Surf Nation

Battle to write for Sunday Telegraph on hold as Times piece on Lyme appears

Click here for my piece in the Times about Lyme disease and cervical myelopathy.

Meanwhile, two quick notes: one, apologies to all who've emailed me about Lyme only to feel they've expended energy into a void. I receive a large number of emails because of work each day but this number has jumped exponentially since I've been writing about Lyme. I will try to reply to each one but please bear with me.

Second, if you post a comment on this blog and for some reason it doesn't get published, please check out www.alexwade.com, locate the 'Contact' tab and send me an email. Comments should be published automatically on this blog and I've only ever removed one (and Penfold, it wasn't yours!). If they're not appearing it's because there's a glitch - do let me know about it. I would post my email address but my good friend Jules advises that this is risky practice in the virtual world - spammers hijack it and so forth.

Above is the pic used by the Times, courtesy of Adam Pearson and South West News Service. I look suitably furrowed and given that it poured with rain throughout this shoot I'm not sure Adam was much happier. The dogs look content though.

Lyme in the Times

Very little pain today and a decent hike with the dogs on the moor above Madron. No Lyme symptoms either. Even the rash seems to have faded somewhat. Excellent! I'm quitting while I'm ahead and asking only that those interested check out a piece I've penned for the Times on Lyme/cervical myelopathy. It should be in the T2 section of the paper tomorrow. I hope that this article will help spread awareness of these two unpleasant maladies.

Battle to write for Sunday Telegraph leads to SUP encounter in pool

I woke up today and strode mercilessly to the bathroom. There, without even stopping to tie my shoelaces, I had a shave. Five days' stubble was cut away, as if it were nothing but a collection of useless bristles. But useless, my friends, the bristles weren't! Oh no. For they had acted as a disguise, not one to ensure that I could rob banks and perpetrate crimes against footpaths and remain undetected, but one which stopped me from seeing any evidence of Lyme disease. So what was there, once the bristles had met their end?

The Lyme rash. It has migrated from its bull's-eye form on my right cheek and now lives on my left cheek and neck. There's still a bit of on the right side but it is mainly sinister these days.

This, coupled with what I now know about Lyme disease and my symptoms of late, means that the first thing I'll do on Monday morning - even before I've checked the Times for my piece on Lyme + cervical myelopathy - is ring the neurologist. Surely, after seven months of this stupid rash, three positive blood tests and, in the past three weeks or so, a rise in the severity of the Lyme symptoms, I should get on with the month's worth of IV antibiotics without delay?

Annoyed by this stupid rash I thought about setting off for my local swimming pool. The neurologist says that I might just be able to do some gentle swimming. Yes, the scan shows there is still 'high focal signal' in my spine (whatever that means) but so long as I don't go powering around and wrenching my neck a dip might just be doable. 'Powering around' is, of course, not my thing at present, but just as I was about to head to the pool Mr J'Asbo sent me the image below, itself from Your Daily Donkey.

Yes, the dread SUP can now even be found in our swimming pools. Yes, this is a better place for it than the line-up. Yes, SUPs, provide a good core work-out and all that stuff. And yes, good on the ladies pictured for doing a bit of SUPing. But imagine it: I'm swimming along, ever so gently, pretending the other Alex Wade has Lyme and that before you can say "Lyme disease is a pain in the arse" I'll be surfing nice, clean, 6ft waves again, when BANG, I'm taken out by a rogue SUP. First a paddle digs into my ribs, then the nose of the bloody thing smashes into my neck. The result? Why, a perfect story to pitch to the Sunday Telegraph:

MY BATTLE TO WRITE FOR THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH

That sounds good. But what about the subdeck?

PROLIFIC FREELANCER ALEX WADE HAD WRITTEN FOR EVERYONE - EXCEPT US. BUT ALL THAT CHANGED WHEN DRUG-TAKING POLISH STAND-UP PADDLE-BOARDERS TOOK OVER THE LINE-UP IN HIS LOCAL SWIMMING POOL. READ ON FOR WADE'S BRAVE BATTLE TO PRESERVE SOME SENSE OF THE DROP-IN RULE EVEN AS THE EVIL 'SUPPERS' SMASHED HIS LYME-INFESTED, POST-OP NECK WITH THEIR IMPORTED PADDLES.

