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Seymour M Hersh

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Seymour M Hersh

Given that we have MND Scotland on our home strip and with the tragic passing of big ZalI thought sharing these two articles from the Sunday Telegraph would be worth our fans reading. That and Doddie Weir is an absolute legend and worthy of all our support. 

 

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/rugby-union/2021/10/10/doddie-weir-exclusive-truth-cannot-now-wash-dress-visit-wee/

 

Doddie Weir exclusive: 'The truth is that I cannot now wash, dress or visit the wee boys’ room without help'
In an extract from his new book, the Scot writes candidly about the fall which sapped his confidence and the reality of his MND fight
By
Doddie Weir
10 October 2021 • 8:00am
 Former Scottish Rugby International, Doddie Weir who has been suffering from MND for the past five years pictured at his farm near Launder in the Scottish Borders, Thursday 07 October 2021 - Doddie Weir exclusive: 'The truth is that I cannot now wash, dress or visit the wee boys’ room without help'

Thursday 18 February, 2021

Between the weather and the lockdown, I’ve not been able to test drive the shiny new trainers I got from Santa. However, they’ll get their first outing of the New Year accompanying me on my trip to my chiropractor, Donald Francis, who had just opened a new torture chamber, I mean clinic, in Galashiels, which he has asked me to officially open.

Life, however, is never that simple and occasionally, in trying to do good, fate conspires to take you in another direction, and in this case, that means downwards.

The combination of new trainers and a change in surface resulted in my entrance into the chiropractor’s chamber being slightly more spectacular than planned. I accidentally stubbed my toe and that was the last I remember.

Down I go, like a Scots pine being felled, except I can’t remotely get any of my branches out to cushion the impact. Wham. I can’t remember a thing, knocked cold.

I wake up in the ambulance, with the wife shouting, ‘Take him away’. I feel sore. I feel my teeth with my tongue. One appears to be missing, a tooth that is, not my tongue. Crivvens.

I know I’ve banged my eye, but I can’t put my hand up to feel the damage. This accident results in a day spent in the Borders General Hospital, a head scan and an X-ray, and five stitches – proper big ones which had the boys calling me Frankenstein. 

If the dent to my head is visible, the dents to my body are less so. As is the dent to my confidence. That can’t be seen but it’s there, and it hurts. It isn’t the falling over, or the structural damage. It’s the knowledge that there could be a few more coming this way. To be expected, perhaps, but still unwanted. Oh, what is happening?


Sunday 14 March, 2021

Mother’s Day, Mothering Sunday, call it what you will. Even when your mum isn’t here, you don’t forget them. A day for a bit of reflection of what you miss and what went before.

A year ago, I visited my mum’s grave. It was the first time I had gone since her passing and it just seemed like a nice, and right, thing to do. Mother was laid to rest in the old graveyard at Stow St Mary of Wedale and Heriot Church. She had certain stipulations regarding her funeral and resting place, and that was carried out as per her wishes. 

Visiting the cemetery this time, two years after losing her, it comes back to me that her funeral wasn’t without the odd wee drama. Robbie Brown, the funeral director and a man I packed down with for several years in the Melrose scrum, knew there would be one or two issues in accessing the grave, because of the location and it being on a hill. No problem, we had plenty of able bodied men to help him. But, I think now, mum might have moved around in her coffin a little, given the jiggling and jostling it took finally getting her into place.

Today, I am reminded of that as I make my own way up to her grave. There are several steps, then an uphill pathway that leads to the lair. The steps feel massive, not quite the north face of the Eiger, but trying to lift my legs is nearly impossible. The climb is nearly too much for me. 

Ben picks some snowdrops and ties a wee elastic band around them to hold them together. Lovely and simple, which, to be fair, is not what you would necessarily be thinking when you had to man-handle me. For what goes up has to come down and that was easier said than done, as firstly gravity takes over, and secondly, I can see where I might end up. That sapping of confidence is becoming telling.

On a daily basis, I don’t really notice any major deterioration in my demeanour. Where it is easier to see is when there is a gap between activities or escapades, like a trip to the dentist, or the chiropractor, or out our drive and on to the track in front of the house. It only needs to be a couple of weeks, and I can tell that I have limitations that weren’t there the last time.

When that is a year, as it was between trips to mum’s grave, I’m all too aware of my decline. What I could do 12 months ago, or what was manageable, is now virtually impossible. If I see it, others must see it. If I don’t admit it, maybe others will ignore it as well. But for how long?

Sunday 27 June, 2021

Under the heading ‘Well, we’re up this far so it would be rude not to pay him a visit’, my Sunday breakfast is interrupted by the appearance of a couple of well-recognised interlopers, none other than Will Greenwood and Scott Quinnell, two former adversaries, two former team-mates, two friends for life. 

We’ve all found ourselves in the same place, at the same time, on a few occasions since, but it was the Lions tour in 1997 that brought us together, for always. After the year we’ve had, it was just brilliant to see them. Will was officially at Bluecairn to do some interviews and filming, Scott was here to watch a professional at work. Best being honest.


