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38 | LIFE | Sunday Independent | 8 January 2012 CASE STUDY MD sufferer Fergus O’Farrell spent his childhood expecting to die before he hit 30, says David Young , but he’s now in his 40s, and enjoying life as a musician, artist and husband ‘They wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole. Record companies look for certain things. Using a wheelchair doesn’t fit that bill’ I THOUGHT I’D BE DEAD HEALTH D iagnosed at nine years of age with muscular dystrophy (MD), Fergus O’Farrell never expected to see his 30th birthday. But he has, and he continues to live a busy life, as he moves happily into his mid-40s. “I always thought that I’d land somewhere in the 20s, at best,” Fergus says, revisiting his teenage world, and affording himself a smile. “I suppose the prognosis back then could only stretch that far. Today, we seem to know so much more about MD.” He continues: “I remember being diagnosed in primary school, because, for a while beforehand, we kind of new something was amiss. I was stumbling a little, and becoming clumsy. “My folks were devastated. I didn’t fully understand, but it really knocked them — especially my dad. My mum seemed to handle the news that bit better. After that, we just got on with it.” Fergus was an active child, just like most others: running and racing with his friends; kicking ball; pedalling his bike. Naturally sociable, he joined in with everything. But others began to spot his difference. “In school, my football team won a competition,” he recounts. “And we were all getting medals, but I didn’t get one at the time — it was thought I didn’t contribute enough. But I got it eventually.” It is just another thing that Fergus has circumnavigated in his life with good grace. MD was quite the mystery in his childhood. And so, people easily mistook it for awkwardness or laziness, or plain old carelessness. Now, it is understood that there are several forms of MD: the more severe types limit lives to childhood, while others, such as Fergus’s, which is known as Emery-Dreifuss, allow a much longer span. Named after professors in the UK and US who first described the disorder, Emery-Dreifuss is still quite early in its framing — only being properly classified as a separate disease since the Sixties. The experts do know that, like other forms of muscular dystrophy, the muscles tighten and shorten, and thus limbs become more difficult to move. However, in Emery-Dreifuss, these contractures occur before the muscles actually weaken, and hinder the smooth movement of the joints sooner. In essence, the muscle fibres are degenerating and being replaced by fatty tissue; this leads to increasing difficulty extending the arms and legs, and this also consequently challenges movement, coordination and balance. Someone with Fergus’s MD would begin to walk on their toes during late childhood and early adolescence, while they would also display a difficulty in bending their neck forward. “I was riding a bike until I was about 15,” Fergus explains. “But soon after, I had to give it up, and use a moped instead. That lasted for a couple of years before I had to concede that I hadn’t the physical strength to lift it, or even hold it properly. My legs were first to go. But it was only a matter of time before my shoulders and arms were to follow. “I used to get a piggyback up the stairs in the last couple of years of secondary school.” Yet, Fergus’s telling of how he coped, while those around him got on and did all the things he wanted to do, is shaped by defiance rather than fear. “I was never scared,” he says. “I was pissed off, though — the bloody inconvenience of not being able to do what your mates were doing.” Unable to pursue sport, Fergus immersed himself in music. And, in Clongowes Wood, he was where he could do just that — learning to cope by losing himself in hours of piano practice. “It was a great place,” he smiles, “ it’s where I started the band — Interference — with my friends. I could play music for up to four or five hours a day. “I didn’t even want to do my Leaving Cert. I was so sure this was what I was going to do with my life,” he says, echoing the resolution of his youth. “But my parents encouraged me to sit the Leaving; my mother insisted. Once I got through, I headed for Dublin where myself and a few of my friends set up in the Winstanley Factory, opposite Christ Church Cathedral — to make music.” And they did, gaining recognition and respect. “But with my MD, it’s a slow and gradual losing of things,” Fergus describes, “so, over the years, it’s been a case of bye-bye piano, and bye-bye guitar, just as I was mastering them. That’s why I’ve taken up painting. “I’ve also had to change how I sing through speech therapy, because I have less lung capacity,” he continues. “Oddly enough, it has made me a better singer. Learning how to use my throat muscles.” Ever sanguine about his condition, Fergus holds no grudges, despite the music industry’s prejudices: “I heard through others, they wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole ’cause of the MD. “That’s just the way of it. Record companies are looking for certain things, and being in a wheelchair doesn’t fit that bill,” he says, untroubled by the rebuffing. It did not hinder his peers. A long-time friend, the Oscar-winning songwriter, Glen Hansard, invited Fergus to collaborate on the soundtrack to the movie Once. And when it all took off, Glen wanted Fergus to join him on tour in the US. “It was great fun,” he grins. “Playing Radio City and the Philadelphia shows, and New York. Travelling is tough, but I love it. Even airplane food.” These days, Fergus resides with his wife, Li, in a beautiful spot, overlooking Schull Bay, in West Cork. His parents are his nearest neighbours — their respective houses standing either side of his recording studio. Li, a Chinese nurse, met Fergus while he was in hospital in Cyprus, 18 years ago. Succumbing to a second bout of pneumonia that year, Fergus was downbeat about life. Then,