In the Land of Lyme

What is Lyme disease?

I am grappling with this question. I find myself discussing Lyme with Karen - who watched Under Our Skin with me the other night and has since been terrified - and catching myself as, time and again, I talk about Lyme happening to other people. Trouble is, those other people now include me.

By late afternoon today I was out of it, in very painful neurological la-la land, for about an hour and a half. I couldn't tolerate unexpected sounds and my entire back hurt as never before. As for my head, it pounded as if cursed by a hangover from hell. I've had a few of these in my time and that's saying something.

There were no nurses. Pretty, PC or otherwise.

Is this Lyme disease? Is this what it does? Am I now one of the other people? 

I still can't get my head round it. I just can't quite accept that Lyme is in my system. OK, I needed an op - a scary bit of ACDF. I was mechanically unsound. But Lyme? Inside me? Sure, three positive blood tests and an ongoing rash. But surely it's not me. It has to be another Alex Wade who's got Lyme. 

A pyschiatrist has kindly offered advice, having checked out this blog. Perhaps the Lyme-afflicted Alex Wade should take it. Or will the other one's insistence that his doppelganger is diseased, not him, see him through the nurse-free land of Lyme?

My nurse is out there - but what does he look like?

Here's the news: check out the Times 'T2' supplement next Monday for a piece by yours truly on the bizarre and irksome combo of Lyme disease and cervical myelopathy.

Here's some more news: I had a good chat today with the neurologist at Royal Cornwall Hospital who's treating me for Lyme. The results of what is my fourth blood test aren't back yet but whatever they reveal he says that I'm in the "chronic" category. 

This is most annoying, but then again, maybe it's not. Being told that I have chronic Lyme disease will help focus my mind on avoiding all the horror stories that have come my way about Lyme now that I've started taking it seriously. Indeed, I welcome yet more the prospect of a month's worth of intravenous antibiotics. Are they still on offer, I wonder? Or if the latest test comes back negative, will this form of treatment be deemed inappropriate, even though I still have the rash - albeit in fainter form than when it first arrived seven months ago - and am suffering some classic Lyme symptoms (e.g: blinding headaches, all over aches and pains, profound fatigue, extreme sensitivity to sound, a weak bladder and loss of balance)?

Who knows. But my idle fantasy of a nice, pretty, short-skirted nurse (in Carry On style) visiting every day for a month was cut down in its prime by a colleague on Fleet Street. Her vision of the nurse who might even now be sharpening his syringe was different than mine:

Definitely a man. Definitely a big syringe. Definitely in your bum. And definitely no sweeties afterwards.

Oh dear. Lyme disease just gets worse and worse.

Image of the kind of nurse I'd prefer courtesy of Robert Ross.

A Lyme Malaise

It's just as well I've decided to start taking Lyme disease seriously. It appears to be having a serious effect on me. I wish I was sitting here, waxing rhapsodic about the success of spinal surgery, but instead I'm aching all over and suffering a phenomenal headache. The really weird thing is that any unexpected noise - the kids saying something, my wife putting a paintbrush down on a table, a door closing - causes an intense shock in my head, which travels down my arms. In other words, neurological mayhem is mine. Again.

I rang the neurologist at lunchtime to ask if the last lot of serological tests had been done but no joy yet. I will gladly submit to a nurse wielding a needle every day for a month, if to do so will rid me of Lyme, so roll on those results.

I just want to get back to writing about surfing on this blog. I'm fed up with writing about being too unwell even to contemplate paddling out. And this damn Lyme disease is having a debilitating effect on my efficiency. I have become inefficient on various levels. Russ, if you're out there, I realise that I still haven't progressed that piece. This week, hopefully.

