'A brief history lesson from some of the first recorded cases of MS'
History is at every meeting of lanes, of every dry-stacked stone wall and in every corner of Irish life. With the run-up to the centenary of The Easter Rising, history may be even more at the fore of our minds. Today, I’m going to offer a glimpse back into MS history to see the tails of some of our earliest forbearers (of MS that is). One was a saint, one a Bastard.
The Saint
First; the tale of a pretty young Dutch girl who fell while ice skating on a cold February day in 1395 and never fully recovered.
It was fortunate for young Lidwina that she had declared to her family her intention to remain a pious virgin three years earlier. Had she not, the waxing and waning of symptoms for the next 39 years until her death would surely have been attributed to demonic possession; her “ability” to overcome them for periods would have been considered evidence of witchcraft.
Though not made a saint until 1895 (patron saint of ice skaters, if you were wondering), her bones were treated as holy relics and even protected against protestant ransacking of such things in her native land. When they were rediscovered and examined at the end of World War II, in fact, her remains were able to help researchers hypothesize (corroborating with several written text) that Lidwina most likely lived with multiple sclerosis. Because of the extensive (for the time) religious writings about Lidwina and of her condition we know too well, she has become accepted as the first “documented” case of MS.
The Bastard
You’ll often hear a senior Non-Com in the military bristle at being called “sir” with the retort, “Don’t call me ‘sir’. My parents were married…” This harkens back to the day when the illegitimate boys with titled male parents were sent off to be officers in the royal armed forces. Such was the case with Sir Augustus D’est, the illegitimate grandson of England’s King George III.
Adhering to the Victorian fashion of diary keeping, we are able to follow the young Calvary officer through much of his life. In December of 1822, however, we begin to see entries which could have been written by many of us.
Sir Augustus writes of his progression of symptoms from minor vision nuisances and heat intolerance to restless leg syndrome and hyper-sensitivity to touch.
I was fascinated in reading such a detailed account of his symptoms that I felt an odd kinship with the young officer. I almost cheered when I read that he forewent the hot spa treatment offered to him at one point in his journey. I know that a hot tub will send me into bed for days… once I can be fished out!
So, we’re not possessed, we’re not witches but I can sometimes feel as lost as Sir Augustus in finding answers (really, have a read of some of his diary linked above. They’re fascinating).
Wishing you and your family the best of health.
Cheers
Trevis
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