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Page 1: ITHOUGHT I’DBEDEADposthouse.ie/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/I_Thought_Id_Be... · 2017-04-20 · 38|LIFE|SundayIndependent|8January2012 CASESTUDY MDsuffererFergusO’Farrellspenthischildhoodexpecting

38 | LIFE | Sunday Independent | 8 January 2012

CASE STUDY

MDsuffererFergusO’Farrell spenthischildhoodexpectingtodiebeforehehit30,saysDavidYoung, buthe’snowinhis40s,andenjoying lifeasamusician,artistandhusband

‘Theywouldn’t touchmewith a barge pole. Recordcompanies lookforcertainthings. Using awheelchairdoesn’t fit that bill’

ITHOUGHTI’DBEDEAD

HEALTH

Diagnosed at nine years of agewithmuscular dystrophy(MD), Fergus O’Farrell neverexpected to see his 30thbirthday. But he has, and he

continues to live a busy life, as hemoveshappily into hismid-40s.“I always thought that I’d land

somewhere in the 20s, at best,” Fergussays, revisiting his teenageworld, andaffording himself a smile.“I suppose the prognosis back then

could only stretch that far. Today, weseem to know somuchmore aboutMD.”He continues: “I remember being

diagnosed in primary school, because,for a while beforehand, we kind of newsomethingwas amiss. I was stumbling alittle, and becoming clumsy.“My folks were devastated. I didn’t

fully understand, but it really knockedthem—especiallymy dad.Mymumseemed to handle the news that bitbetter. After that, we just got onwith it.”Fergus was an active child, just like

most others: running and racingwithhis friends; kicking ball; pedalling hisbike. Naturally sociable, he joined inwith everything. But others began tospot his difference.“In school, my football teamwon a

competition,” he recounts. “Andwewereall gettingmedals, but I didn’t getone at the time— it was thought Ididn’t contribute enough. But I got iteventually.”It is just another thing that Fergus has

circumnavigated in his life with goodgrace.MDwas quite themystery in hischildhood. And so, people easilymistookit for awkwardness or laziness, or plainold carelessness.Now, it is understood that there are

several forms ofMD: themore severetypes limit lives to childhood, whileothers, such as Fergus’s, which is

known as Emery-Dreifuss, allow amuch longer span.Named after professors in theUK and

USwho first described the disorder,Emery-Dreifuss is still quite early in itsframing— only being properly classifiedas a separate disease since the Sixties.The experts do know that, like otherforms ofmuscular dystrophy, themuscles tighten and shorten, and thuslimbs becomemore difficult tomove.However, in Emery-Dreifuss, thesecontractures occur before themusclesactually weaken, and hinder the smoothmovement of the joints sooner.In essence, themuscle fibres are

degenerating and being replaced by fattytissue; this leads to increasing difficultyextending the arms and legs, and thisalso consequently challengesmovement,coordination and balance.Someonewith Fergus’sMDwould

begin to walk on their toes during latechildhood and early adolescence, whiletheywould also display a difficulty inbending their neck forward.“I was riding a bike until I was about

15,” Fergus explains. “But soon after,I had to give it up, and use amopedinstead. That lasted for a couple of yearsbefore I had to concede that I hadn’t thephysical strength to lift it, or even hold itproperly.My legs were first to go. But itwas only amatter of time beforemyshoulders and armswere to follow.“I used to get a piggyback up the

stairs in the last couple of years ofsecondary school.”Yet, Fergus’s telling of how he coped,

while those around him got on and didall the things hewanted to do, is shapedby defiance rather than fear.“I was never scared,” he says. “I was

pissed off, though— the bloodyinconvenience of not being able to dowhat yourmates were doing.”

