Someone apologetically asked me a very blunt question recently: ‘what is your prognosis?’ Maybe I’m fortunate to know more than most about what lies ahead, but I would rather live in denial than accept it. The word ‘wheelchair’ used to be alien to me until I actually needed it. My mum’s neighbour very kindly gave me one, not having any need of it anymore. I resisted for a while, he kept offering and now my husband pushes me distances I could never manage on my two legs.

Of course I dream of being able to run and dance and swim like everyone else but that is not necessarily in my future. What does prognosis actually mean though? It is one part, not the whole, of you. A label might be simpler for other people to understand but it hardly describes the entire person. I am not just ‘the one with MS’ just as you are not whatever label has been stuck on you.

To define someone just as what they suffer from is to strip them of everything else. That is a very lonely, unfulfilling place to be. The word ‘prognosis’ does not take into account all the people that support you and stand with you. So, whatever the doctor says, do not be afraid. You are not alone.

No-one can ever accurately predict what lies ahead, but one thing is certain: there still will be beauty in the world and you will always be loved

The feeble thing about prognosis is it does not take into account the certainty of heaven. I remember my minister, diagnosed with cancer himself, used to say ‘everything will be ok’. Now I understand because I remember that there is nothing, no diagnosis, no bad health, that can ever separate us from the love of our Saviour. Think about that, the next time you worry about the future.

The word ‘prognosis’ means the knowledge we have now, and how it indicates what our medical future will be. With that in mind, let me give you a better one: you have air to breathe, a home to live in, and I hope, people to love you. Hold tightly onto that because no one, nothing can ever take it from you.