From X-ray to Epiphany

This is a strange post. And no, not merely because the sight of one's X-rayed neck is unnerving (excuse the somewhat separated pun). Instead, I find myself struggling to articulate how I feel. Given that I have a professional relationship with words, such inarticulacy is not a positive thing. But anyway, here's what's going down:

I feel very happy that the latest MRI scan reveals that I have had successful ACDF. This afternoon I had a chat with Mr P, the much respected Derriford neurosurgeon who operated on me, and all is well. That's not to say I can start lifting weights, going for runs and waxing my boards this weekend, but it is to suggest that I'm on course for being back to normal within six to eight months, maybe a year at the outset. Sure, I'll continue to feel "peculiar" (Mr P's adjective of choice) for some time, but I needn't worry. The titanium cage is where it should be and my spinal cord is fine again.

Against this, as I mentioned yesterday, Lyme disease has been looming. One thing that Mr P also confirmed is that now, seven weeks post-ACDF, my feeling of extraordinary fatigue and deep muscular pain can't be pinned on the surgery. To add to this, I have just watched Under Our Skin, the American documentary which earlier today just missed an Oscar 'final five' short-listing in its category. It makes for unbelievably disturbing viewing, chronicling the plight of people with chronic Lyme disease and alleging that vested interests among the medical profession and insurance industry serve, across the pond at least, to prevent the establishment taking Lyme disease in its late or chronic forms seriously. 

As I sat watching the film, it struck me that the people with Lyme disease - those talking about their rash, blinding headaches, joint pain, hideous weariness and central nervous system disorientation - were talking about exactly the same symptoms as I have. It then dawned upon me, in an admittedly belated epiphany, that I too have Lyme disease. In fact, given that I acquired the rash seven months ago (and still have it, as it happens) and have since tested positive for Lyme on three occasions, it seemed to me that I might even be reasonably described as having Lyme in its late stages.

Who knows? Maybe the latest blood test will come back negative. But Under Our Skin suggests that even if it does, it might be wise to submit to a month's worth of intravenous antibiotics. Oh, the fun of a nurse visiting every day! Yes, it could be mine.

So, as I sit here writing, I'm not sure what to think and feel. I'd like to be feeling quietly confident that although I have a few more months of cervical settling down ahead of me, all will eventually be well. In other words, that I'll be back to normal. Instead, Lyme is lurking. And, if I'm completely honest, I don't know whether to continue to ignore it - to treat the pesky bacteria inside me with the contempt they deserve - or whether to accept that a change of strategy is required. 

The trouble is that I can't help but feel that the moment I allow Lyme disease into my life, as a condition I acknowledge, those damn bacteria will be a step ahead.

That's what I feel. It's not rational, I know. I suspect, having slept on it, that my logical brain will kick in and decree that being injected every day for a month is a good thing. After all, it seems that I have Lyme disease.

(I wouldn't mind being rid of it, and hope that anyone out there thinking "You idiot! Of course you have Lyme disease!" will let me off - honestly, ACDF was enough to deal with alone, without having to get my head round Lyme. But I guess the time for engagement has come.)

NB: As a former media lawyer and yet web friendly chap I have a flexible, perhaps even philosophical attitude to copyright. However, given that the above image is of the inside of my neck please do not reuse, republish, reprint etc etc anywhere without contacting me first. My website, www.alexwade.com, has a contact page. Many thanks.)

Beautiful Spine But Aggrieved By Lyme

Remarkable news. I learn from the excellent Judy, secretary to Mr P, the neurosurgeon who operated on me before Christmas, that the latest MRI scan reveals a "beautiful" spine. Her words, not mine. Mr P's, in fact, relayed to me by Judy late this morning and meaning, to my total delight, that I'm not due in for another op.

Now then, I'm not going to jump up and down for joy at this, because (a) to do so is physically impossible in my present state, and (b) I've had way too many false dawns already since the op and am not going to tempt fate. But Mr P is apparently going to speak with me tomorrow and, I suspect, say that the scan shows that what's been ailing me is par for the course.