Needless to say, old times were discussed by three old-timers when we became even better players in the space of an hour than we had previously given ourselves credit for. Ach, it’s an age thing. 

Be grateful for small mercies, it is said, and I’m really appreciative of these boys giving up their time to come and see me and the family. Thinking about it afterwards, it’s hard not to be just a bit cheesed off that instead of mixing with guys like this over the last year, we’ve been confined to barracks. Well, I suppose I should be thankful I’m here to say hello to them.

Thursday 1 July, 2021

I have become aware, through various bits of chat, that one or two people were shocked and upset by my appearance at the end of the Lions Trek at Murrayfield. I don’t mean that my hair and attire weren’t up to their normal high standards, but more that I looked unsteady on my feet and needed a wee bit of help to complete my 35-mile hike, 34.9 miles of which I completed by car. But, folks, ‘we are where we are’ and this is where MND has got me.

For the past 12 months, most of my public appearances have been on-screen, wearing make-up, of course, but all at a very safe distance. I have, like others, become a postage stamp, head and shoulders only, as I pop up on TV, podcasts and the like. In essence, people see the bits that work. The fact is, what folk saw in the video clips from Murrayfield that day is, for me, the new norm. And the truth is that I cannot now wash, dress or visit the wee boys’ room (big boys' in my case) without help. 

It was always going to be like this, but I might have inadvertently given the disease some assistance along the way.

The fall I had at the chiropractor’s earlier in the year (number one on my Richter scale) did me more damage than perhaps I was willing to admit to anyone, even myself. The physical damage – what I did to my head, my ribs and limbs – all healed, eventually. What it did mentally is immeasurable. My confidence, where before I was still steady, still walking with more than a casual stride, suddenly became baby steps, even a shuffle, which in itself is more inherently dangerous given the increased ‘trip factor’.

When you do have time to think, which is often, either sitting in my chair in front of the telly or outside during the nicer weather, I’m of an opinion – which is always right – that that fall took six months to get over. I could barely talk for a month, as I couldn’t breathe and speak at the same time. No bad thing some would say. But everything became an effort. 

Those six months I refer to is an incalculable period. Was it six months out of the last year, six months spread out over however long I may last, or has it taken six months off my life? An optimist would like to say ‘you’re over it’; the pessimist might see it lopped off what’s left of my time here. You get time to think things through, sitting in your chair. And I still don’t know the answer.

 

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/rugby-union/2021/10/09/doddie-weir-exclusive-no-beating-motor-neurone-disease-not-beaten/

 

Doddie Weir exclusive: ‘There is no beating motor neurone disease but I’m not beaten yet’
Weir’s condition is worsening but it only makes him more determined than ever to make a difference
By
Daniel Schofield,
 DEPUTY RUGBY UNION CORRESPONDENT
9 October 2021 • 8:00am
 Exclusive Doddie Weir interview: ‘There is no beating motor neurone disease – but I’m not beaten yet’ 
 


Doddie Weir’s eyes dance with mischief. It is like there is a ceilidh going on, with his pupils being led by a thought process that dashes here and there. First he wants to show me his new golf buggy and firefighter’s helmet – both resplendent in his signature tartan – and then his new favourite toy, a prototype Guinness dispenser that was sent to him by a high-level contact from Diageo.

The glass is titled at a 45-degree angle, the can is chilled to the perfect temperature and there is even the mandatory 119.5 seconds pause to deliver a perfect pint of the black stuff. Inevitably the machine is quickly wheeled into action despite my half-hearted protests: one for me, one for him, which has become a daily tradition. “I can’t tell you why but I do think it gives me a wee boost,” he says. “Well, they say, ‘Guinness is good for you’, don’t they?”

The eyes remain the same, but much else has changed since Telegraph Sport first visited him on the farm in January 2018. Back then, motor neurone disease was not yet interfering with his daily life. He retained his job at the Hutchinson sewage company – “Your No 2s are our No 1 priority” – and tackled every task on the farm, no matter how big or small. I remember seeing my hand being swallowed into a hand the size of baseball glove when we first met.

Those great bear-like arms appear now as shrivelled husks, as if the disease has sucked the muscle out of them through a straw. His independence has slowly faded too. The Guinness is drunk through a straw in a glass held by his wife, Kathy. Help is required for basic tasks such as dressing and washing.

Former Scottish Rugby International, Doddie Weir who has been suffering from MND for the past five years

Seeing him in the flesh for the first time since the start of the pandemic is shocking and heartbreaking in equal measure. He now requires a neck brace and assistance to walk since his confidence was badly shaken by a fall in February.

None of this has in any way affected his spirit or his sense of purpose. As he says on more than one occasion: “There is no beating MND – but I’m not beaten yet.”

Given Weir was told that he would be in a wheelchair within 12 months and dead within three years of his initial diagnosis, he would be ahead on points on most judges’ scorecards. If anything his zeal is stronger than ever, even if his motivation has changed.

