The truth is you don't know what is going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed. (Eminem)

So here I am, going happily through life. Retired(well,sort of), great family, nice home & cottage, annual trip to South Miami Beach. Had it all and then, out of the blue, my right hand starts doing the cha cha on its own volition and the next thing I know, an old doctor tells me he is confident I am in the early stage of Parkinson's. My life continues as before, I still have it all, but now it is all under the cloud of PD.

Anyway, I wanted to learn about PD so I went to work and found some interesting facts:

1. Body movements are controlled by a part of the brain called the basil ganglia.For proper body movements, there must be a balance between dopamine and acetylcholine. Both substances are neurotransmitters. Parkinson's begins when the cells that produce the dopamine begin to die and the balance between the two substances deteriorates. When about 80% of the dopamine-producing cells have died, parkinson's symptoms begin.
2. The risk of developing PD is directly proportional to age. Most symptoms appear over the age of 50; although, 1 in 20 people are diagnosed under the age of 40.
3. In the USA, a person is diagnosed with PD every 9 minutes and as the population continues to age, so will the incidence of parkinson's.
4. PD is second only to Alzheimer's as a degenerative, neurological condition. In North America, the number of people with PD outnumbers the combined total of the victims of MS, MD and ALS.
5. There is no cure for PD however, drugs have been found that can control the symptoms, giving the PWP a better quality of life (mine is usually completely normal, on the outside). Meanwhile, researchers continue to look for better drugs and a possible cure.
6. About 100,000 Canadians have PD. Those are long odds. PWP should not waste their money on lotteries. For us, the odds of any of us winning are bad; it would just be a tax on stupidity
7. PD is a designer disease. It is different for everyone. Progression can be rapid or glacial paced. Not all of the symptoms appear in each case. Sometimes, only one side of the body is affected, etc, etc. That is why it is no use comparing yourself to a vetern of the disease.

I remain optimistic. Things are going well for me............ I must have overlooked something!!!

Of Trials and Tribulations

The trial has been cancelled and a settlement reached! I no longer have to worry about being the chief witness. The lawyer for the winning side interviewed me and, even though he is a friend, my mouth dried up and I couldn't think straight. I told him later that we PWP might sound stupid, but our brain works just fine. He said I didn't sound stupid, I just took my time answering his questions. The odd thing is, I wasn't stressed then and I would not have been particularly stressed at the trial, but that wouldn't stop the PD symptoms making me looked stressed, or worse, distressed. Anyway, I am thankful that it was settled, I didn't want to spend 10 days in a courtroom. As a lawyer myself, I try to avoid those places. Too stern and baroque

I once took some teenagers to watch the trial of a man accused of attempted murder. We were mulling around in the hallway, waiting for the courtroom to open, when the victim came up and spoke to me. I told him what we were doing and he offered to talk to the kids. He told them that the accused had stabbed him 27 times. I sort of scoffed at that. I mean he was still alive. Who lives after being stabbed 27 times? He opened his shirt and showed us the scars. I don't know if there were 27, but there were alot. I thanked him and he left us just as the sheriffs were bringing in the accused.

Now you have to get the picture. Thirty 14 year olds, not paying attention, talking in loud voices about the victim and occupying the entire hallway. One sheriff said, "Excuse us" and the kids all looked toward him and saw the prisoner being escorted by two, rather large sheriffs, each of whom was holding one arm of accused. He was about 6'2", long black greasy hair, scruffy, handcuffed and had a cross carved into his forehead (copying Charlie Manson maybe?). Although he appeared to be a white man, he reminded me of Injun Joe from Tom Sawyer (Or Huck Finn - not sure which). The sight of this man made the students move. It was like the parting of the sea as they quickly and uncharacteristically silently, moved to one side or the other of the hallway. The accused passed through with a smirk on his face and one of the sheriffs winked at me.

That was thirty years ago and unfortunately, my memory of the event ends with that smirk. I have no idea what happened. Maybe I have blocked it out because I really don't like courtrooms!

In another world, I made and drank chaga mushroom tea. I have to say, it tasted really good so I will keep on drinking it, even if I don't notice any changes. It is like chicken noodle soup for a cold. Can't help. Can't hurt.

HEEERRREES JOHNNY!!!!!

PD keeps knocking at my door and I just don't answer. I am too busy building stronger weapons - ie - getting more drugs to battle the invader. Now a new supplement has come my way, one that comes with a story behind it.

