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Audrey's story

Audrey Finlayson

Open Door - November 2011 pages 14-15

I was 81 years old in June and have lived with MS for 53 years. It paralysed me from the waist down initially when I was 28 years old, married to an American airman, and with a small son of 14 months.

Audrey Finlayson Audrey Finlayson

We were stationed at Chicksands in Bedfordshire, occupying a small rented cottage in a nearby village. We were all very happy, until one morning, when rising from my bed, I felt a strange sensation of having 'spongy' soles on my feet.

The following day, having recovered from this phenomenon, I noticed once again something was wrong with my feet - they felt as though I had anklesocks. As the week passed the socks grew until the feeling became 'stockings' and my balance was impaired. And then my 'water works' packed up and I could no longer 'pee' without effort.

My husband, Richard, drove me to see the base doctor who ordered me an ambulance at once to take me to the US military hospital at Wimpole Park. Here, after an attempt to leave my bed, I fell to the floor denied of all feeling from my waist down.

In the meantime, the nursing sister had catheterised me and asked for my passport. "I don't have one yet", I told her, "I have never been abroad before". Puzzled by this odd request I asked her why? "Never mind," she soothed, "we're sending you to Wiesbaden in Germany. We have a wonderful hospital there." My first trip abroad and I was flat on my back!

I was taken to Lakenheath air base as my husband and parents were being informed. Arrangements were made for my mother to take care of my son, Nicolas, as she had been since my hospitalisation. Only as my plane was leaving the ground did my family arrive to see the plane soaring above them.

I had the plane all to myself with the exception of one male and one female nurse and the pilots. It was a B54, I remember. It was 1958 and the World's Fair was in Brussels. I saw it by moonlight as the nurses lifted me to observe from the windows, the Russian stand gleaming below where a huge 'pawnbrokers' sign of three balls shone eerily like a film-set. "Something to tell your grandchildren," said the nurses.

We arrived at Frankfurt where the crew said goodbye and wished me well. An ambulance waited to whisk me to Wiesbaden, where Major Turpin, my neurosurgeon, had been called from a party to meet me. It was 2am. I had myeodil (a red dye) injected into my spine, which allowed him to see if any obstruction was present in my spine through an x-ray plate.

Six weeks later, bedridden, missing my family and wondering why I was not being treated for this strange illness, I was examined and placed in another, brighter ward, where I 'pretended' to drive my car, although nothing was moving at all, regarding my feet. Then one morning I saw to my amazement a slight movement in one of my big toes. Major Turpin was sent for. He threw back the bed covers. "How is dear Mrs Hood this morning?" he asked (which was my then married name) "Oh jumping with joy" (we had this repartee), I said. "Right," said he, "lets see you jump". I willed my big toe to move again and to my astonishment both digits moved together on both feet! Throwing back the bed covers he looked at me, then turning on his heel he left the ward without another word, but I had also noticed his tears of satisfaction as he turned away.

Audrey with her son Nicholas after her return from Germany Audrey with her son Nicholas after her return from Germany

My recovery from the paralysis progressed gradually after that. A reverse of how it began. After treatment and therapy I eventually recovered enough to walk again and, after many 'adventures', to resume my life. A year and a half later, and still not understanding fully why I had been so ill, my English doctor (Roger) told me that he had received my American medical records. Major Turpin's opinion was that I had multiple sclerosis, but only time and observation would be able to confirm this.

And so it proved to be, as I went on to experience several of the usual symptoms in later years (loss of balance, double vision, exhaustion and so on).

And yet, I consider myself so lucky. Once having understood my illness, I was (and am) able to cope, and manage it in my own way. As far as I was concerned, I didn't have it, didn't want it except when it came at me once in a while, like an intruder taking control of my moods and well being. I developed an 'attitude' and would not allow it to dominate my life (as far as I could).

Yet I do know that how MS affected me is not the same with everyone with the condition. It depends where and how it attacks the individual. People with MS are damaged in different areas of the nervous system and like me, can live for years. Understanding it is what counts. Not dwelling on it or allowing it to become an obsession is what is important if one is to continue one's life without the self pity it can often evoke.

I do not belong to MS clubs or gatherings and I do not mix much with MS people. I do not want to know MS and its intrusive and uninvited presence, and when my hands tremble or pain makes me miserable or I fall over when losing my balance, I divert my attention to other things, such as what can I do to get rid of the osteoporosis that has taken priority over my inability to walk once again, and music, and books, and life.

Having said all that, I do appreciate Open Door and all the hard work put in by those who care enough to give so much of themselves in its publication.


My Story

Audrey's story appears in the My Story pages. Each person's experience of MS is unique and people find many different ways to cope with the ups and downs. The stories you have been sending us show all the aspects of life with MS - good, bad and everything in between. We welcome stories from anyone affected by MS - people with MS, partners, parents, children, health professionals or carers.

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