parkinson’s
They were both standing outside the vehicle in which they were traveling that day as I turned into the parking area at my cousin’s business. There before me was another cousin and her daughter (from another side of my family) traveling through to a destination in central Virginia. They had called the evening before to see if I might be available to go with them as they visited a couple of locations that the elder of the two female cousins (a few years older than I) had known and played in as a child. They settled in my car and as we turned a corner onto the road named after the lake and retreat area once owned by her father, she gasped as she recognized the house in which my grandmother had lived with one of her sons. Memories came rushing back for me as well as she shared loving thoughts of the times she recalled visiting Grandma (her aunt) at that house. Just a short distance down the road she recognized another house where a cousin of hers (my aunt) had lived. A few winding curves as we traveled west led us to the turn onto the road to the small lake and retreat campsite for which the main road had been named. Her daughter, now herself a grandmother, gasped at the enormity of the structure that once housed all the campers (including me on several occasions) many years ago. The elder cousin told of her father’s act of putting it up for auction whereby the Kiwanis Club of the city nearby purchased the property and maintained it for many years. We left there and drove to the farm next to my family farm that her mother and father had owned and that her mother had spent hours of loving care planting and harvesting a garden. Hearing her recollection of the events and experiences at the places that I had experienced differently was pure joy to this now aging possessor of Parkinson’s. Gratitude filled my heart as we hugged goodbye with promises to stay in touch. Full of thankfulness for the special memories elicited from the visit to places and spaces of my youth reminded me that each day is an opportunity to build upon memories yet to be created. May the experiences of today be driven by the vehicle powered with gratitude for yesterday and the joy of possibilities right now!
The old pecan tree sheds its small green blossom strings as the winds whip by with bursts of energy from the north. Every web a spider has made acts as an unwitting trap for the tree’s rendering, giving warning to this aging possessor of Parkinson’s as to where not to walk lest he be encompassed by the arachnid’s trap. The sky is bright and nearly clear, but the temperature demonstrates a lingering presence of a northern blast as Spring asserts her belated appearance. My preference is a gentle breeze without the presence of flying pecan blossoms and sticky spider webs to avoid while moving awkwardly around the yard by the house. But you see, nature has nothing to do with my preference, but rather follows the prompting of a greater force than the whim of my will. Likewise, I’ve slowly made friends with the fact that being the host to the disease called Parkinson’s has nothing to do with my preferences nor desires. It has blown in to find a place to “act out” its chemically determinant whims. You see, I prefer the absence of pain and the presence of ultimate self-control when moving from one position to another or when walking across the room or out the door. I prefer not having to experience “freezing” moments wherein my body will not move smoothly at my mental (or loud verbal) command. I prefer having a peaceful and restful night’s sleep and to awake to the power of revitalized energy for that day. I also prefer not to experience untoward muscle jerks that accompany those undesired late-night obsessive thoughts of things for which there can be no resolution at that moment. I prefer to not be captive to small chemical substances that must be consumed on a routine basis to lessen the severity of all the things mentioned above that I would prefer not experiencing, plus a few added ones. I am grateful, however, to have the ability to learn how to cope with challenges of nature and disease. What worked yesterday or last week may not work today, but so far, the value of options has shown itself to be available each day. Seeking the place of gratitude for even what appears as the smallest touch of grace that releases one from what was desired and sometimes experienced into the place of what is and could be adapted, fills this heart with hope and assurance that each day, there is a way!
After having “made friends” with some of the untoward side effects of this disease known as Parkinson’s, (or so I thought) I have discovered that there are still challenges that rumble around the edges of irrationality and require a more conscious effort to “put in its place” than I had been exerting. The belief that a night of seven to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep was within the realm of possibility has been dashed after several years of “now you sleep and now you don’t”. This morning, after responding to nature’s call, I grunted my way back under the covers to find a resting place. An itch on my back required a scratch. Then, a pressure point pain in my hip required an adjustment. And then, my mind went on its obsessive task of reconstructing the roof of the lean-to shed attached to the old tobacco barn that has slowly been giving way, but nearly collapsed with the last snow fall. Rationality came to visit as I told myself there would be no way to resolve that issue at this time in the middle of the night. This dopamine deprived brain of mine would not embrace the rational thought. I recalled those for whom I had been offering prayers for their healing and or comfort and began prayerful thoughts. The barn shed popped up in my mind again as though a gladiator had returned with sword in hand, flinging the picture of the bent roof directly in my face, shouting “take that”. With a sigh of resignation, I pulled the covers back, slipped on my pajama bottom and my slippers and found my glasses placed gently on the side table just a few hours before. The light from the full moon of that evening was shining through the translucent blinds, so I did not need to flip the switch for full lighting that I feared would lift me to a height of full awareness. After a short journey to the den and securing a comfortable position in the recliner, the handy electronic device used as calendar, telephone, alarm clock, Biblical reference, internet search vehicle was unlocked with my thumbprint and I zoomed into the wonderland of messages and information. A few hours later, I woke to the light of a rising sun, the blank screen of the hand held device and a sense of gratitude for having gained a few more hours of sleep. With a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand and the day’s designated reading and calendar before me, I gave thanks for the time of deep sleep that had renewed my awareness and energy level, if even slightly. Expressing gratitude for having access to mind numbing distractions from one of the several reconstructive projects, brought with it a sense of peace from which the day’s agenda could emerge. A grateful mind is the engine that propels a thriving heart!