You see, my younger brother, the free spirit who,at 63 or 64 (I forget) is pushing his luck trekking up mountains once each year somewhere in the world; Mountains like the first base camp on Mount Everest, Machu Pichu, some mountain in Venezuela........ you get the picture. This year however, he decided to stay at home and hit the wilderness of the Rockies, which he described as "beyond my comfort zone". While on his trek he met a Native healer picking chaga mushrooms who went by the name Sequoyah Trueblood. My sibling didn't know it at the time, but Sequoyah Trueblood is quite famous as a healer and teacher. My brother asked Sequoyah what he was going to do with the mushrooms and got the reply that he was taking them to a place in Calgary where they would be turned into chaga mushroom tea which,he said, was good for people with parkinson's.

What a serenddipitous meeting!

My brother is sending me some, looking out for me (It's a family thing). I will give the tea a shot and let you know the results.

Let's hope it is another weapon in my arsenal to keep Johnny at bay.

By the way, throughout this narrative could you hear my brother's theme song, "The Happy Wanderer"?

I love to go a-wandering,
Along the mountain track,
And as I go, I love to sing,
My knapsack on my back.

Chorus:
Val-deri,Val-dera,
Val-deri,
Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Val-deri,Val-dera.
My knapsack on my back.

This post contains language that may not be suitable for children. Reader discretion is advised.

As a person who has suffered from the ravages of the Aztec Two-step (aka "Montezuma's Revenge") for most of his life (a real problem when running a marathon), one of the good things about PD, for me, is that it causes constipation. I can walk or run as far or as long as I want without any worries, but, on the 3rd day, I have to "go" and, oh my god, it is an adventure - probably approaching the agony of child birth. So, to ease the pain, I must take pills that help make it less scarring, both physically and mentally. The other two days are delightful.

The problem is, I know it can only get worse as PD weakens my muscles. For the time being, I shall enjoy my new-found freedom, with the exception of that third day.

As someone once said, constipation is a sign of good health for pomeranians, or something like that.

Cheers!

Standing Sixes

It is late at night. I am sixteen and with my friend who is the same age. We are basically good boys but, it is dark; we are bored and looking for trouble. We are about to steal a transistor radio from a car. This goes against my upbringing and my morals. I try not to look nervous, but I am and I do. My friend notices my hands shaking and he offers to do the deed while I stand in the shadows and look out for anyone coming. My voice quivers and my chin trembles as I mumble a soft "OK".

It all goes well until the meatheads (military police) show up. I yell to my friend who has opened the car door and is reaching inside. "Meatheads," I sputter. "RUN".

My fiend drops his booty and takes off in one direction while I head out at full speed into the dark prairie. I run until my chest hurts. Finally, I stop and look back. Nothing. I start walking home but my foot sinks into a gopher hole and twists. The pain arrives as my right leg goes into spasm and I wake up.

It was only a dream! A fantasy! But, the pain is real. My leg has spasmed again. It seems to be happening more frequenty this past month and let me tell you, on a pain scale (where ten is that exquisite pain that I have only suffered through once in my life, while waiting for surgery for a spinal stenosis), the pain in my leg is right up there at the 7 - 8 spot in the catalogue of human woes.

There is only one good thing about the leg pain. When I stand for a couple of minutes the pain goes away, leaving only a mild throbbing that can last a day or more. So, all I need is a warning system, some omen or signal, (something standing sixes as I had done in my dream), and can tell me to get up and get to attention before the muscle has a chance to contract, or whatever it is doing to cause me grief for those few minutes of excruciating pain.

Oh, and I would prefer if it didn't happen at 3:30 in the morning.

I hate that drum's discordant sound

Went to see the Neurologist on Thursday. He said I looked real good. Few more questions, few answers and the session closed with "You are definitely one of the ones I don't need to see for 6 months."

Good news, right? Well sorta....... I mean it sounds like I am progressing slowly and should be happy with that and, don't me wrong, I am.

But you know those old movies where the hunting party gets lost in the jungle? You know, the old black and white movies where there is always a man with a rifle and pith helmet, a beautiful woman who spends her time nervously sighing, with the back of her hand against her brow, and a faithful black servent, who talks in mono syllables.

Will they make it out alive???

It is looking good when, suddenly, a distant sound makes them stop. Pith-helmet man brings up his rifle, ever ready for action. Pretty lady swoons, and puts her hand to her forehead. The much too faithful servent explains, in mono-syllabic english, that it is native drummers sending messages. The drummers are looking for a man, a woman, and a faithful black servent. What will happen to our heroic three when the bad guys capture them?.....Who knows?

It is a moot point. Usually, if not always, they are rescued.

PD is like that. I am feeling pretty good at the moment but off in the distance I hear those PD tom-toms. The drummer is coming to get me, the jungle is impenetrable; and there does not appear to be any rescurer coming to save this poor old star-crossed, erztz-warrior.

While I am waiting to be rescued, I will try to be as optimistic as my doctor seems to be.

By the way, the doctor gave me a drug to settle me down when I give evidence at the upcoming trial. Should help calm the stress induced tremors.

Oh, and he had never heard of gou teng!!!