Learning to make cocktails

Since joining this industry in 1999, one constant has always been true: we as a race get sick in many ways and we as an industry help to mitigate the effects of these illnesses.

I know that pharma gets a bad press, which leads to Netflix shows and the like, but I genuinely believe that the numbers needed to treat for pharma outweigh the numbers needed to harm.

Growing up in the eighties, I vividly remember the safe sex campaigns that warned of the dangers of HIV/AIDS. The tombstone adverts, the celebrities who contracted HIV/AIDS, the stigma around who would contract it and the tawdriness of the how. I remember the playground misinformation that led to a pervasive fear of this hitherto incurable virus.

Back then, HIV/AIDS was a death sentence, not an if but simply a when. Today, that incurable virus is essentially cured and people who contract HIV/AIDS can live with it pretty much indefinitely with zero viral load. Charities, clinicians and pharma collaborated with a shared goal and knocked it out of the park.

So why this walk down memory lane? Because the world in which we work has helped in many key areas of medicine from cardiovascular to cancer, infertility to contraception and so on. We have seen huge strides forward in preventing, controlling or modifying diseases.

As a result, we have all been part of survival stories the world over. However, there remain areas of medicine that have been woefully neglected. I am referring to neurological conditions, many of which we can offer very little in the way of effective treatment, often just basic symptom control or slowing progression. Patients and families hope and wait. I hope and wait.

In 2021, after presenting to my GP in January mid-lockdown with severe depression from seemingly nowhere along with changes in speech and cognitive function, I was referred to a neurologist.

In 15 minutes, he concluded that I had developed Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease (YOPD).

Suddenly, I went from talking patient pictures to being one. I was 45 years old and in one sentence my life had changed forever.

I was told plainly and clearly that it wasn’t going away, couldn’t be cured and would progress, but on the plus side, it often progressed more slowly in younger patients. I was prescribed a form of dopamine as a therapeutic diagnostic. I was told to take it for two weeks and if it worked, I had YOPD, if not, we would cross that bridge when we got there.

The drug worked astonishingly quickly for me, even though synthetic dopamine substitutes have been around since the 1970s and haven’t benefited from significant clinical advances. Everyone around me could see the difference within a day.

My mood lifted, my movement improved, the tremor calmed down, my slurred speech vanished and cognitively I could function again.

You genuinely have no idea how important dopamine is until you haven’t got enough. On the other hand, it was clear I have Parkinson’s, and that sucked. Incurable, progressive, degenerative. These are words you must come to terms with. Life goes on.

I decided that I wasn’t terminal, I have responsibilities to my family, and I work in an industry that in theory should ‘get it’ and accommodate where needed. It’s big boy pants time.

In 2023, I was made redundant from my company after 15 years. This gave me the opportunity to reassess that important work-life balance.

In those 15 years, I had developed my career from my start as a key account manager to a variety of head office roles including marketing and commercial. I lived over 100 miles from the office and despite the post-COVID development of flexible working, commuting to the office no longer seemed viable or desirable.

I understand now why some of us with hidden illnesses and disabilities sometimes choose to hide these until recruitment is complete. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I get it now more than ever.

I can’t really hide my symptoms no matter how well controlled medically they are and annoyingly they are super-responsive to mood states such as nervousness and anxiety, both of which are often present in interviews.

Decision made – I was going to own my illness throughout the recruitment process, be upfront and clear about what I bring to the table both in terms of skill set and challenges.

My first interview went well, the recruiting manager took my declaration of Parkinson’s well, showed genuine curiosity about how I was dealing and then professionally parked it as not relevant to the task.

I made it to the final two and lost to the better candidate due to their therapy area knowledge and my lack of it. I can live with that for the most part, but I’ll always hate losing.

Next interview, however, it was clear from my declaration at the onset “I have Parkinson’s” that I wasn’t going forward.

We know what buying signals look like and this was the complete antithesis of that.  The recruiting manager couldn’t have ended the call any sooner. Every pointed question essentially asked how I would cope with the job’s demands.

And then came Grünenthal and my new job as a KAM. Like my previous employer, Grünenthal took the declaration in its stride, asked the right questions but made the decision on my skill set not my illness. Clear communication is key, especially with the people you report to.

Like everybody, I have good days and not so good days, but my not so good days can be tricky as they tend to be mood and anxiety-fuelled.

Having that dialogue with your manager and allowing him or her to support you without fear of prejudice or repercussion is key. The black dog of depression is easier to keep muzzled when you can talk honestly, openly and be heard.

I’m not at the point where I need special equipment, I’m still cleared by DVLA to drive and I can say with all sincerity I am loving my job. My varied history of job roles coupled with my insights as a chronic condition patient makes me a better rep than I was last time I did this job.

Every medication I take, currently five different types equating to 12 doses daily, at some point or other was promoted by one of us, perhaps one of you reading this, and that resonates with me. In short, I have the work-life-health balance I was looking for.

I titled this article ‘Learning to make cocktails’ because, as I mentioned before, my symptoms are generally well controlled but they can rear their heads, especially when meeting customers or presenting.

In the spirit of owning my PD, I generally introduce myself by saying: “I have YOPD, which means I’m great at making Martinis but rubbish at stealing tambourines!”

The first time I presented to a clinical team, I didn’t do this and had to stop after a few minutes to reassure the two consultants in the front row who were glancing at me and whispering to each other. I was showing signs of dyskinesia – the rolling, often jerky limb and head movements that are often a side effect of dopamine medication.

I had to front it out and tell them that they didn’t need to have a tricky conversation with the rep, I have already been diagnosed, I’m not in withdrawal and I do take meds! The relief on their faces was palpable and I felt good for being honest.

If nothing else, they tend to remember the rep with the wobbly head and left arm that sometimes does its own thing, so there is another odd positive.

Reflecting on where we have come from and looking to the future, Alzheimer’s, dementia and Parkinson’s might all benefit from gene therapy or the next new biologic developed by some bright spark in a lab somewhere – perhaps helped by AI-driven research.

I literally can’t wait until the day PD is ‘cured’ or ‘controlled’ as well as HIV/AIDS is today – when the spectre of literally shuffling off this mortal coil is defunct and I can genuinely shake with the excitement of a breakthrough (not just because it’s nearly pill o’clock).

I would say I’ll keep my fingers crossed but it’s hard enough to get them to keep still!

Chris Henry is a Key Account Manager at Grünenthal. Go to grunenthal.com