I sat in the car stunned by what I had just heard. I had answered a few questions regarding movement and had walked the hallway as instructed. The visit to the Neurologist was intended to gain understanding as to why I was limping on my right side and finding my right hand a bit stiff. “You have Parkinson’s disease,” he said. I was stunned. I knew about Parkinson’s from the work I had done in the Pharmaceutical business. I had missed my symptoms entirely. As I sat there in my car, thinking, my mind went diving to its lowest depths. The New Year of 2007 would arrive in just a few days and I had plans for bright new beginnings; not a deteriorating disease that would ultimately end in death (my thinking, not a prognosis). I called my daughter and told her the diagnosis and said: “now I know how I’ll die.” (Not a loving way to share with her.) I sat there weeping my own demise and the future of miserable challenges I would face. Suddenly, I recalled the statement that “fortune telling is not one of the Spiritual gifts.” I thanked God out loud for reminding me that I wasn’t the beginning and the ending (alpha and omega) of my story. Just uttering those words of gratitude opened then a new vista; a new vision of possibilities that I had not previously embraced. Still heavy with grief and sadness, I started the engine and pulled from the parking lot onto the street back home. I didn’t know the future, but I did believe that the God who had made me and had saved me for eternity was the same God who was going to be with me every day going forward. That one seed of gratitude, I discovered, blossomed into moments of hope as I navigated to streets to my home. The thoughts sustained me until the next challenge I would face emerged from my storehouse of potential negativity. I learned and am still learning that the seeds of gratitude yield a harvest of hope even in the depths of a storm!
The torrent of rain and flashes of wind had passed, and we were left with the fortunate task of simply mowing the grass that had been amply watered. Florence had devastated sections of the coastal plain and flooded the sandhills of North Carolina and South Carolina and was then on her way to New England. This reluctant host to shakes and tremors that result from the disease called Parkinson’s had reacted to the weather in ways that exacerbated the already unwelcomed symptoms. Anxiety was invading this host and he was feeding it fears of trees falling, of devastating rains and flooding that would cause extensive damage that would need repair. This anxiety was building without its host’s conscious awareness. Determined to be productive, even in the face of physical challenges and liberal “fortune telling” (feeding anxiety with fears of future), the lawn mower was filled with fuel and mounted for a productive afternoon of grass cutting. After navigating the edges of the driveway, this eager septuagenarian turned to tackle the side of the county road. Anxiety built as fears of being rammed by a passing car or slipping too quickly into the ditch beside the road swept over me. Suddenly, I heard myself saying: “God, keep me safe on this road; watch for the car that may come my way.” What hit me then was not a vehicle or a fall into the ditch. It was a stark awareness that I had just approached the Creator of the universe and grantor of eternal grace as though He were my personal body guard and goffer. Had the mower not been so loud I might have been able to hear myself as I shouted, “forgive me.” My prayer then turned to expressions of gratitude for the eternal grace and mercy that has filled so much of my life. My request then became one for wisdom and good judgement. As the mower and I continued over tenuous paths, so did my thoughts continue focus on the multitude of things for which I am ever so thankful. I reminded myself that “fortune telling” (the substance of fear and anxiety) is not among the spiritual gifts we are promised. Grass is cut, shakes are chemically under control, and my heart and mind are again focused on gratitude for the grace and mercy that each of us is afforded by our loving God. May gratitude win the race against fear and anxiety!
The giant pecan tree sways gently in the warmth of the north-westerly breeze meteorologically generated by a hurricane that just this weekend past devastated the beautiful island of Puerto Rico. Even with the breeze and swaying trees, the heat and humidity render the out of doors rather inhospitable to this possessor of Parkinson’s symptoms. Plans for working outdoors today have been thwarted by nature’s bent to generate heat greater than the norm during these early fall days. Adapting to a change in plans, we pursue indoor chores that also become physically challenging in a matter of minutes. Walking prompts a conscious effort to lift legs each step of the way lest we stumble over our own feet. A respite from muscle straining chores prompts this determined and somewhat unaccepting recipient of neurological wranglings to undertake a few minutes of focused exercise before settling in the comfort of his cushy recliner to pen these few words. Self- expression has become an outlet for the fuming heat of the challenge that exists between the space of “what’s desired” and “what is experienced.” In that space I have found a place of encouragement and inspiration. It is called “gratitude” and it possesses an amazing antidote to what may otherwise appear to be loss and grief. My gratitude emerges from a place deep in my heart that is soothed and inspired to know and to more graciously understand that the God who began this work in me will continue it to completion. To know (as in true reassurance) that God’s grace is sufficient provides a place of constant gestation from which renewed and clearer offspring emerge in words and thoughts of thankfulness. In the words expressed by the Apostle Paul, I am growing to understand and be enlivened by his statement; “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV. An impossible order on our own, but thank God, we have a helper who already abides in the place for which we long!
