Hospital waiting areas are fun places to be in, aren't they? If you were in one and had some idea about the underlying reason or reasons as to why you’re there then you could imagine what would happen next. I had no idea what was coming and all I knew was that I couldn’t hold my head up without it being incredibly painful and allowing it to drop forward sent electric shock sensations through my arms and legs.
Science Bit
Lhermitte's sign (pronounced Ler-meets) is a sudden sensation resembling an electric shock that passes down the back of your neck and into your spine and may then radiate out into your arms and legs. It is usually triggered by bending your head forward towards your chest
As I waited for my name to be called, I embarked upon a lengthy course of internal dialogue and once again tried to convince myself that I wasn't really that bad and that I was exaggerating my symptoms. I told myself that my legs were fine and that whenever I was called to see the triage nurse, I'd be able to get up and walk there without any problem.
I can’t remember how long I waited before I heard my name but when it came, I was ready for my moment to shine. I imagined striding confidently into the triage room and proving to myself more than anybody else that this was no big deal. I was in control. My partner helped me to my feet and walked me to the triage door. I had deliberately sat as close as possible to this area to minimise the distance that I had to go. Less is more, and as long as I could go a few steps, then everybody would be able to see that I was fine.
Inside the room and sitting at a small desk was a female nurse who looked up at me being helped inside and said, “Let him do it on his own.”
You got this, I told myself. The destination was a plastic chair which was about a metre and a half from the door, the frame to which I had also been using to remain upright. They were just two steps, and I stepped forward as normally as I could.
If it had been a test situation where marks were given, then I'd have failed miserably. As I lifted my right foot and started to move toward the aforementioned chair, I lost all control of my legs and the prospect of another face-meets-chair situation was on the cards. The nurse moved with the speed of a ninja and not only stopped me from falling but managed to rotate me so that I fell back onto the chair in a seated position. My display had given her all the proof needed that me trying to walk unaided was not going to work out well for anybody.
I don’t remember all of the exact events in the passage of time that followed. Although the nurse knew something was pretty seriously wrong and arranged for me to be taken straight to a cubicle via wheelchair, I had no idea which way this was going to go. There was something happening that was stopping me from being able to walk properly and how was this going to be fixed? Would I need to have an operation or be given something to help? Which type of doctor would I need to see after being in A&E?
I remember sitting on a bed when a doctor came to see me and stood at the end of my bed. He spoke to me about the symptoms I had been having and how long they had been going on before he asked to stand up. As I was still unstable on my feet, I was asked to sit back down and the strength of my arms and legs were the next to be tested. He wielded his trusty rubber hammer and set about tapping the tendons of my elbows and knees. Naively, I thought that because there was no response (especially during the knee taps) that I was passing with flying colours. With the benefit of experience and hindsight, I know that this was part of a standard neurological examination and things were not going well.
Once he was done with this part and had sheathed his weapon of choice, he set about checking my vision. I was to look down, up, left, and right before straight ahead whilst he shone a light into my eyes. I was asked to touch my nose and then touch his finger which was at an arm's length away from me. "Wobbly but OK," I thought, but within the range of it being a passable result. He then told me to shut my eyes and bring my finger back to my nose, and I was so careful with this bit because the reality was that I didn’t know where my hand was at this point. It felt completely alien to me, but as soon as my eyes were closed, it was as though my arm and pointing finger were no longer part of me. Left a bit, down, right, down. And, bring it in. Nailed it! I opened my eyes and stared at my outstretched hand that was actually in a different postcode to that of my nose.
Bollocks.
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