“This started as a way of finding a cure to MND but it has grown a bit bigger than that,” Weir says. “Yes we are looking after ourselves but we also need to look after the wider MND family. To be hit by this disease at any age is horrific.

“I have not had a bad life. I’ve seen a lot of things, my 50th, wife’s 50th, my boys passing their driving tests. I still have plenty to give and plenty to do, but you hear of people getting diagnosed at 20 – they have not lived. When I hear about their stories, that’s why I work a lot harder to make a difference.”

Since his diagnosis before Christmas 2016, Weir has measured his life by these milestones. Live long enough to turn 50; live long enough to see his wife turn 50; live long enough to see his three sons, Hamish, Angus and Ben, turn 18.

Doddie Weir who has been suffering from MND for the past five years 

His fall eight months ago represents another far less happy landmark, representing a distinct before and after moment in his experience of the disease. Despite a childhood spent horse-riding and a working life split between the farm and a rugby pitch, Weir had never been knocked out until Feb 18 this year, when he was guest of honour for the opening of his chiropractor Donald Francis’s new clinic in Galashiels. Weir was feeling tired. He was also wearing a new pair of trainers on a new surface, although he does not remember exactly what caused him to stumble.

Prior to that, he had four falls with MND. Three were alcohol-related. The fourth was the result of a battle of wills with a bad-tempered bull that Weir conclusively lost. On each occasion, he was – in a fashion – able to pick himself up and dust himself off. This time he stayed down.

With the ravaging effects of MND, Weir has no capacity to break his fall. Imagine being pushed over with your hands in your pockets. Despite the toll that the disease has taken, Weir is still a big man – 6ft 6in and 17st – and the resulting impact not only knocked him out but dislodged a tooth and spilt enough blood to require five stitches. The longer-lasting effect, as detailed in his new book, Doddie’s Diary, has been on his confidence.

“Every time I stand up, I have a wee look around and think, I don’t really want to fall over here,” Weir says. “That was not the case before. I was happy to walk around by myself. It was not massive distances, maybe just 10 metres to the kitchen. Now, I’m just so much more conscious.

“It took me six months to recover from that last fall, and I am still not the same. My speech is a lot more laboured than it used to be. It takes longer to recover from big efforts. I just don’t want to risk another fall.”

Doddie Weir who has been suffering from MND for the past five years 

An MND diagnosis is like being inside a fly trap where you slide inexorably in one direction. Yet Weir has refused to accept the cards that fate has dealt him. He has challenged medical orthodoxies and complacencies at every turn.

“The medical industry is quite regimented,” he says. ‘You need to do this now. You should get a peg, a feeding tube, or sleep with an oxygen mask.’ I am such a stubborn individual that I have said no to all of this. I know I am annoying some people, but in my mind and my head I am not ready for it. Is that stupidity or not? I don’t know, but I am still going.”

Weir has bashed scientists’ heads together in a way no other individual has done before to make them work together, but is still amazed by the lack of joined-up thinking. “I recently learnt that 52 per cent of trials are never published because they have failed in some way,” Weir says. “Even if you do not get a successful outcome, you can still learn from the research. All that information is being wasted.”

Together with former rugby league player Rob Burrow and ex-footballer Stephen Darby, Weir has been a driving force behind a petition calling for the Government to increase its funding for MND research to £50 million over five years. A badly timed Covid-19 “ping” prevented him from delivering the petition in person, but he will make sure his voice is heard nonetheless.

“At the moment, all we are getting is lip service and platitudes,” Weir says. “We saw with the Covid-19 vaccine what can be achieved when minds are focused. We are asking for a tiny, tiny fraction of funding that we have shown that we can match. If we get that funding it will enable us to employ the best scientific brains on longer contracts. We have come so far, we just need that extra push to get over the other side of the hill.”

Doddie’s Diary, Doddie Weir’s account of his past three years living with MND, is published on Tuesday

 

 

Edited by Seymour M Hersh
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It's hard to comment despite reading it twice.

It's also hard to comprehend how it must really feel .Its a beautiful read although that doesnt seem an apt description.

 

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Fxxx the SPFL

met the big man on a couple of occasions and even had a drink with him in Melrose rugby club. such a nice guy and such a heartbreaking story horrible horrible disease. That's quite a hard read.

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Seymour M Hersh
9 minutes ago, **** the SPFL said:

met the big man on a couple of occasions and even had a drink with him in Melrose rugby club. such a nice guy and such a heartbreaking story horrible horrible disease. That's quite a hard read.

 

It is a hard read but I'll be buying the book because for all the heartbreaking stuff his attitude is phenomenal and truly uplifting. 

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5 hours ago, Seymour M Hersh said:

 

It is a hard read but I'll be buying the book because for all the heartbreaking stuff his attitude is phenomenal and truly uplifting. 

It's in the writing and your description is spot on.

 

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