The 6th of February 2010, is etched in my memory like a freeze-frame from a movie.

I was 48, living a life that seemed lifted from a dream. Married, with two kids (16 & 10), running a successful business, and relishing a golf handicap of 11. Life was great.

My days were a whirlwind of family ski trips, shuttling kids to sports, and indulging in coffee and cake trips with mum. Life was, in a word, great. We were a tight-knit family, and our shared adventures, especially on the ski slopes, were the stuff of cherished memories.

Little did I know what the future had in store.

It all started innocently enough. Pre-diagnosis, during one of our family skiing escapades, I noticed an unusual struggle while turning right. My left leg muscles felt weak, an oddity that I brushed off at the time.

But life has a way of dropping hints, and soon, an ache in my left shoulder and whispers of a slight limp reached my ears.

That chilly evening in February, I found myself in the waiting room of Preston Hospital Neurology Department, clad in my blue ski jacket, a lone figure amidst the quiet anticipation.

Little did I know that my life was poised on the edge of a precipice, and those mundane minutes would shape my existence in ways unimaginable.