The profile of the month is chosen by the MSIF editor from those submitted.

Greg Roden

Greg was diagnosed with MS when he was 26. It made him want to jump out of a plane. However after he learnt more about the illness, received help from the Bedford MS centre and realised that it was possible to enjoy life after a diagnosis, he decided that he would wear a parachute on the way down.

Statistically I was a lot safer than I would have been during a short car journey. I was strapped to a guy that jumped out of planes for a living; a guy that had jumped out of planes hundreds of times previously, each time avoiding that "arrrrgh splat" moment.

I assumed he did not want to die any more than me.

I knew all that but it didn't matter in the slightest because there was absolutely no way that I would ever jump out of an aeroplane two and a half miles above Peterborough. As I stood in the airfield and watched others float to earth, as I put on the jumpsuit, as the plane took off I wasn't worried by the experience because I knew that there was absolutely no way I would ever jump out of a plane. Even as I stood at the open doorway of the plane looking down at the clouds below I wasn't worried. It was only as I hit terminal velocity, several seconds and half a mile closer to sea level later, that I was finally convinced that I was the kind of person that would do a 2 ½ mile skydive/parachute jump type thing. By that time I was far too busy making extended monosyllabic sounds of awe and wonder.

You know, "woooooowwww", that sort of thing.

I'd like to be able to tell you about the wondrous feelings I experienced as I floated to earth but the truth is I can't. I remember landing, looking up at the clouds I had just floated through and I remember thinking that I had to hold on to the memory of each and every second I was in the air. Whilst I was thinking that those memories saw their opportunity and left. Twenty seconds after landing I found it difficult to remember what it felt like to fall. Of course it didn't really matter at that moment. I had just jumped out of an aeroplane for Christ sake. I had not put myself forward for a charity parachute jump in order to fulfil a lifetime's ambition or to start an exhilarating journey into the world of extreme sports. I'd like to say that I did the jump in order to raise funds for the Bedford MS therapy centre but I get the feeling that I would be lying. The centre had done me good and I was glad that I had made some money for them but to be honest the reason I did the jump was far more to do with the "ner ner ne ner ner" factor than any altruistic impulse. 10 minutes ago I would not have argued too much if somebody had accused me of being scared of heights; looking back up at the sky that I had just fallen through I was no less intimidated by heights but whoever wanted to comment on my love of solid ground would have to travel a mile and a half at terminal velocity before I would even listen.

It was on the way home that it struck me. We drove back to the main road via the little country lanes that lead to the airfield. It didn't take long, maybe five minutes, but just before we joined the main road we passed a sign pointing back the way we had come. "Parachute Centre 2 ½ " it read. I had just travelled 2 ½ miles downwards and I just waited for the waves of pride and achievement to wash over me. But they didn't come. Instead I just got a flash frame of myself standing in front of the open door of the plane looking out. Like I said earlier I was not scared of doing the jump in the weeks leading up to it, as I could not believe that I was going to do it, or perhaps more accurately I just did not understand what I was about to do. Seeing that sign made it all hit home.

For the first time I truly understood that if the parachute hadn't opened I would currently be a lot shorter, a lot thinner and a whole load deader.

It is now a year since I did the jump. Last summer the "ner ner ne ner ner" factor was still pretty high. I had just done something that I never thought I would be able to do and I've got to admit that I thought that I was invincible for a couple of months after that day. I gave up smoking; I sorted out my finances to some extent and did lots of other little bits and pieces that I had previously thought impossible. A year on and I am smoking again, my finances are back to a level that keeps me solvent despite rather than because of the laws of economics. The feeling of invincibility has long since passed me by but the mental image of standing in an open door way 2 ½ miles closer to heaven then I ever expected to be is still crystal clear. So crystal clear that my knuckles still go white, my breath quickens and my heart starts thumping.

A year ago I was invincible, today I am back to being the same neurotic mess I was 366 days ago. Except now I am afraid of open doors as well.