'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.

I thought the title of this blog should be related to David Bowie but I'm not experiencing my Golden Years (I hope!), I've never been much of a Rebel Rebel and frankly I'm a hero pretty much all of the time, not just for one day, so in the end I've settled for Bob Marley instead. I wouldn't mind a China Girl though. Well, any girl really. I'd probably even settle for the modern day equivalent of Bowie in drag. I just want to be loved. (I've been out of the game for a while, ladies love a needy man, right?)

Everyone has worried, is worrying or will worry about something. Worry is a universal human emotion. People say you shouldn't worry about things you can't influence but that's rubbish, if you could influence something you would and therefore wouldn't need to worry. It's the things you can't influence you need to worry about. How worry manifests itself is far from universal though.

Take my immediate family. There's five of us and we all have our individual coping mechanisms. I myself have a few. I either go to my default mechanism of exercise (but that's not much good with MS!), try to embrace the 'Don't Worry Be Happy' philosophy or I get really, really frustrated. My mam bottles it all up (because she is the strong one) and then has a quick cry occasionally. My sister compartmentalises. She is able to put things to the back of her mind and get on with life. She isn't any less worried but you wouldn't know it to look at her. My dad looks to assign blame. He is worried and it isn't his fault so it must be somebody else's. Once he has established whose fault he thinks it is he goes for them. (Complaints and letters rather than physically of course.) Even Bamboleo gets worried. He'd be a comfort eater if I let him anywhere near his bag of food. (Or our food for that matter.) I don't think there is a right or wrong way of dealing with worry. (But my dad's is definitely wrong!)

The year didn't start perfectly for Team Sharkey. We discovered our roof isn't completely watertight (How? A waterfall of rain came from my ceiling onto my bed. While I was in it!), some lights and sockets began fusing and then the junior doctors called for a strike on 12th January, the same day as my appointment in London with one of the leading MS consultants in the country.

(The rest of the blog will refer to a 'treatment'. I myself am unsure about what this is exactly. I know it will last for three weeks, it will begin with a course of chemotherapy, it involves creating new stem cells and it will hopefully improve my condition. It won't fix me but it might be the first step towards a cure. It hasn't been used on many patients and there is a risk of death.)

Thankfully (we thought) my appointment did go ahead though. Me and my mam got the train down to London. (She claims it's up to the capital but Sunderland is in the north and London is in the south and so it's down to London. Obviously.) We got a taxi to Charing Cross hospital (the driver did at one point say 'I'm not racist but' of course) and waited, full of hope, to see Dr Nicholas. We were called in to see a female consultant. Something was wrong, Dr Nicolas is a man!

It transpired Dr Nicholas no longer attends the Tuesday afternoon consultancy and the doctor we were seeing knows very little about the treatment we had gone to London to discuss. She did an examination of me (Probably thought, 'Wow, he's so good looking.' I imagine.), asked a few questions and said she would recommend I am considered for said treatment but that I would need to return to London to see Dr Nicholas for him to decide whether I receive the treatment.

We are all hugely worried about my health. I make no secret of the fact that I cannot continue to live indefinitely with the disabilities I have. Not seeing Dr Nicholas was a balls up by the hospital but I knew it wasn't the fault of the doctor I was seeing and so I opted for Don't Worry Be Happy. I thanked the consultant for seeing me and asked her to speak to Dr Nicholas when she next sees him.

I like to be thought of as a good person. I don't like to cause a fuss and would rarely complain, certainly not about the NHS. It's amazing. Apparently nice guys finish last but the way I see it is that wherever we finish, we have the moral high ground. That may not mean a lot to some people but it does to me.

And perhaps fate smiles on the nice guys. The next day Babs (my amazing nurse) phoned to see how the appointment went. Once I told her she emailed Dr Nicholas and he apologised for the mix up and said he was happy to take Babs' and his colleague's word that I am suitable for the treatment. Babs told me she does so much for me because she thinks so much of me. I am the only patient she has referred to Dr Nicholas and I know it is for a combination of reasons. Firstly my condition but also how I conduct myself. The support I receive from all NHS staff is incredible and I always make sure they know how much I appreciate their help.

I am almost certainly receiving this treatment and don't have to return to London until it begins. I don't know when the treatment will begin. Dr Nicholas needs to speak to the multidisciplinary team and the haematologists. What a result though. 

I haven't finished first (I mean, I still have MS!) but I certainly haven't finished last either. I wouldn't say I don't worry 'bout a thing but maybe, just maybe, every little thing gonna be all right.