The Garden in the Sky

Which is the more bizarre? A garden at the top of a building or a building that appears to be wider at the top than the bottom? And can you really call it a garden when it is completely enclosed within the top three floors?

Having whizzed up thirty-five floors, the lift opens into a wide space edged with floor to ceiling windows. The greenery extends along two opposite sides of the building, lining the stairs rising two further levels. You can deviate from the stairs to be between the flower beds under the trees. The view is from a different level, depending on which side of the building you are and the three floors are open plan. It feels very spacious. Although it is busy, it doesn’t overcrowded and there is a relaxed atmosphere. There is a mix of families, business people and tourists.

Directly across the river is The Shard. It erupts from the buildings around it the way its namesake of glass stabs into a wound. St. Paul’s was easier to spot than it had been from the taller building. All the iconic buildings were easier to find and clearer to see. But then, we were only half as high.

Dotted around the lower level are chairs and tables, other seats and old bicycles. They are fixed to the floor and painted entirely yellow, green or orange. There is a bar in the middle. We bought expensive cups of tea in paper cups. The seats are not designed to make you stay long. But the view is good. And for a free space, although you do need to book tickets, it is a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours.

Eighteen months on and where are we now?

It was a 9am start for the Eighteen Month assessment. That meant an early start and a train journey at peak commuter time. Thank goodness I take my own seat with me. Actually though, I live far enough down the line that the train is still half empty when I get on it.

It was a different story when we arrived into London though. The man with the ramp couldn’t place it. There was a never-ending stream of people getting off the train and hurrying down the platform to the exit. He smiled. “It doesn’t help that they don’t look where they are going,” I observed. “Quite!” he said.

When I arrived at the Centre the doctors were ready for me. Usually I have to wait for them to arrive. So it was straight into the EDSS (Extended Disability Status Scale) assessments and all the others. I do hate the nine hole peg test. My fingers would not behave themselves. They kept trying to throw the pegs across the room, instead of picking them up and putting them in the holes.

I mentally monitor the changes since the last assessment. I’m not supposed to discuss it with the assessor as he is supposed to be doing so blind. That’s the point. It’s meant to be objective. But it doesn’t stop me doing so.

What’s interesting is the fluctuations. If I’m having a better day than I was the last time I came, then there seems to be a slight improvement. At least, it seems that way to me, although it usually turns out not to be enough to register on the scale.

But I’m sure the pegs took longer. It was definitely more frustrating.

My best test, despite my difficulty in holding the pen, was drawing the six shapes from memory after having looked at them for about twenty seconds. I had to do that three times, then remember and draw them again after a fifteen minute break. I got full marks and Mark was amazed. “You are so good at this,” he said. I’ve always had a good memory. That’s one thing MS hasn’t taken from me.