What am I - a short story
A few months ago, the Evening Standard ran a short story competition. As an occasional writer, I decided to turn my hand to it using my stage name of Adam Stevens, thinking nothing would come of it.
Initially I got an email telling me that I’d made it onto the long-list of 24 and I was over the moon. Then I was told I’d made it onto the shortlist of the final ten and couldn’t believe it. Would something come of it after all?
I didn’t win. So in essence, no. Yet I did have a short story that clearly resonated with people, so I wanted to share it with other members of the MS community to see if it would resonate with you, too.
What Am I
I’m an actor.
Or at least, I used to be.
There’s a good chance that you’ve seen me in something. Soaps; comedy shows; stage productions. I’ve done the lot.
I was chipping away nicely at the industry, climbing the ladder with no idea of what it was propped up against.
Then, in 2018, I began to suffer dizzy spells. I started to see double. The doctor thought it might be migraines, so he made me give up caffeine.
It wasn’t migraines.
An MRI showed lesions on my brain. Dozens of them.
When I couldn’t stand on one leg without falling over and the double-vision became permanent, a specialist I’d had to pay a lot of money that I didn’t have to see told me that I had relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis.
Like President Bartlet in The West Wing but without the secret service escort.
I lost my mind for a bit.
Told my agent there was no point in them representing me anymore.
Considered suicide.
All I’d ever known was acting. I didn’t find it until I was in my early 20s but as soon as I did I felt like I was home.
Suddenly I couldn’t do it anymore. How could I pretend to be someone else when I couldn’t even stand up unaided?
I got an injection of botox into the muscle of my eye to stop me seeing double. Does one eye look younger than the other now?
Ordered a walking stick off Amazon so I don’t fall over when I’m outside.
Began seeing a counsellor. Robyn. She was great. Talked me through everything. Gave me the courage to talk to my wife and my friends about the feelings I’d been having.
It’s four years later and I still haven’t told my mum and dad that I wanted to take their son away from them.
As I felt more grounded, I got a new agent and started looking for work again. Got new headshots with my walking stick in.
Haven’t had any work, though. Persona non grata in an industry that doesn’t like to take chances at the best of times.
When the pandemic hit, I thought I was going to die. I’d had treatment which is a form of chemotherapy, so my immune system was compromised at exactly the wrong time in human history for that to be the case.
Decided that I’d buy an OLED TV and an expensive sound system. Can’t take it with you, can you?
Didn’t die.
Suddenly worried how I’d pay my tax bill, given the money for it was on a bracket on the wall in the living room showing repeats of Friends.
Ross and Rachel looked great, though.
There are advantages to having MS, of course.
I can get a good space when I go to Tesco.
Get on the plane before everyone else.
Play Wordle first thing in the morning and then again at night because I’ve forgotten the answer.
Mostly it’s not great.
Can’t really see properly.
Can’t walk without an aid.
Know that at some point, things will get worse.
That’s the thing about a degenerative disease: you know the future isn’t bright; isn’t orange.
It’s downhill, you just don’t know when or how or whether you’ll be able to cope.
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and not be able to use my legs.
Perhaps I won’t be able to swallow any more.
Begin to forget more than just Wordle.
I keep going. Just because the future isn’t something to look forward to doesn’t mean that the present isn’t worth living.
Living as what, though?
I’m not an actor any more. Haven’t done that for nearly four years.
It’s all I’ve ever known, but it’s not what I know now.
We don’t want kids, so I’m not a father.
Tried to do a playwriting course and wasn’t very good at it, so I’m not a playwright.
I host podcasts sometimes, but there isn’t exactly loads of money in it if you’re not famous.
There’s a good chance you might have seen me in something, but I’m not famous. Mostly forgettable.
Bit part jobs were my career, until even the bits dried up. Why take a chance on someone that needs a walking stick when you can pick someone that doesn’t?
The industry is getting better at using disabled people, but I’m not disabled enough.
Use a walking stick rather than wheelchair.
All my limbs still attached.
So I’m disabled, but not.
A writer, but not.
A person, but not.
I’m an actor.
Or at least I used to be.
Maybe I will be again one day.
For now, I keep going. What else is there to do?
