Rating: 5/5
Review:
A very good book
This is the story of the author's three-year childhood illness. Simon was nine years old when he developed serious symptoms, but was faced with a cast of characters familiar to sufferers from chronic, hard-to-diagnose conditions and their carers: a GP who blamed the patient when he didn't recover, a social worker who was certain that Simon was just desocialized, a doctor specializing in necks who insisted that the cause was loose neck ligaments, a blinkered psychiatrist, and so on. The desperation of being frightfully ill but not being believed is brilliantly evoked, and when he also developed pneumonia he says, "The pain was bad, but how wonderful to have such a simple, non-ambiguous illness.....You're ill, they give you pills,... you recover. I couldn't believe that a disease could be so easy."
The author gives brutally honest accounts of his own behaviour, some of which is dreadful. Much of it is understandable when we know what was going on within and around him, but it must have been very difficult for others to bear. There are also portraits of wonderful humanity in friends, the doctor who finally listened and correctly diagnosed a brain infection, and in Simon's mother. She received almost continual abuse from doctors and plenty from Simon himself, but her belief that he was ill and could be cured never faltered. Nor did her love for her son, and she is the quiet heroine of this story. She says, "Those who helped our son, not necessarily with cleverness, but with kindness and humility, we'll never forget. Ordinary people who recognised suffering whether it had a name or not." She sets an inspiring example of this herself.
This book wrung my heart, made me angry, made me laugh and thrilled me with triumph. Warmly recommended.
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