A step outside resembles a visit to the sauna. Even the overcast skies and intermittent winds seem to only stir the steamy pot of perspiration prompting humid degrees. Gracie and her soon to be neighboring pup had a short ten-minute romp together and are now both sprawled exhaustedly at my feet. A three-hour tour on the zero-turn mower this morning rendered the nearly three acres of sprawling lawn a fresh hew neatly trimmed. It rendered this host to PD Stiff and shaky, but grateful to have gotten it accomplished. It’s so easy to revert to the mindset that life “should be” so much easier to maneuver. I see the chickens scavenging freely midst the mower tossed clippings and I witness the goats doing some seemingly effortless head butting while I struggle to walk to the house after exiting the seat of the mower. The pity party was over months (if not years) ago, so don’t misinterpret this reflection on reality as overly self-indulgent. I once pondered “why me”? Then the answer “why not?” came barreling my way. The etiology of Parkinson’s disease is medically explainable, so that tells me how tis came to be. I may never know why it is happening in me, any more than the millions of others who are presented with the disease challenge called Parkinson’s. But, I can know one thing for sure; I am ever so grateful for the moments I still have to move, to breathe, to hug, to enjoy a refreshing breeze, to see grandchildren frolic about and to glide a still nimble left hand over the computer keyboard as I share the expressions of this heart set on thriving in the glow of God’s grace. Parkinson’s was not my choice, but the mind I choose to have it live within is mine to wield. In my moments of sometimes pain and anger at the challenges being faced, I remind myself that the very breath I take is a gift and I find my spirit being lifted from a place of mourning to the dawning of a new morning lighted with new possibilities.
Flipping an omelet was a simple task. Turning from side to side in the bed was once a thoughtless maneuver. Putting on pants while standing was second nature and required no thought or attention. Hopping from the chair to attend to a recalled task was a snap. Flicking a light switch was accomplished with lightening speed. Turning quickly because you remembered something in the other direction required no attention to the process of turning around. “Past” is the tense in each of the previous statements. So many things this “whipper-snapper” took for granted have become the thief demanding attention where no attention was before required. This stranger called Parkinson’s disease has decided to take up residence. His presence is unwelcome and he was uninvited. His intrusiveness is fuel for my anger at times and a reminder of my grief at what has been lost. I reflect on life before his invasion and though saddened at times by loss I cannot help but be thankful that those years of freedom were given. Today the struggle is not as much with the resistance to movement or the slowness to respond to my every whim, but rather with the integration of what is today, with the memory of what used to be. Each day now becomes a new opportunity to exercise what remains. Placing grief at the feet of thankfulness helps create a path forward with the legs of gratitude.
The trees sway in the distance as the wind-swept sheets of drizzling rain meander through the countryside. Mother nature’s penchant for the extreme has shown herself well this spring season. Hot and humid followed by chilly and dry to be chased away with torrents of rain and flooded streams and roads, have been her renderings on this seasons tapestry. As possessor of perpetual Parkinson’s disease and its seemingly random expressions of unwelcome presence, the weather appears to illicit periods of prolonged stiffness, slowness of movement and thoughts somewhat heavier than when mother nature is bright and cheerful. Periods of profound pondering however, are usually followed by days less weighty, just as the pouring rain succumbs to the drying warmth of sunshine. Wet weather provides the life sustaining quench to a thirsting world that thrives in both sunshine and shadow. Gratitude for the opportunity to soak up what’s needed during times of the downpour offers grounded roots for light that dries away the shiver from the pouring rain.
Flipping an omelet was a simple task. Turning from side to side in the bed was once a thoughtless maneuver. Putting on pants while standing was second nature and required no thought or attention. Hopping from the chair to attend to a recalled task was a snap. Flicking a light switch was accomplished with lightening speed. Turning quickly because you remembered something in the other direction required no attention to the process of turning around. “Past” is the tense in each of the previous statements. So many things this “whipper-snapper” took for granted have become the thief demanding attention where no attention was before required. This stranger called Parkinson’s disease has decided to take up residence. His presence is unwelcomed and he was uninvited. His intrusiveness is fuel for my anger at times and a reminder of my grief at what has been lost. I reflect on life before his invasion and though saddened at times by loss I cannot help but be thankful that those years of freedom were given. Today the struggle is not as much with the resistance to movement or the slowness to respond to my every whim, but rather with the integration of what is today, with the memory of what used to be. Each day now becomes a new opportunity to exercise what remains. Placing grief at the feet of thankfulness helps create a path forward with the legs of gratitude.