Of all places, it began in front of the TV. While watching hospital dramas, such as Holby City, ER, and the typical evening fare, Diane Hastings noticed that something in her hand and something on screen matched. A tiny shudder. She had been silently ignoring a flicker. By most people’s standards, she was far too young—39 at the time—to be considering a condition that is typically associated with old age. However, the suspicion grew, and when medical professionals verified it in 2003, the diagnosis came with the ruthless indifference these things always seem to carry. Her husband, Gavin, was in Australia for the Rugby World Cup, thousands of miles away. She had to call him to let him know.
You remember that particular detail for some reason. The picture of a woman receiving the worst news by herself, then picking up the phone to tell a man on the other side of the world. It’s the kind of moment that doesn’t appear on a well-known sports family’s highlight reels.
The Hastingses didn’t say much in public for years. Although it wasn’t a press release, the diagnosis wasn’t exactly a secret either. According to one report, they were fighting it covertly, keeping the most difficult aspects to themselves. That gradually changed, in part due to necessity and in part because people realized that silence wasn’t beneficial. Almost everyone is surprised to learn that approximately one in 500 people in the UK suffers from Parkinson‘s disease, with a stubborn minority of those affected being under 40.
The ensuing years were harsh. Diane was told that taking medication would provide her with stability for roughly ten years. That window had closed by 2015 or so. The drugs had become erratic, not working when she needed them most. She talked candidly about the little humiliations, such as having people stare at her while she struggles with something as simple as ironing in a restaurant. She also noted the peculiar irony that she was married to someone who was already the focus of attention, so she could never be certain whether those eyes were on him or on her involuntary movements. It’s difficult to ignore the joke’s weight because it’s a painfully human observation.
Looking back at the interviews, it’s amazing how frequently laughter appears. At a hotel in Murrayfield, Gavin jokes while eating soup. Diane attributes her perseverance to his unwavering optimism. In that household, humor seems to have taken on the role of its own medication, not a remedy but a means of preventing the illness from dictating the entire narrative.
Diane’s 2016 deep brain stimulation procedure—which sounds like science fiction but is now a real option for younger patients—was the turning point. Electrodes that deliver focused electrical pulses deep within the brain are implanted by surgeons. She later claimed that the outcome transformed her life by lessening the uncontrollable spasms that had caused her to feel so self-conscious. She has made it clear that it was not a cure. She continues to feel the physical and mental effects of the illness. However, she received something in return.
She then joined a team she called Shake, Rattle, and Run and ran the London Marathon in an almost defiant manner. That gesture has a stubbornness that truly touches me.
In recent years, the family’s relationship with grief has only gotten stronger. Scott, Gavin’s brother and a legend in Scotland, lost his wife, Jenny, to depression in 2024 and passed away in May 2026 following a protracted battle with cancer. In this context, Diane’s quiet perseverance seems even more impressive. The general public’s actual knowledge of early-onset Parkinson’s disease is still unknown. However, a few more people might, thanks in part to a family that ultimately chose to speak.