Walkin', yes indeed, I'm talking....about

I was driving away from the movement disorder building, when I chanced upon a woman walking along the sidewalk. She was much younger than I, but she moved like an old lady. She was stooped at the shoulders in a sort of semi-quasimodo effect, her steps were short and she slowly shuffled along. Classic PD, I thought to myself and then I realized she had caught me staring and I was the recipient of a pronounced "look". I wanted to stop the car and explain that I too, was a victim of the condition and I was simply trying to ascertain if I was looking at my future. I was too ashamed to stop. I kept driving but I was full of questions...was she the victim of young onset PD? how long ago was she diagnosed? Didn't the agonists work for her and if they did, how long ago did they stop? Was she on L-dopa and, if she was, why didn't it work? Was she on an "off" period? Was she considering deep brain stimulation? All of my fears went unanswered but unfortunately, I think I will eventually be able to answer them myself.

As I have said before, my symptoms seem to come and go but seem to be constant when I am walking. Certainly, I walk more slowly than I did a few months ago, but sometimes I feel like I am walking through treacle. And my right hand! My right hand, when hanging by my side as I walk, is possessed. It constantly shakes and I can only exorcise its movement by sticking it in a pocket at chest height, causing the twitching to cease... until I next let it loose.

Other than the bad hand that dominates my walking, I have returned to period of grace, with my symptoms held in check by the drugs. If there is a God, I thank him/her for that.

A few days ago, I reported being unable to get out of the bath tub. I am happy to say there has been no repetition of that little incident. It scared the poop out of me because I had convinced myself my PD was progressing slowly and this was a major setback. Now I put it down to an isolated occurrence that could happen to anybody my age and I am back on track to last a few more good years. At the same time I wonder if I am trying to drive out my obsession with the rapidity of the condition's progression by giving vent to it in my writing.

As some poet wrote (I have no idea who. This verse is all I can remember)

Who can tell, so grimly schooled
Such lord of self he seems
If devils that are mute by day
Assail him in his dreams"

Good night and sweet nightmares.