my grandfather and mother’s cousin both suffered from Parkinson’s, and there is about a 15 per cent chance that my case is hereditary. But rugby as a cause? It is possible, I’ll admit, especially since recent research published by Glasgow University showed that ex-rugby players were three times more likely to develop Parkinson’s than the public generally.
In recent years, I have chronicled the growing awareness within rugby about the dangers of head injuries caused in the main by very poor tackling and rucking technique, and now it angers me even more that apologists can still be found whenever someone is red or yellow carded for a head shot. I have become convinced that better coaching and education will be the main way that head hitting will be eradicated from our sport, but that will take years. There must also be more scientific research into this issue. That’s a given, surely.
In my playing days more than 30 years ago, the thought that rugby could cause brain damage would never have entered my head, and the truth is that I will never know if playing rugby contributed to my Parkinson’s, which I have nicknamed Billy in honour of that famous sufferer Sir William Connolly.
I’m going to learn to live with Billy, and I am putting my faith in the NHS and my wonderfully supportive partner Deb plus my family and friends to help me deal with the situation I now find myself in.
I won’t bore on about it, but you’ll understand if I occasionally refer to the whole matter of rugby and head injuries, and across the page I am sounding a serious warning to our sport and indeed all sports.
For now I have a stake in the game, one that I never wanted, and while I won’t let my Billy define me, I am in that state so tellingly described by our National Bard in ‘To a Mouse’: “An forward tho’ I canna see, I guess an’ fear.”