Unable to pursue sport, Fergusimmersed himself inmusic. And, inClongowesWood, hewaswhere he coulddo just that— learning to cope by losinghimself in hours of piano practice. “Itwas a great place,” he smiles, “ it’s whereI started the band— Interference—withmy friends. I could playmusic for up tofour or five hours a day.“I didn’t evenwant to domy Leaving

Cert. I was so sure this was what I wasgoing to dowithmy life,” he says,echoing the resolution of his youth. “Butmy parents encouragedme to sit theLeaving;mymother insisted. Once I gotthrough, I headed for Dublin wheremyself and a few ofmy friends set up intheWinstanley Factory, opposite ChristChurch Cathedral— tomakemusic.”And they did, gaining recognition

and respect. “But withmyMD,it’s a slow and gradual losing of things,”Fergus describes, “so, over the years,it’s been a case of bye-bye piano, andbye-bye guitar, just as I wasmasteringthem. That’s why I’ve taken uppainting.

“I’ve also had to change how I singthrough speech therapy, because I haveless lung capacity,” he continues. “Oddlyenough, it hasmademe a better singer.Learning how to usemy throatmuscles.”Ever sanguine about his condition,

Fergus holds no grudges, despite themusic industry’s prejudices: “I heardthrough others, they wouldn’t touchmewith a barge pole ’cause of theMD.“That’s just the way of it. Record

companies are looking for certainthings, and being in awheelchair doesn’tfit that bill,” he says, untroubled by therebuffing.It did not hinder his peers. A long-time

friend, the Oscar-winning songwriter,GlenHansard, invited Fergus tocollaborate on the soundtrack to themovieOnce. Andwhen it all took off,Glenwanted Fergus to join him on tourin theUS.“It was great fun,” he grins. “Playing

Radio City and the Philadelphia shows,andNewYork. Travelling is tough, but Ilove it. Even airplane food.”These days, Fergus resides with his

wife, Li, in a beautiful spot, overlookingSchull Bay, inWest Cork. His parentsare his nearest neighbours— theirrespective houses standing either sideof his recording studio.Li, a Chinese nurse, met Fergus

while hewas in hospital in Cyprus,18 years ago. Succumbing to a secondbout of pneumonia that year, Ferguswas downbeat about life. Then,

Page 2: ITHOUGHT I’DBEDEADposthouse.ie/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/I_Thought_Id_Be... · 2017-04-20 · 38|LIFE|SundayIndependent|8January2012 CASESTUDY MDsuffererFergusO’Farrellspenthischildhoodexpecting

8 January 2012 | Sunday Independent | LIFE | 39

RUDE HEALTH

Ifearedfluvaccinesgivenbypharmacieswouldcausetrouble,saysMauriceGueret. It’ssurelya jobfordoctorsandnurses

MICHAEL

MACSW

EENEY

/PROVISIO

N

Imentioned an old arthritisrub fit for a President beforeChristmas and have beeninundatedwith queriesabout sourcing itsingredients. Oil ofWintergreen is the one thatseems to have caused themost trouble, but I amhappily informed that it isavailable, particularly inolder, family-run chemistshops, where the skill ofcompounding old remedieshas not been lost. BBCtelevision ran a fascinatingseries last year about aVictorian pharmacy,highlighting thewonderfulbreadth of knowledge andtalent pharmacists once hadabout devising andmakingup traditional remedies. I'ma great believer in the realbenefits thatmodernprescriptionmedicine hasbrought to healthcare, but itis a shame that so fewpharmacies still offer tocompound personalhomespun remedies fortheir patients' minoreveryday ailments as theyonce did. Fish blubber oilsand surplus vitamins are avery poor substitute.

On the subject of arthritis, Ihad a very nice email from agentleman in Limerickwhotoldme of another oldremedy, not a rub, but oneto be taken orally. It came,he tellsme, fromAmericaand the ingredients are abag of raisins (white orgolden ones, not dark) and ahalf bottle of gin. The raisinsshould be inserted into thegin until the bottle is fulland the bottle is then closedfor at least oneweek. Thedosage is anything betweenseven and nine raisins perday. Tomy knowledge, therehave not been anymedicaltrials published on thistreatment, and as I have yet

