Richard Owen Robert Membury was my father in law, a long term divorcee and an intensely private man. He was a solitary worker and never wanted to be known as a team player instead consenting to having just one work mate for the entirety of his career. His social life was no different, choosing instead of a large group of friends to keeping a small group of close friends to whom he was fiercely loyal and committed.

A simple life for a man that had worked all his life from the age of 14 and a simple retirement for a man that never expected anything from life or from other people, yet was was never happier than in the company of his children and grandchildren. The joy and satisfaction he got from sharing his time, possessions and even his beer was plain to see for anyone that knew him and his generosity of spirit was returned in kind by all those that had benefitted from it .

He was a vital man that chose to cycle almost anywhere and everywhere, especially if it meant the possibility of a beer or two. If he wasn’t cycling he was working, even after retirement. There was always a wall needed papering, a carpet laying or a house full of doors and ceilings to paint, and he would never ask for anything in return.

That’s the kind of man he was.

In the few years leading up to July 2010 with Richard in his early to mid sixties, it was becoming increasingly obvious to his close friends and family that he was struggling with many things. He was becoming quite clumsy, often stumbling or tripping. He found it difficult to hold a paintbrush for any length of time, and was getting steadily worsening pains in his limbs. Of course, it was easy for everyone to just dismiss this as part of ‘getting old’.  He started becoming very tired, and would often spend most of the day asleep and then become anxious when sleep wouldn’t come at night. Again, all just part of ageing.

Having never been a hypochondriac or serial GP visitor, he began to get quite worried about his health and started becoming a regular at the Doctor’s surgery. Many, many tests were taken, many possible diagnoses made and then dismissed. In the space of a few short months his life had changed completely, and it was about to take another huge change of direction.

In July 2010, during a scheduled appointment with a consultant neurologist at Yeovil Hospital three words were spoken that were to change all our lives forever.

Motor Neurone Disease.

Initially, it didn’t mean that much to most of the family and friends. Although, with nurses and doctors amongst us and with the help of Google it soon became apparent to us all that this wasn’t  good news. Not good at all.

Despite having been a GP half of her life even Richard’s doctor knew little of the treatment and care of MND patients, such is the lack of awareness regarding this awful condition. It was by sheer fluke that another of her patients had also recently been diagnosed with it that she happened to have received an information pack from the Motor Neurone Disease Association.

It’s the lack of awareness of MND that I now find so hard to comprehend. After all, the greatest mind on the planet is trapped inside the body of a long term MND sufferer. Professor Stephen Hawking has been wheelchair bound for decades and at the forefront of the scientific world for just as long. Yet, when you mention Motor Neurone Disease to most people you are rewarded with a blank face.

MND, or Motor Neurone Disease is a progressive disease that attacks the motor neurones, or nerves, in the brain and spinal cord. This means messages gradually stop reaching muscles, which leads to weakness and muscle wasting. There is no set timescale for this, it may take weeks, months or even years but the end result is almost always the same. It can hit anyone at anytime, and we just don’t know why.

MND can affect how you walk, talk, eat, drink and even breathe. However, not all symptoms necessarily happen to everyone and it is unlikely they will all develop at the same time, or in any specific order.

Although there is currently no cure for MND, symptoms can be managed to help you achieve the best possible quality of life. Which is where people like the MND Association become absolutely invaluable.  By working in association with the patient and their family, the NHS and local social services they help make the life and palliative care of the sufferer so much easier and less stressful.

This isn’t all they do though as they use fundraising to promote awareness of this terrible condition, and help fund research into the causes and cure for MND. They are the only national charity in the UK that funds and promotes global research so the work they do and the support they receive is absolutely priceless and essential. With over 3,000 volunteers and 140 paid workers nationwide they need all the help they can get, from wherever they can get it.

Unfortunately Richard’s form of MND affected him in all the ways mentioned above and it was quick, far too quick. Although he was only diagnosed with MND in July of 2010 his overall health, breathing, ability to eat unaided and even his ability to walk deteriorated so rapidly that even the specialists were surprised. Sadly he fell asleep at lunchtime on the 17 March 2011 and never regained consciousness, passing away peacefully at 1.45am on the 18 March at St Margarets Hospice in Yeovil at the age of 67 just eight short months after diagnosis.

In hindsight it seems that he may well have had MND for a lot longer than that but with so little known about the causes of the condition it is extremely hard to diagnose, which is why research and funding is so, so important. So please help me raise a worthy amount to honour the memory of a wonderful man and sponsor me whatever you can afford to run the 2013 London Marathon in April.

http://www.mndassociation.org/