When I was a junior barrister, I was sent to a magistrates’ court in the East Midlands to represent a jockey who had been caught speeding on the M1. This wasn’t the first time I’d represented that particular jockey. Whilst I could tell you about how the jockey left court, still driving, with 16 (or was it 17?) points on his licence, the thing I really remember about that day was going to visit my aunt who had MND who lived near to the court. By that time, her illness had progressed so she couldn’t speak but her eyes still lit up when I arrived and she really enjoyed hearing all about my court case.
 
As MND had robbed my aunt of her speech, my uncle had made a cardboard chart with the letters of the alphabet on them and he would patiently go through each letter waiting for my aunt to blink so that they could communicate with one another. It was heart-breaking to see the impact of MND on my aunt but keeping that line of communication with my uncle was so important to both of them.
 
Fast forward, nearly 20 years, and my dear friend Pete was diagnosed with MND. Having seen my aunt’s loss of speech, I knew the same fate was likely to come Pete’s way at some point. This seemed particularly cruel because Pete was a craftsman of words, whether preaching from the pulpit, teaching his students, or just generally saying lovely encouraging and kind words to those he came into contact with.
 
The last time I heard Pete speak was at the end of 2019. By then, speaking was a struggle and he didn’t quite sound the way he used to. However, it wasn’t the last time that Pete put together a sentence to communicate what he wanted to say.
 
Unlike when my aunt was ill, no homemade cardboard charts were needed. Pete had access to various pieces of technology which allowed him to put together sentences, in later times using just the small amount of movement he had left in one thumb when all other limbs and joints had stopped working. Hearing what Pete wanted to tell me was so important, particularly in his latter months. And I don’t think any of us who called by to see him will ever forget his pre-programmed sign off at the end of each visit thanking us for coming to see him and telling us that he loved us loads!
 
Reflecting on the differences between my aunt and Pete’s experiences of MND, I’ve realised that the monies given to MNDA and other such organisations enable MND sufferers to have access to the latest technology and advancements which can make such a difference in their quality of life. So, by supporting the Pete Bellenger Memorial Row, I hope that not only will the monies raised enable a bright scientist or medic to work out how to prevent or cure MND but they will also enable those who have got MND better access to aids and support as they navigate this awful journey which a diagnosis of MND puts them on.