game has begun and aninquiry is under way to findout how trainingwassanctioned, approved andconducted. I shall have a lotmore to say on thismatter, ifthe final report appears inpublic. But there are threeimmediatematters that aretroublingme, and I worrythat theymay not becovered in the report.WhywasHIQA, theHealthInformation andQualityAuthority, not given themandate to conduct aninquiry into this seriouspublic healthmatter?Whywas the pharmacist'strade union (the IPU), andnot the regulator (thePharmaceutical Society),involved in such animportantmatter as thetraining of pharmacists inconducting invasiveprocedures such asvaccination? And finally,whenDr Reilly sanctionedthe delivery of flu vaccinesin pharmacy shops, hadhe satisfied himself thattheywould be trainedadequately and that theirtrainingwould haveadequatemedicalsupervision? The debacle isa public relations disasterfor Irish pharmacy. Some ofthe pharmacists who feelparticularly hard done byare those who chosenot to get involved in fluvaccination because it was afield inwhich nurses anddoctors had particularexpertise. Flu vaccination isimportant for at-risk groupsand those whowork at thecoalface of the healthservice. It should bedelivered cheaply andconveniently— by thosewho have been vaccinatingyou for generations.

DrMauriceGueret is aGPand editor of the ‘IrishMedical Directory’[email protected]

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like a turd, and smelledlike a turd,MrMartinwould ask someone elseto handle it while hecommissioned a report onthe application of shine.His department sponsoredsnooker tournaments inCitywest hotel while hespent his effortsmovingsmokers outside licensedpremises and collectinginternational awards forfresh air. Health workersknew theywere on to a goodthing. Everyone fromhealthboardmembers to seniordoctors, trolley porters toward sisters, queued upoutsideMicheal's office forpay rises, bonuses, reducedhours, expenses, grants andallowances. Trade unionsstarted to believe in SantaClaus again. No demandwas too extravagant. Bitsand pieces of healthfacilities were opened upunder his watch, a fewextensions here and the oddattic conversion there, butMartin's reign left little ofsubstance. The number oflocal public houses inIreland entered intocatastrophic decline and thenumber of smokersremained exactly the same.A legacy as empty as theparty he now leads.

At the tail end of lastsummer, HealthMinisterDr James Reilly declaredthat hewas allowingchemists to inject fluvaccines in the autumn. Iwas a bit puzzled, becausenot a single pharmacisthad been trained at thetime to give injectablemedication.We now knowthat hundreds of customerswere subsequentlygiven a children's doseof the vaccine and hadto be recalled forreimmunisation. A blame

to personally succumb toarthritis, I cannotmake anyinformed personalcomment either. But Iwould suggest that if youcan get the gin contentapproved byMrGay Byrneand his Road SafetyAuthority, it'll do you verylittle harm.

You are familiar with the oldadage about your healthbeing your wealth.Well, inIreland, the converse is alsotrue.Wealth can buy youearlier appointments, moreclinical time, bettercommunications,comfortable surroundingsand infinitely betterhospital food. Yes, even inso-called ‘public' hospitals,themenus offered to privatepatients are often starklydifferent to those admittedto public wards. Apartheidhas been institutionalised inour health service forgenerations now and you'dbe very foolish to listen topolitical waffle about theintroduction of a single-tierhealth service. It won't behappening any time soon.Your Government knows it.It's just that theywon'tadmit it, yet.

There was a brief timewhenequal access for all couldhave been a reality.MichealMartin TDwasMinister forHealth and tens of billionsof tax revenues werefunnelled through hisHawkinsHouse piggy-bank.For amanwho talked a lotabout optics, the wordvisionwas completelyforeign toMrMartin.Obsessive about spin andpuff, he forged anentire career from thestudious avoidance ofnettle-grasping. If it looked

in his late 20s, he feared theworst.“I was thinking— ‘ah— that’s it.

This is the pits’,” he says. “AsMD goeson, you becomemore andmore prone topneumonia— and I wasn’t feeling goodabout the future. But then Imet Li.“We’remarried 14 years,” he exclaims.

“And it’s been the best thing inmy life.To have someone to share things with—what were the chances?Me fromsouth-west Ireland, and Li fromsouth-west China.“The daily battles are the simple

things,” he says. “Stuff like toileting.But a nightly dose of Senokot usuallysorts that out. And Li helpsme throughthe day. I’ve got a pressure-relief-systembed, with a computerisedmattress. Ahoist— theworks. So Li doesn’t have tolift me,” he explains.Candidly, he details that it wasn’t

because of hisMD that the couple didn’tstart a family. Although the hereditarypossibility of a son having his father’sconditionwas explored.IfMDwere to occur at all, it might

have been in a grandchild— the chancesbeing quite low. The choice not to takethe parenthood pathwasmore to dowith the vagaries of being amusician.“Music— it’s a rough game. Often I

wonder if I’d have been better off beingborn tone deaf,” Fergus offers with agrin, “Imight havemade a fewmorebob.” That’s O’Farrell for you.

See www.interference.ie

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