Anne Matheson explains why she is Shaken not Stirred

I was born sixty years ago, although, I don’t remember the event, which is just as well since by all accounts, mainly my mother’s, it was a very awkward, painful affair. The stork overshot the window and had to brake suddenly causing me to catapult into the ledge. Apparently, I had a beautiful black eye and my head was somewhat misshapen resulting in confinement to an oxygen tent for six days.

Now, what puzzled me about my entrance into the world, until I was old enough to know the true facts, was where did the Indians go? I once asked my mother this question and she just stared me down and shook her head. I knew what she was thinking: stork, collision, head case.

Mother adored a ‘good cowboy film’ and naturally enough my older sister and I were hauled along to the local fleapit every Monday evening to share in her enthusiasm, therefore, my only experience of a tent was of the Hollywood tepee variety. I visualised this poor, bruised morsel, me, inside a richly patterned tepee which dominated the hospital nursery. Sitting crossed legged outside the entrance was a wrinkled, sun damaged, old squaw operating the bellows that were supplying me with life.

When I was older and it was explained that my birth had been a very difficult forceps delivery I still much preferred the tepee version. Because I was so ill, I was baptised while still in the tepee, not an easy ceremony to perform with Mrs Geronimo and the bellows blocking the entrance. It’s at this point I feebly looked around the assembled faces and just at the edge of my peripheral vision behind all the good fairies, I’m certain I spied the wicked, tremulous ET. Maybe I imagined her; after all I was high as a helium balloon thanks to the constant supply of air.

I had a voice like an angel when I was a little girl to the extent that mother peeled her eyes off Clint Eastwood galloping across the television screen long enough to inform me that I was to have professional singing lessons. Simultaneously ET decided to repeatedly twang the golden vocal chords, ensuring I had to decline my mother’s offer and present myself as being an awkward, ungrateful child.

ET then decided to dominate my life and make certain aspects of my childhood torturous. As I dipped my pen into the inkwell, guess whose malevolent presence ensured my exercise book looked like a drunken, five legged tarantula had staggered across the page? Step out to the front of the class and receive corporal punishment for making a mess of your book.

Lunching in the school dining hall was another mine field especially if the starter was soup or the main course was accompanied by peas. There was certainly no hope of leaving food uneaten because this was waste and the plight of the starving millions in the world was drummed into us at every opportunity. Yes, ET was gloating at my discomfiture but worse was yet to come.

We all know how ET thrives on self-consciousness. She came to me full blast during the most sensitive years of my life - the teenage years. I explained to my mother that I had shaky hands, of course I didn’t mention ET, and my mother being a very unemotional, pragmatic woman told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Since she was an adult and she knew better she knew she was right. Children were seen and not heard in those days so she probably assumed I was being difficult again. Accident prone storks have much to answer for!

Since mother had a closed mind about my persecution by ET, I was determined to consult a wise man that, had I only known it, attended the same school of sensitivity as mother.

As I stepped back out onto the pavement I remember thinking I hadn’t noticed the surgery’s revolving door on the way in.

Despite what my mother and the doctor both said I knew I had shaky hands and so did other people. My best friend was a blessing and often stepped in and deflected ET’s power over me. When we went to the café on a Friday evening my friend would carry both coffees to the table. The proprietor didn’t seem to think teenagers and trays were a match made in heaven. However, my friend’s thoughtfulness enabled me to relax and ensured other teenagers were saved from a horrendous scalding.

My career choice was governed by considerations of how big a part ET would play in whatever path I chose. Bomb disposal was not on the agenda and being a surgeon was definitely not an option for obvious reasons either. I harboured notions of becoming an actress but ET would whisper in my ear about the pitfalls of props for someone like me. What if I had to pour tea, carry a cup and saucer or sing? The theatre door slammed shut in my face with a resounding thud.

I believe I was possessed by some ironic alien when I opted to train as a teacher. Stepping into my first classroom, as a student teacher, guess who was ready to take control and totally undermine me? It was then that I determined to outwit her. Shaky hands and writing on a blackboard were not going to defeat me. ET’s control was about to be weakened. Presenting demonstration lessons to a visiting college lecturer was a daunting prospect but providing I prepared the blackboard work ahead of the visit, ET’s influence was diminished.

Children are as merciless as the cowboys portrayed in mother’s favourite celluloid productions therefore it was imperative to show a class who was in charge and who was not open to having her shaky hands a butt for their humour. I explained my problem to every new class I was given and asked for their help with activities which required steady hands. ET was furious because now she had been relegated to a position of no importance in my life. I could talk openly to adults about ET without feeling embarrassed. I had come a long way.

One day I found a small article in a newspaper about a condition called Essential Tremors. What a revelation this short piece was; it named and described the condition, quoted how many people suffered from it and explained the steadying but short lived effect of alcohol. Just to be able to put a name to the condition and know that it wasn’t something sinister was uplifting.

About ten years ago I happened to mention my essential tremors to my doctor who suggested I try propranolol to see if it helped. It was like a magic potion. I was tremor free! However, although this was wonderful I elected to stop taking the tablets as I was too old to take up acting, surgery or bomb disposal and anyway what’s a shaky hand or two between friends.

And I lived happily ever after? Not quite. About two and a half years ago I would occasionally hear a little tremble in my voice. I dismissed it at first and then wondered if there was any connection with my condition. Enter stage left ET. Here she was back to make my mature years a nightmare.

Prior to my retirement last year I had time to pursue a variety of alternative remedies which haven’t cured the warbling voice and although it embarrasses me I am resolute in my determination not to let ET spoil this chapter of my life. I have joined a bridge class and made fabulous new friends who tell me that the only one who seems to notice my problem is me. They have never had ET dog their every movement so they don’t know what a negative influence she can have on a person. I’m also learning Spanish and if my voice vibrates somewhat when I’m asking for directions in Madrid the locals will put it down to me being a foreigner.

It was at this point too that the cavalry came galloping round the internet in the form of the National Tremor Foundation. There is such comfort in having this support and knowing that one is not a lone shaker and mover. It is with great interest that I keep abreast of the latest treatments and research into Essential Tremors.

A few months ago I was discussing my wavery voice with my doctor and was delighted to note how informed she was about Essential Tremors. When she mentioned the success there has been with Botox injections in controlling voice tremors I decided that maybe I was in more need of them for my wrinkles. However, I now have a supply of propranolol which I take as required and which do help, although, a glass of wine at a social gathering certainly strengthens my reedy voice more.

As well as the hobbies I mentioned earlier, I love writing. I have penned several children’s novels but trying to get them published is as easy as eating a stick of rock through a straw! I have self published one called The Moon Puddle by Anne Lennon, that’s me with my beard, dark glasses and maiden name. It’s available on Amazon. Now, I was just thinking if somebody out there could get me signed up to a literary agent the book could be published main stream and the royalties could support the NTF. Can you help?

I don’t know about you but I find things often come full circle. Is it any surprise that I am thinking of attending a voice coach? Not to develop my crow like tones but to improve my breathing so that I have more control when I talk. Sounds a bit like childhood wish fulfilment. Anyone seen my tepee?

This article is from the NTF News September 2009 issue. To get access to the rest of the NTF News please become a member.