THERE was the summons to the Royal Box. Meeting Dukes and Duchesses and the hoi polloi of SW19. It is two months since Gordon Reid became Wimbledon’s inaugural wheelchair men’s singles winner. The perk of this grand victory was to catapult the 24-year-old from Dunbartonshire into another social sphere.

And that was even before he was formally handed an invite to join Andy Murray on the guest list for the Champions Ball. Cue the rapid acquisition of a black tie and suit. “They measure you in the changing rooms,” he reveals. “It’s all a bit hectic because nobody brings a tux. It was a bit crazy but we had a great night and it was cool hanging out with Andy.”

Infrequently found at his home in Glasgow this year courtesy of his Grand Slam victories in Australia (singles), France (doubles) and the All-England Club (both), Reid has now journeyed to Rio in the quest to erase the largest void on his resume by acquiring a Paralympic gold.

Despite the huge gulf that remains between the prize money he acquires and that of his celebrated Scottish compatriot, these are heady days indeed. A universe apart from the week before his 13th birthday when his ambitions to follow in Murray’s agile footsteps appeared all but doomed when he was admitted into Yorkhill Hospital with perturbing symptoms which required intense investigation.

It took a week from initial admission to diagnosis. First an MRI scan which uncovered a swelling on his spine. “It could have been anything, something life threatening,” he reflects. The pain, even through the anaesthesia of medication, tortured his nervous system. “It was pretty bad for me. My Mum was sitting there saying: “I wish I could go through this instead of you. That’s pretty horrible thing to hear. It was horrible for them because there wasn’t much they could do to help me.”

It was adjudged he had a neurological condition called transverse myelitis which rapidly ensured he would begin his teens paralysed from the waist down. It became about managing the transition rather than total reversal or cure. Two weeks of immobility to start. “And then it was about trying to stand and walk a little,” he reveals. “Initially I was paralysed but as the nerves healed, I got a little more movement and then had the physios work on me to get me weight-bearing on a standing frame.

“I was strapped in on a bed and then they tilted it. It was weird to have that feeling of weight on your legs after lying flat for a few weeks. I started walking a bit with supports on my legs and crutches and as you get stronger and improve, you’re losing less and less to get round.”

The rehabilitation was arduous. The emotional and mental scars took much longer to fully heal. However tennis was a soothing balm in regaining both his fitness and his verve.

“Being able to do one of the sports I loved before. It was really positive for me. And socially as well, because I met other people with disabilities who were leading active lives, great characters with great social circles. It taught me your life isn’t over if you have a disability. You can have this amazing new life.”

It was barely three years later that Reid, version 2.0, ventured to his first Paralympics, in Beijing. A first-round exit there, quarter-finals in London four years later. And now a third attempt, with a formbook that points towards an invite to the podium – and to have a ball. He’d welcome the perks. “I’m not there to make semis or make quarters,” he affirms. “I’m here to win it.”