There is (inevitably) a downside to this. It comes in the form of that pesky problem, Lyme disease. I've been feeling absolutely dreadful of late and was convinced that I'd be hauled back to Derriford for more surgery; now, though, I seem to be confronted with cast-iron proof that I need to sort out the Lyme. In truth, I've been in denial about it. I've dismissed it as a rash and a headache and put all the exhaustion - the feeling of insuperable tiredness - down to the effects of ACDF. But Lyme is a real problem, as I also realise from Under Our Skin. A kindly lady called Joanne alerted me to this Oscar-nominated film, and I have a feeling it's one I ought to see pronto. 

More soon but I'm knackered and am going to hit the sack, full of resolve to take Lyme seriously and get rid of it - and stoked by the news that I have a beautiful cervical spine. (Bet you never thought you'd write those words. Ed.)

A nice bit of Cocaine Jane but otherwise no angles found

All that talk of being marooned on the moor very nearly came to pass. I'm just back from the village of Minions, high on Bodmin Moor, where we stayed last night after Harry's band's performance at the Eden Profect. The band, Wave7, were selected to appear as one of five of Cornwall's 'Bright Young Things' on the music front and despite being a bit raw in places did really well. Phenomenally well, in fact, when you consider that they're only 14. The other musos were all good and with the performances taking place in the Mediterranean biome this was a decent little jaunt for the day. (Check out Wave7's own song, Cocaine Jane. Yes, I know there's another song called 'Cocaine Jane' and so do they. No, they're not cokeheads. Or even Coneheads.)

Having stayed at the Cheesewring Hotel in Minions last night, it seemed rude not to walk to the Cheesewring. We made it there this morning and then down to the Hurlers, a collection of standing stones. Tremendously scenic and a nice change after three months of being marooned in West Penwith. Health-wise, all was well - no electric shocks and barely any pain, though the Lyme rash lurks and, what with the scar from ACDF, I'm not looking my best just now.

As for being marooned, the snow started to pelt down at about 11.30. We hit the road at midday with fresh snow everywhere and settling fast. But aside from a couple of slippery moments, fate smilled kindly on this outing and now here we are back in the far west.

Mind you, if only we had been marooned. I might have been able to capitalise (as I'm told a couple of friends allege, with no foundation whatsoever, is my wont) on an angle or two... Goddamnit, I might even have come up with a piece for the Sunday Telegraph!

Quest for Sunday Telegraph Byline Heads to Bodmin Moor

A quick note to the winners of the Bustin' comp, though anyone else who'd like to read it is very welcome because let's face it, confining a blog to three people who've won a competition certainly isn't the kind of tactic to get me published by the Sunday Telegraph. No, for this laudable aim I need a more inclusive approach, one which spans generations, builds bridges, crosses frontiers and acknowledges that while all is fair in love and war the fickle finger of fate can caress our inner thighs at any time, meaning that even if a watched pot never boils we should beware the temptress who, though she walks softly, carries a big stick (You will never get a piece away in the Sunday Telegraph. Ed.).

To the three winners, I say this: please bear with me. It's been a busy week and although I am now venturing beyond the city walls I have yet to make it to the post office. In all honesty, I won't get to one until Monday, for on Saturday I am pushing the boat out - not literally! - and heading to the Eden Project, where my lad Harry is playing a gig with his band. Then the Wade clan, with the addition of Harry's mate Mark, is heading to the village of Minions on Bodmin Moor. I'm researching something for the FT (Ha! Not the Sunday Telegraph then! Ed.) while there and what with snow forecast it is possible that we will be marooned there forever, making for a story which, it seems to me, the Sunday Telegraph might go for, along the following lines:

HOW I WAS MAROONED ON THE MOOR

That sounds good. But what about the strapline?

PROLIFIC FREELANCER ALEX WADE HAD WRITTEN FOR EVERYONE - EXCEPT US. HERE HE EXPLAINS HOW VANITY, SNOW AND IRREDUCIBLE STUPIDITY FINALLY SAW HIM GET A PIECE AWAY 

Look out for the Sunday Telegraph - but not this Sunday. Meanwhile, check out the Times 'Weekend' supplement for something about surfing. Once upon a time, it kept me sane.