Five months ago I learned I have a chronic disease for which there is no cure.

The first signs hit in the same week I’d run 20 miles while training for the Folkestone half-marathon.

Little did I know that come race day, I would be struggling to walk around my flat. Irony can be so cruel.

It all started on Tuesday, September 10, when I woke to find my left hand was numb and assumed I had just slept in an odd position, cutting off its blood supply.

But when the sensation persisted and spread up my arm and across the whole left-side of my body, I grew worried.

Gently hammering my knees, arms and wrists, my GP checked my reflexes and asked me to follow her finger with my eyes as she moved it in front of my face.

She was concerned, but unsure what was causing my symptoms.

I spent the next few afternoons and evenings at William Harvey Hospital searching for answers before I was finally admitted for observation - doctors needed an MRI to narrow down the possible causes.

As time passed, my sense of balance went, along with my energy, fine motor skills and mental focus.

I developed a tremor in my left arm - if I reached out it would ‘dance’, as if I were casting a spell.

After three days I got my scan and was then discharged with steroids and instructions to wait for a call from a neurologist.

Back home, tasks so ordinary before that I did them without thinking, like buttoning up a shirt or shuffling a pack of cards, became frustratingly difficult or plain impossible.

My hand simply would not follow orders and I felt each day, no matter how much I slept, exhaustion like I had never known before.

A diary entry from this period reads: “Feeling so strange, suspended in life. I’m still myself, but less so.”

During these initial weeks, the cause of my sudden disability was hard to pin down.

At first, doctors suspected a nerve issue in my neck, then a vitamin B12 deficiency.

It was only after MRI images revealed “demyelinating lesions” in my spine and brain, that they began talking about multiple sclerosis.

After more scans, a lumbar puncture, an EEG and lot of blood tests, my condition was confirmed in late October, just weeks before my 30th birthday.

By the time the diagnosis finally came, there had been so much teasing speculation that it didn’t come as a shock.

Following months of uncertainty, it was almost a relief to know for sure.

Still, the weight of the mental and emotional burden which had been eerily growing for weeks suddenly became real.

The worries I had refused to entertain out of half-hearted hope that it would turn out to be a B12 thing after all, suddenly engaged me.

How bad are the symptoms going to get? What does this mean for my career? What about my family life, how will my wife respond to all this?

I felt sorry for her - just months after our wedding the “in sickness and in health” clause had met trial by fire.

If you don’t know anyone with multiple sclerosis, chances are somebody you know does.

MS - as it is commonly known - affects an estimated one in 400 people in the UK.

While it is more common among women, my case is typical in another way - symptoms usually first appear between age 20 and 40.

It is an autoimmune disease, by which the immune system damages the myelin sheath of nerve cells in the spine, brain and optic nerve.

Describing it to me, a neurologist once used the metaphor of the insulation around electrical cables going to and from the brain being worn off - causing the signal to be disrupted.

This can cause a wide array of symptoms - from localised numbness and weakness, to the feeling of electric shocks running through the body.

MS can mess with one’s eyesight, resulting in blurriness, washed-out colours or double vision.

And it can have cognitive effects too, impacting memory, concentration power and problem solving.

There are several types of MS. Mine is the most common - relapsing remitting - where patients experience intermittent periods of debilitating symptoms.

These are known as relapses, and are followed by periods of relief in which symptoms mostly disappear.

The catch is, after each relapse, some portion of the disability becomes permanent so over time one becomes increasingly impaired.

On top of that, one MS symptom that, to a lesser or greater degree, is always there is fatigue.

There really should be another word for it because fatigue makes it sound akin to everyday tiredness and this is a very different beast.

Imagine you’ve just stepped off a long-haul flight, then walked 10 miles with low blood sugar and carrying your weekly grocery shop.

Now bottle that exhaustion and take a syringe-full straight to the heart - it hits you hard, and fast, and sometimes in no proportion to what you’ve done that day.

I could have a Saturday lie-in, followed by breakfast and read the paper and then - boom - sandbagged.

