I am 56 next birthday and until three years ago I was one of those supremely lucky people who had never been ill. Now there was nothing clever about that and nothing for self-con gratulation?perhaps I came from healthy stock or enjoyed some equally vague inherent resistance?perhaps I'd just been lucky. Anyhow, there it was: unassailed by illness or accident, my reservoir of reliability seemed inexhaustible, and in this I revelled, strong and secure. While others might fall beside me, I was impregnable, always ready to step in. With this I must own came a certain attitude of mind that really amounted to a deep-rooted dislike?no, even almost a contempt?of pills and tablets, medicines and lotions, and, if I am honest, a sort of tolerant forbearance of those who, through no fault of their own, seemed to need such things. Certainly they were not for me. At any rate, not until I sneezed. Now for some curious reason I have always had a truly remarkable sneeze?not one of those poor-quality jobs that can be stifled and trapped in a rapidly drawn handkerchief, but a colossal, house-shaking, unpredict able explosion, with a measurable, noisy echo. Assailed by one such explosion as I stood shaving one morning, I was transected across my back by a pain such as I never dreamed could have existed, and worse?the agony down one leg floored me as I shouted for mercy. But none came, and over the next few days no amount of pulling and injecting made any difference, and that somewhat notorious investigation the myelogram clearly showed why : a full-blown disc protrusion. Well, I could hardly call this illness' after all. Surely this was just something traumatic?yes, that was right?just as traumatic as a road accident. And so to a lumbar laminectomy, and?absolute magic?all the pain gone. So I settled my operation-ruffled feathers and made a rapid, straightforward recovery, firmly resolved to control my volcanic sneezing. All this happened three years ago. But then another trouble started. On a short lakeland holiday I got a swollen ankle, then knee, then the other ankle. So what ??these things passed. I thought that I must have sprained them somehow, though I knew I hadn't. Oh well, out of sight, out of mind. body had other ideas, and suddenly I awoke very early one morning, knowing that something really was wrong: both my hands and fingers looked like sausages, and were stiff and tingling with pain. So away to the experts : My dear chap, you have an acute arthro pathy. Blood tests: well, the uric acid will be in the skies? that's it?no. But the Rose-Waaler?well, that was it: positive. Such a lot seems to have happened since then. Firstly, and I suppose this must be good for me, I have been
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