I was sitting in my bed one morning last September, enjoying my breakfast, and the phone rang. "Hello, Rich? I just heard you were dead." I said, "No, no I don't think so." After a few more calls from friends who were checking to see if I was alive, I thought, "Damn, ain't that a bitch, they have me dead already." Imagine people calling you to find out if you're dead. I've led a real crazy life at times, and I've had many strange things happen to me, but that was one of the strangest. Someone called all the newspapers in New York and told them I'd died. I've been told by almost everyone it was an ex-wife-I've had a few so it's hard to pinpoint which one-but who knows for sure? I just hope they got off on whatever they thought they were doing. What if I died a few days later? I can see the headlines: "Pryor's denial that he's dead is a lie." And the other rumors: He can't work. He's gone nuts. AIDS! It's crazy. A few heart attacks can take their toll on ya, too, but I've got multiple sclerosis-period. It's the stuff God hits your ass with when he doesn't want to kill ya-just slow ya down. No, I'm not dying, and I sure the f--- ain't dead. I'm slower and some days are better than others, but I'm a fighter. I'll kick this motherf---er's ass if I have to, 'cuz I'm not giving up.
Pryor was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in August 1986. MS is a degenerative disease that strikes the protective sheath surrounding nerves, affecting motor ability and balance, among other things. The first sign that he was sick came on location in Los Angeles about three months earlier, while he was filming the ironically titled Critical Condition with director Michael Apted. MS is a very strange disease. I didn't know anything was wrong at first, the s--- just crept up on me. Then one very strange day Apted said, "Richard, come here." And I did. Well, I thought I did. My brain told my body, "Go see what the fella wants." But my body said, "I'm gonna f--- with you a bit, Rich." Apted thought I was joking around. He said, "Come on, Richard, stop goofing around." I told him, "Well, I'm not! I'm f---in' trying real f---in' hard to get there!" They sent me to this wonderful place called the Mayo Clinic for a checkup. They did all these tests on me. This doctor bent me over and snaked this massive thing up my ass. I turned around and I saw all these f---in' doctors in the doorway watching. I guess when they went home that night and their wives asked them if anything exciting happened at the office, they could've said they looked up Richard Pryor's ass. After a week, I was told I had MS, not an extreme case, not enough to kill me, but just enough so that I can't masturbate. I must admit I was depressed, it was the lowest point of my life. But I struggled with hope because I was told the s--- can come and go. The MS really started going downhill in 1990. In March I had a minor heart attack while I was vacationing in Australia. It scared me, but it was nothing compared to what someone had in store for me down the road. It was in the fall of 1990-I was getting ready to shoot Another You with Gene (Wilder), and I suddenly realized I couldn't get out of bed. Usually I have no problem getting out of bed, but that day something wasn't working right, and I freaked out. I called the doctors, I called everyone looking for answers, and all I was told was that sometimes when MS gets worse this is what could happen. I thought, "Listen, motherf---er, what do you mean could? What if I have a real bad day? Do I die?" But I wasn't giving in to this s---. I was given two weeks to walk again, so I hooked up with a trainer, and he busted my ass and had me walking. I'll never forget that, it was grueling. Other than those f---in' medicinal baths they gave after the fire, the most painful experience I've had, this walking thing was tough. We take so much for granted, but man, lose the movement of your legs and you begin to take a closer look at life.
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