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“I didn’t want to freak everybody out,” he says. “And unless I was using the walking stick, you couldn’t tell.

“My neurologist said I was under no obligation to tell [employers]: ‘If you can do your job, it’s nobody’s business.’ So that’s what I did.”

Almost 10 years after diagnosis, Ferguson became more reliant on walking aids, and it became harder to hide.

“I met up with a friend of mine who already knew, Mark Ryan, and I burst into tears and said, ‘I can’t carry this thing any more, what the hell am I supposed to do?’ He told me I had a simple choice to make: either keep carrying and concealing it, or let the world know, then deal with that.”

Ferguson shared the news with a journalist. The response was much more benign than he expected, but the one area of his life affected was his career.

After the calls stopped coming, Ferguson knew he needed to create his own work if he wanted to stay in the entertainment industry. He started writing his own scripts and screenplays, and teaching comedy writing courses. “I had to come up with my own jobs because they [TV networks] see you as a risk.”

Ferguson made the transition from cane to wheelchair just over 10 years ago.

“Transitioning to the stick was a more difficult decision because that was the first sign to the world that something was not right. The wheelchair was an easy decision because it’s safer. I kept falling and banging my head and knew that was no way to live.

“The good thing is – especially if you’re doing a show with a group – who is the legend? Of course, the guy in the wheelchair.”

Beyond comedy, Ferguson’s partner of 18 years, Stephanie, is the other big contributor to his optimism.

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“I begged her for a date, and I was in love with her by the end of that first date,” he says. “She’s rational, calm and way funnier than me.”

Still, Ferguson admits he often feels guilty over how his disability affects her life.

“We’ve sacrificed a lot because of me, and I want her to have a full and exciting life,” he says. “We had a romantic breakfast yesterday, but a lot of thought has to go into something simple like that.”

Every day, a carer visits Ferguson. “They get me up, hose me down, get me breakfast,” he says, noting the pressure this takes off his partner.

Ferguson believes in keeping busy. “What I’m attempting is always ‘too hard’. It’s beyond what most people have to deal with, but you can’t spend hours in the day longing for something that’s never going to come back. You have to make the most of it.”

Brooke Campbell Bayes is a journalist, producer, wife and mother to two young girls. She also has multiple sclerosis.

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