I’ve never ever thought ‘Why me?’
Diagnosed with a terminal illness three years ago, Doddie Weir is using his natural positivity to keep going
‘WE PASSED A COFFIN SHOP AND THEY ASKED IF MINE CAME IN TARTAN’
SCOTLAND rugby legend Doddie Weir is up early to check on the sheep on his 300-acre farm. With his wife Cathy by his side, they make sure their flock is okay before coming in for breakfast.
After a cup of tea and toast, he goes through his emails to check on the various fundraising events he is due to attend all over the world.
Doddie breaks off for a steak pie lunch and is off swimming that afternoon.
He is then due to travel to Edinburgh and later fly down to London for a fundraising dinner.
He never stops and whatever Motor Neurone Disease (MND) has taken from him, it isn’t his energy.
He is the first to admit, though, he can’t fight the toughest battle of his life alone. For instance, from the moment he wakes in the morning he needs help from Cathy to put his clothes on.
‘Not a pretty sight for her,’ he says with a laugh.
For such a proud man it was hard to initially accept that his wife and sometimes his three boys had to help him with his clothes.
He struggles with zips and buttons, which is why he spends most of his time at home in tracksuit bottoms.
On his early morning walks up the fields to check on the sheep he sometimes falls over and his hands don’t work well.
‘It’s just like trying to get up with your hands in your pockets,’ he says.
He used to have cows — ‘big boys for me, I really liked them’ — but had to sell them because he didn’t have the strength to handle them.
The steak pie and beans lunch sees Doddie having to be fed by his wife Cathy. Swimming is more a case of him being able to walk along the pool bottom but only with the help of swimming aids.
‘I can’t get my hands above my head,’ he says, which makes doing any swimming strokes impossible.
He can still get up the stairs to bed but has had a room developed downstairs to take a bed and a massive television to let him watch the rugby when the time comes that he can’t. He has a specially designed toilet and wash area that has a fulllength walk-in all over dryer for him to go into after his shower.
Through it all he keeps smiling, and the positive attitude he shows to the public at various events up at down the country isn’t him simply putting on a face. He really is like that. For all the adversity he faces, Doddie stays positive both privately and publicly. The black humour his friends, such as former Scotland international Gary Armstrong has been involved in, has made him laugh loudly and helped him deal with what could be ahead. ‘The rugby public, especially close friends, and the humour they bring my way, is absolutely wonderful,’ he said. ‘Gary Armstrong and the kids, the wife, Carl Hogg, they take the mickey out of me. ‘We go past a coffin shop and they ask: “Have you got yours ordered yet?”. “Can you get one in your tartan?” I’ve got a good friend in Melrose, Robbie Brown the undertaker, and they ask if I’ve called him to measure me up yet. ‘We put a bid in for an antique tractor a couple of years ago. Myself, Gary and Carl were going to put in x amount of money each. Gary and Carl turned to each other and said it was the best investment they’d ever make because they’d soon be going halfers. ‘It’s the way I like it, that humour. Yes, I’m looking down the barrel of a gun but the team are good and make me laugh which helps a lot.’
Other sufferers of Motor Neurone Disease may give up and he can understand that attitude as it is a devastating disease. ‘I think sometimes people do hear the news and give up,’ he said. ‘It’s like with rugby: if you don’t get in the team, do you give up your jersey or do you fight? A lot of people do give up on MND on the back of the lack of advice. We’re trying to change that.’
The former Scotland and Lions second row has confounded initial expectations regarding how long he would stay alive.
‘Overall in relative terms I am alright,’ he said.
‘I do run out of steam now and again. I struggle at times to chuck food into my mouth and doing up buttons. I can’t tie shoelaces but I have rubber shoelaces so I adapt. See my coffee cup? I drink a lot of coffee out of these travel mugs that have bigger handles. That makes life a lot easier for me.
‘The same with pints. I have got a pint mug like a kids Tommee Tippee cup. I have to remember I have an issue because when I go out drinking with my Tommee Tippee pint glass I have a couple of beers then go onto the wine. A pint of wine isn’t clever.
‘Look, I am not too bad. I hear stories of people who only have a few months with MND and are no longer here. With me I am three years in after diagnosis. Remember this is a terminal illness. The average life expectancy is between one and three years. That the timescale. I am here.
‘We are in a bit of trouble, those of us with MND. We have a terminal illness but we understand that. The general chat I got from some doctors when I was diagnosed was we can’t do anything for you. Please just give people a bit hope.
He realises time is not on his side to find a cure.
‘If there’s a drug or a trial, get it out into the working environment and let the humans be the guinea pigs,’ he pleaded.
‘I’m happy for that to happen because I’ve got no other option. I’d like to stay around as long as I can,’ he adds.
‘There will be some new research coming out, one from Edinburgh and one from down south, which is quite exciting. Projects that the foundation has been involved in. There are a number of others that we’re involved in and are quite exciting but that haven’t been announced as yet.’
Like any parent it was hard telling his children he had MND and having them watch as his condition deteriorates, and you can tell talking to him how proud he is of his boys.
‘My youngest Ben is 15 and has been playing Borders under-16s with Gregor Townsend’s second son, Luke. Hamish is 18, Angus is 17. They’re all 6ft 2in or 6ft 3in.
‘You see the development and the confidence. The other two are a bit more shy but they’re still being very helpful at home, and they’re having to do more to help me than other kids of that age might have to do with their dads.
‘As a family, we’re lucky because we’ve been given this wake-up call. I might have six months left, I might have two years or 10 years, or if we get this cure, I might be around for a long time.’