Apologies for the delay, but my MS decided to put its foot down and show me that it meant business.

The story so far…

I was diagnosed with MS in 1990. At that point all I really suffered from was blurred vision, which gave me a charming Monet-esque view of the world. Everything gently blurred away at the edges, and everyone looked gorgeous; even Andy. It grumbled along until the year 2000, when it demanded a walking stick, as the slight limp I had acquired had developed into a full blown drunken stagger. Never a good look when you're applying for a bank loan. Finally, in 2005, it was Ironside time. Since then I've been getting a little weaker, until July 2008 when it chose to stop playing around and cut to the chase.

Basically, whilst transferring from bed to wheelchair, my back went into spasm. I don't wish to be over-dramatic, but no human being, since the beginning of time, has experienced the pain I felt that day.

So, I was rushed into hospital where I spent the next 8 days in bed.

All day in bed.

That's all day.

So all those private moments that one likes to keep between ones self and a toilet, now had to be shared with a nurse. Male or female. All men will know that it's very difficult to pee when there's a man standing next to you in the urinal, but when it is a woman encouraging you to empty your bladder…

After a week I was moved to a neurology ward where, with the aid of hoists and pulleys, I could move from the bed to the wheelchair, but still needed a collection of nurses to accompany me to the toilet.

After 5 ½ weeks I was transported home, where I now have my own hoist, a specially adapted bed, and a flotilla of carers who appear 4 times a day to hoist me out of bed and into the wheelchair, or out of the wheelchair into bed.

They also shower me.

Regular readers may remember that, in an earlier blog, I pondered the great question; To shave, or not to shave. And the answer is it really doesn't matter. When you have 2 women wash you- and they do wash all your bits- you are really not concerned about your pubic arrangements.

My new status; The 'Almost Bed-Bound But Not Quite' Man, meant that my room needed adapting to accommodate such paraphernalia as hoist, sling and mobile commode chair (don't ask!). But I still have all my goodies, like my lovely Mac laptop, iPod and speaker dock thingee, digital radio, kalaidoscopic Mathmos ambient lights, DVD player, HDD player, and- overlooking the whole room from its glorious new position on the centre of the wall at the end of my groovy new hospital bed- the 50 inch, LCD, HD flatscreen magnificent creation that is my TV.

Basically my life has changed and I'm heading towards the ugly bit of the MS. When I first got home from the hospital I felt a little down and wasn't sure whether I would be able to adapt to strange new carers coming in every day to wash and dress me, but I needn't have worried.

On that first day home, my new carer, Lucy, arrived. We did the usually slightly awkward 'getting to know you' conversation, and I described where everything was, kitchen, bathroom etc. She had a look around and then came back to ask me for some towels. She took them from the chest of drawers, and as she left the room said something about the bathroom. I asked her what she had said, and she replied

'Sorry, I was just saying that I would put your towels in your Hollywood bathroom'

I hadn't told her that the bathroom was nicknamed Hollywood.

I knew everything was going to be fine.