‘So,’ Tom continues, ‘I met with the neurologist. She examined me, testing my eye movements, the strength in my limbs, my balance, coordination, speech and reflexes. By this point I was walking with a stick and one side of my body was numb. She organised an MRI scan which was noisy and claustrophobic and, while I lay inside it, I prepared myself for the worst. All I could hope was that my condition, that had progressed so suddenly, would now slow. Afterwards, the neurologist gave me her diagnosis.’ He pauses to gaze around the room, locking eyes with each of the guests. Kate knows how Tom’s story ends but, even so, she can’t help but hold her breath.

‘She said there was nothing wrong with me,’ Tom says. ‘I didn’t have MS. The MRI was normal and the physical exam had revealed that, despite the numbness in my left leg, my reflexes were normal. She asked if I had considered whether my symptoms might have a psychological cause.’

An audible gasp from Phoenix gives Kate a little jolt of joy. There’s something so satisfying about the shock on the faces of the participants at this point in Tom’s story.

‘I was horrified,’ Tom continues, ‘and bloody angry. I could barely walk and there she was, accusing me of faking it. I demanded a lumbar puncture – something I’d read about online – and a second opinion, but the doctor was resolute. I showed no signs of muscle wastage and my reflexes were normal. What I needed wasn’t a neurologist but a psychiatrist.’

Priyanka snorts in indignation.

‘That was my reaction too,’ Tom says, smiling kindly at her. ‘So I arranged to see a second neurologist and begged for a lumbar puncture. By this point I was occasionally going blind in one eye.’

There’s an audible gasp from several of the clients and Kate forces herself to look down at her hands.

‘But again,’ Tom says, ‘it came back as normal. By this point I was at my wits’ end. I was becoming progressively weaker and weaker every day and yet every doctor I saw was telling me that there was nothing actually wrong with me.’

Geraldine, sitting on the very edge of her seat, coughs lightly and raises a hand.

‘Yes.’ Tom nods at her to speak.

‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’ Geraldine says. ‘You were suffering from somatic symptom disorder which is a recognised mental health illness.’

Kate suffocates a sigh. Geraldine’s just ruined the punchline to Tom’s story.

‘You’re right,’ Tom says with a smile. ‘That was what was wrong with me and it’s something the psychiatrist explained when I hit my lowest point and agreed to meet with her.’

‘Quite,’ Geraldine says. ‘Then you started a self-help group with fellow sufferers in order to chat about your illness and you inadvertently became the group leader.’