My head is heavy, walking feels like wading through sludge, at times even raising my hands to a keyboard or my voice to speak requires a concerted effort - it’s ridiculous.

But that’s not all. If I push myself too hard, the fatigue can carry over for days.

Following months of uncertainty, it was almost a relief to know for sure it was MS...

It might seem unremarkable that one’s energy levels can take more than a night’s rest to recoup, but at this scale, fatigue has changed my relationship with time.

I used to exercise for self-improvement, now, out of self-preservation, I am cautious not to exercise by accident lest I scupper precious stamina for the next day.

Before MS, I never had to choose between doing housework or visiting a friend on the weekend, and being able to complete a day’s work come Monday.

Life is increasingly a game of trade-offs.

The relapse subsided in October, and after several weeks off, I returned to the office, albeit with markedly less energy and mental sharpness than I had previously enjoyed.

Being back at work was difficult. The job of a news reporter is challenging in the best of times.

Clued in, on the ball, spinning plates and filing accurate copy at a rate of knots - hardly work that lends itself to clinical brain fog.

I found myself losing my train of thought during interviews and generally running out of mental power long before 5pm.

Fortunately, I was well supported by my editors and fellow reporters - help for which I am very grateful.

I also feel extremely privileged to have the NHS.

Be it a shortage of GP appointments, overcrowded emergency rooms or slow ambulance response times, the service gets a lot of flak.

Based on my own experience, I could not say a bad word about it.

In particular, I must say the staff at my local GP practice in Canterbury have been incredible.

Since the first call that September morning, I have always felt they were in my corner in my fight against this thing.

My GP advocated for me to get the specialist help I needed, took the time to listen, encourage and advise me, even called to check in on how I was doing.

Doctors haven’t always had all the answers to my questions: “How much longer will this relapse last? Will I go back to normal? When should I expect another flare-up?”

But that’s because, as much research as has been done into MS, there’s still much we don’t know - such as what causes it.

In that vacuum of understanding exist well-intentioned but unproven tips on what MS patients should or shouldn’t do as well as a whole lot of nonsense.

Some books swear by certain diets and exercise regimens, others suggest vitamin supplements, oxygen therapy or acupuncture.

An acquaintance of mine who also has the disease says she was once advised to eat lots of apple skins to keep symptoms at bay, while a family member suggested I had developed MS because I had taken the Covid vaccine.

Before MS, I never had to choose between doing housework or visiting a friend on the weekend, and being able to complete a day’s work come Monday...

One thing I have come to understand is that it’s an illness that affects everyone a little differently.

And what my doctors tell me is to stay active, eat a balanced diet and keep my mental health in check, which sounds like good advice for anyone.

In November I joined the waiting list to begin treatment - a “disease modifying drug” that should reduce the likelihood of future relapses.

I was told to expect my first dose in March.

“But is there a danger I could have another relapse before then?” I asked my neurologist.

“You would have to be very unlucky,” he replied. “Probably just a 10% chance.”

I should have known better than to tempt fate with such questions.

I rang in 2025 with a new relapse - this time spasticity in my left leg and optic neuritis (inflammation of the optic nerve), which caused poor sight in my left eye along with double vision.

The unexpected worsening of my condition did mean I was moved urgently up the waiting list, and was able to start treatment in January.

But at the time of writing, vision and mobility issues continue to bother me.

These particular symptoms may yet improve, but six months into this disease, I’m conscious that things will never go back to how they were before all this began.

It’s been a tough pill to swallow - at times it’s felt like I’ve aged several decades in just a few months.

I miss the blissful confidence of a fully able body, feeling fast, powerful, and well rested. I miss running.

But I’m anything if not hopeful. The treatment I’m on should mean I’m less disabled in the long term, but won’t make me “better”.

In order to overcome MS, the onus is ultimately on me to become better - more efficient with my energy, more disciplined about my general health, mentally stronger.

I had my entry to the Folkestone half-marathon deferred to this year.

I’m uncertain if I’ll be able to participate, but for now, it sure is fun to think about.

Information about MS and support for patients is available through the MS Society and the MS Trust.