<h1>The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease. </h1>

Wouldn't it be nice if Voltaire was right - all we have to do is wait for nature to cure us. Unfortunately, that is not the case for PWP. This "disease" is incurable - to date any way. Some real progress and promise is being made by people researching the vaccine approach (see "Foxfeed Blog" for March 20th), so there is hope, right?

I had Voltaire's words in mind when I went to see my neuro today. He asked how I was doing. I said "fine".

Now what is a doctor supposed to say when the patient is "fine"?

Silence reigned.

He looked at his computer and asked a couple of questions about medicine and side effects. "None," was my reply.

Stymied.

He looked ill at ease. If he had had a speech bubble above his head, like in the comics, it would have read, "Fine! Fine! None! Now what!"

Don't get me wrong. He is a good man and good doctor. There was just nothing more to say. He asked me about falling. I told him I had had another fall in South Beach but that I had walked about 17,000 steps each day.

Topic change.

"Well, I only average about 4,000 a day," he said and added, "we put a fitbit on my young son to see what exercise he was getting in school. He was up to 17,000."

Very Interesting. I would not have guessed that many.

We chatted about that for a minute or so and then my wife asked him about a research study concerning the effect of caffeine upon PD. I volunteered. I qualified because I had PD (obviously), was the right age (although closer to the upper limit than the lower) and I never drink coffee and not enough Coke to rule me out. He is putting my name forth. We will see.

Anyway, I think Voltaire was mistaken. The art of medicine consists of the patient keeping the doctor amused until...Well...until the victim has some new symptoms or until somebody, somewhere, cures the disease.

I left feeling pretty good. Four years past diagnosis and my neurologist and I have nothing to talk about.