“I tell Frankie that ‘if in 10 years I don’t know who you are, please remember that you will always be in my heart’.”
This article is written by Progressive Rugby
The plight of rugby players diagnosed with neurological disorders is causing much concern, not least from those that are left to pick up the pieces to a jigsaw they’ll never complete.
Frankie Lipman was overwhelmed with emotion watching her husband taking a lap of honour at Bath Rugby on the weekend before the West Country derby with Gloucester.
Lipman, now 42, quickly became a fan favourite at the Rec when he joined in 2003 and by his departure in 2009 had played more than 100 games for the club.
Some of the fans there a few weeks ago will have watched Lipman, will have applauded his bravery for staying on the field following an enormous collision that had left him prone.
That’s in no way a criticism of the fans, just a common trait in rugby that would have been replicated at grounds across the Premiership, indeed across the game.
The wave of diagnoses of early onset dementia and probable chronic traumatic encephalopathy could not have been predicted, at least not amongst a huge majority of the fans.
Lipman’s diagnosis came as a blessed relief, a reason for his confusion, erratic behaviour and urge to abuse alcohol to shield himself from a reality he was unable to understand.
“Prior to my diagnosis we were on the brink of divorce,” Lipman said.
“I was sleeping in the car outside my own home because Frankie couldn’t tolerate my behaviour, and certainly not in front of the children.
“When I got tested, suddenly I was able to put the pieces together and realised that I needed to go and get help. I was able to look in the mirror and see the person I had become and realise what I had put my family through. I was going to lose everything.”
Behind each of these stories is the heartache felt by the family as the person they love first appears to become a different person, but worse still start to fade away in front of their eyes.
Frankie has become fiercely protective of her husband which in itself causes problems.
“I can’t help speaking for him if he is struggling but it upsets him because it makes him feel stupid and that’s the last thing I want to do,” she said.
“I have people who have never met him, and they come up and ask me if he is bi-polar because he can be a bit manic. People don’t know how to take him, and it’s tough because brain injuries are invisible, people don’t know what is going on behind the eyes.”
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“He gets so disorientated. Once he pulled the mirror and television off the wall thinking he was opening the door to the bathroom.”
Frankie
Behind closed doors it’s also an issue. Frankie has seen her strong, fit, capable husband struggle to function. Each morning she awakes unsure of which version of Michael will await her.
“It’s a day-to-day thing. I’m either going to be a grumpy mess or absolutely fine,” he admits.
Sometimes Frankie has been awoken during the night by unfamiliar noises and gone to investigate as they can’t share a bed because of Michael’s severe issues sleeping and incontinence.
“I’ve found him plenty of times looking for the bathroom in places like the office or the kitchen, his eyes glazed over,” she said.
“He gets so disorientated. Once he pulled the mirror and television off the wall thinking he was opening the door to the bathroom.”
Later in the day can be problematic too. Hoping to slow his deterioration Michael takes around 30 pills a day but can struggle to remember whether he has taken them.
Sadly, he has received some bad news from his neurologist Dr Rowena Mobbs recently that his cognitive ability has deteriorated since his tests from two years previously.
“That was actually pretty devastating,” Michael said.
“My son will only be 12 when I turn 50, what will I be like then? That is scary, it just makes me sad. I tell Frankie if in 10 years I don’t know who you are, please know that you are always in my heart.”
Now family life is about enjoying the simple things, sharing company, laughter and sometimes tears.
I love being a dad and I love Frankie. My happy place is at the dinner table with my family chatting about whatever,” Michael says with a visible smile.
“It’s now tradition that at least twice a week we have dinner together and have to say one thing that we love about each other.”
“Often, it’s something silly like ‘I love you for the way you take me to swimming’ but just occasionally it’s something that tugs the heartstrings. Whatever it is, we then crank the music up and have a good old dance in the living room.
“For me, those times are priceless, I’m trying to make the most of it because I don’t know where I’ll be mentally when I wake up in 10 years’ time.”
And his advice for those who have followed him into the unrelenting world of professional rugby.
“Young men and testosterone is a dangerous mix,” he said.
“It makes it very easy to be in denial, to think it’s something that will happen to other people. I certainly did and take it from me - don’t be that guy.”
Michael and Frankie have written a book together. Concussion: A family's story of how the long-term impact of sport-related concussion changed their lives forever, published by Allen and Unwin.
“People don’t know how to take him, and it’s tough because brain injuries are invisible, people don’t know what is going on behind the eyes.”