I love Miami Beach. Even in February, it is hot (but not humid, much like our Manitoba summers here in Canada). The tropical heat is a welcome break from winter. On the day we left, it was 40 below (F) in Winnipeg and 80F (about 25C) in South Beach. This was our 11th trip and we settled into our usual routine - wife window shopping, me running the beach. This past February, I was feeling full of energy and would often run a couple of miles twice a day. The hill at the new South Pointe Park was a good challenge and made my runs all the more difficult. The only problem was, my right hand seemed to have a life of its own. After a strenuous run, it would start vibrating and then shaking. It only lasted a minute or so and if it didn't stop on its own, I could force it to stop by squeezing my thumb and finger together. I showed my wife and we laughed. I chose to ignore it as much as possible and kept running that hill. Sometimes my hand would dance, other times it did not and the 2 weeks went by too quickly. We left Miami International at about 2 in the afternoon. We had to be diverted over the gulf coast because a space ship was landing (only in Florida) but the rest of the flight was uneventful. It was clear most of the way, which is not all that great because you can literally see the changing of the seasons beneath the plane. Winter began again over the northern states and we knew what would be waiting for us in Toronto - snow and cold. What we didn't expect was fog. We began our descent. We were flying through a cloud flecked with snow. I noticed on the TV screen that we were 1000ft from the ground when the engines powered up and it felt like we began climbing vertically at several hundred miles per hour. After a few minutes of climbing, our pilot informed us that we had been too close to the plane landing before us and consequently, we would have to fly to Montreal to refuel...?????.... That still makes no sense to me but apparently we were going to Montreal and we did. I began to get annoyed. If we had enough fuel to fly to Montreal, why couldn't we just circle and try the landing again? I noticed a slight tremor in my hand. We landed in Montreal some time later and after a lengthy stay on the tarmac, we were airborne to Toronto, this time without incident. My hand calmed down. We missed our connection to Winnipeg and were put up in a hotel, but to get to that hotel, we would have to wait outside for the shuttle. Just a few minutes. It wasn't Winnipeg cold but it was cold. I only had on a spring jacket and I began to get chilled, and really, really annoyed, as those few minutes droned on. By the time an hour was up, my hand was out of control - bouncing around like a fish out of water. Now to control it, I had to ball my hand into a fist and squeeze. When that didn't work, I put my hand in my pocket, out of sight from the curious crowd. We finally got to the hotel and I went to sleep. A normal 2.5 hour trip had taken almost 8 hours. Sleep came quickly and when I awoke my hand was behaving itself but by then, my wife and I decided I should get it looked at.
I am Confident in my Diagnosis
It is mid-March, 2011. It is cold enough that I am wearing mitts. The people who I pass cannot tell that inside my right mitt, my hand is doing a tap dance. I am on my way to the neurologist. I cannot "think" my way to a stable hand, only a tight clench will stop it. I sit in the waiting room and am surprised when my hand becomes normal when I grip my pocketbook. The doctor is late and I read 20 pages or so without a problem. He arrives and I can see he is older than me (65). That's good, I decide, lots of experience. He calls me into his office and has me sit on an examination table. I tell him my story and he tells me to put my hands in my lap, palms up, and count back from 100 by 7's. That's easy, I tell myself, 14 numbers and I will land on two. With confidence I begin and the numbers come to me easily and I quickly finish. Throughout, my hand is moving independently. He tells me to get down and indicates a chair. I sit down. "It is early stage Parkinson's," he says. I say nothing. "You can get a second opinion if you want, but I am confident in my diagnosis." Again, I say nothing. "Do you have any questions about the condition?" No.
He gives me a copy of an article torn out of a magazine and I leave. I don't bother reading the article. I have heard of Parkinson's Disease, but he might have told me, "you have a cold" for all the impact his diagnosis has had. Whatever it is, I can learn to live with it, just as I have learned to live with "fibromyalgia". It is only later, after a couple of hours on google, that the diagnosis hits me square in the face. I have an incurable degenerative disease. I can only get worse and there is nothing I can do about it. I read that the symptoms can be controlled (that's good!) but the positive effects of medication can diminish after prolonged use (I don't like the sound of that!). It is different for all patients and can progress slowly in some (that will be me!) Exercise helps (got that covered!). Eat dark chocolate (love the stuff!). Try fava beans (who eats these things! I pass.) Avoid stress (I am a lawyer! Any suggestions!). There are thousands of articles and I devour several dozen but the best site I find is a Parkinson's site in the United Kingdom . The people with Parkinson's there give me hope and that is where I am today. For some reason, I am not upset. I don't think of my future as being bleak, thanks to these people who have lived with the disease for some time. From now on, parkinson's no longer deserves a capital "P".
The trip from hell part 2
Right now I am sitting in Toronto International Airport. My plane to Winnipeg is an hour late. My hand is jumping around badly. As I type,I keep repeating letters and having to correct. Why is that? You might ask.
Sit tight and I will tell you why I may never go to Miami again.
We got on the plane in Miami, on time, but didn't move because there was something wrong with the cargo door and maintenance had to fix it. We sat there for about an hour until it was fixed. We began to taxi. The flight attendants seemed to be rushing to and fro. Something was up! The captain came on the intercom and said, "Sorry folks, we have to return to the gate as a piece of paneling has come loose and is falling on a passenger's head." WHAT? "We will be going back to the gate and maintenance will repair it." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I turned to look and sure enough, part of the ceiling (2' x 2') had come loose and was hanging by some wires. The plane was falling apart! This did not inspire confidence. An hour passed; the ceiling was fixed and we began to taxi. We stopped when the pilot advised there was a "ground hold in effect but it should only last 15 or 20 minutes." I chose 15, but I lost. So two hours and 20 minutes later, we actually took flight, only to arrive in Toronto to discover, as I said, our connecting plane was an hour late.
I was just glad we made it, seeing as how our plane appeared to be a lemon.
Is it any wonder my hand is doing a two-step!
An announcement was just made......"We will be further delayed as there is a slight maintenance problem on the plane."....... NOW WHAT?
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