Alice Peterson - Another Alice: An Inspiring True Story of a Young Womans Battle to Overcome Rheumatoid Arthiritis

Another Alice

An inspiring true story of a young womans
battle to overcome rheumatoid arthritis

Originally published in the UK in 2001 by
Macmillan, an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Ltd

Republished in the UK in 2009 by
Icon Books Ltd, Omnibus Business Centre,
3941 North Road, London N7 9DP
email:
www.iconbooks.co.uk

This electronic edition published in the UK in 2012 by Icon Books Ltd

ISBN: 978-1-84831-398-9 (ePub format)
ISBN: 978-1-84831-397-2 (Adobe ebook format)

Text copyright 2001, 2009, 2012 Alice Peterson

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Typeset in Sabon by Hands Fotoset, Nottingham

Contents

About the Author

Alice Peterson, now in her mid-thirties and living in west London, is the author of MCoben, Place of Ghosts (Witchingham Press, 2003), as well as two novels, Look The World In The Eye (Black Swan, 2005) and You, Me and Him (Black Swan, 2007), which Red called a witty and moving account of sibling rivalry. She now works closely with the National Rheumatoid Arthritis Society (NRAS) to raise awareness of the condition, and to highlight particularly how it affects the lives of young sufferers.

Acknowledgements

I will always be profoundly grateful to Robert Cross; without him and his undying faith my first line would never have been written. And to Mary, Roberts wife thank you. To Bella Pollen, for urging me to dig deeper, to tell people what it is really like for someone young to have an ageing disease.

For this new edition, I would like to thank my publisher, Simon Flynn at Icon Books, for all his support and hard work. To Andrew Furlow, Najma Finlay and Eleanor Crabtree thank you for your marketing and publicity input. And to everyone at Icon for working on Another Alice.

I am so grateful to Richie McHale for his encouragement, help and advice. Also, to all the team at UCB, thank you for supporting this new edition. I would also like to thank Richard Tew for backing my book.

To my sister, Helen thank you as always for being such a good friend the best.

My story is a fight involving a whole range of people. It isnt only me that pain deeply affects others is one of the most important lessons I have learnt. I want to thank all my family and friends from the bottom of my heart to make sure they understand how vital their support and love has been.

Other books by Alice Peterson

You, Me and Him (Transworld, Black Swan, 2007)

Look the World in the Eye (Transworld, Black Swan, 2005)

MCoben, Place of Ghosts (Witchingham Press, 2003)

For my mother and father

One

The Trial: Part I
Are you able to dress yourself, including tying shoelaces and doing buttons?

Its February 1998. I am 24. I have had rheumatoid arthritis for six years.

My parents are watching me get progressively worse. I am on the waiting list for an ankle replacement operation and I need more surgery on my right hand. Mum has to do everything for me from pulling up my knickers to cutting my food, heaving me out of the chair, and helping me go to the loo in the middle of the night. I have a baby alarm in my room. Ive forgotten the meaning of independence.

My eyes are tired of straining to see the light in the black tunnel. But, at last, I can see a tiny candle of hope. Something is keeping me going.

A new drug, which has had promising results in America, is going to be tested on guinea-pigs in Bath. I am praying I will get a place on this trial.

I sit in the waiting room of the Royal National Hospital for Rheumatic Diseases with my parents, reading the same page of a magazine over and over again. I look at my right hand with its soft skin and manicured nails painted dark red. But I cant hide the swollen, crooked fingers which serve only as a reminder of this vicious disease I fight each day.

Dad sits in his chair with a pained expression on his face. He has aged. He clutches a newspaper in his hands. You must call us if you have a problem, we are here if you need us, he says tightly.

A nurse hands me the familiar questionnaire which assesses your usual abilities over the past week.

And so on

I find milk cartons a bugger to open! Mum says, as she watches me ponder whether to tick with MUCH difficulty, or UNABLE to do.

I can never open them, Dad adds.

Darling, you cant even open a can of dog food.

Id love to tick without ANY difficulty to just one of these stupid questions, I frown, finally ticking UNABLE to do.

Sod it, Dad mutters. Its one of his favourite expressions when he doesnt know what else to say.

Mum returns her attention to The Times crossword. She gives up, saying she cant concentrate, and reaches down for her knitting. It reminds me of my tennis days and I smile, remembering the cross-country journeys to tournaments and how nervous Mum used to be while watching me play.

Mum, do you remember that match I played at Eastbourne? And Mrs Betty? And Peter? I wonder whats happened to them all.

What about the time when you were banned from tournament tennis? she laughs.

Dont remind me.

Slowly and painfully I get up from the chair and stretch. I hope my doctor arrives soon. He will be presenting my case in front of the professor who is running the trial. I am feeling anxious.

Sit down and relax, doctors are always late. What about your first tournament! Mum begins, hoping to distract me, her knitting needles clicking. I remember driving you there and you said, By the way Mum, Im going to win this tournament.

I laugh.

We didnt know what we were letting ourselves in for, but I did love the competitions. I remember your tennis days so vividly.

Finally, Dr Campbell enters the room. My heart is beating fast. He takes my arm. Are you OK? he asks gently.

Fine. Nervous, I smile.

Good luck, Mum and Dad say together. Dad is crossing his fingers.

Dr Campbell and I make our way to the conference hall. I take in a deep breath. This could be the beginning of a new life. It may be different. But I want to have another chance

Two

The Seed About To Grow

Its 1985. Boris Becker wins Wimbledon this year at the age of seventeen. I am eleven years old.

The school summer holidays have finally begun and all the family are home. Helen, five years older than me, Tom, four years, and Mum and Dad are playing doubles on our neighbours court. We call them lucky pigs they have both a tennis court and a swimming pool. My eldest brother, Andrew, is at home, nervously waiting for A level results.

I am ballgirl, but will be allowed to join in at the end. I hate waiting; I hover impatiently at the side of the court and I want my own, special racquet. I am fed up with being handed the wooden Slazenger which everyone uses.

Tom is having a tantrum, throwing his racquet on the ground. Mum and Dad have explained to me that Tom has never been 100 per cent normal he is simple. Born prematurely, he was a sick baby. At first he nearly died, and then his teeth fell out and he had to see a speech therapist.