Here's to the Beach Boys,

I heal very quickly. All that remains of my once tattered face is one large, but rapidly diminishing, scab on my left cheek bone. The right side is completely normal again. What happened? Why do I heal quickly?

I don't rate "healing" as a science; rather, I am certain that the body's power of self healing is boosted by the patient's outlook on life and life's situations. I suffer from Parkinson's. So what? We all have problems. I don't let it get me down and I remain dramatically optimistic.

I'm picking up good vibrations,
life's given me excitations.
Good, good, good, good vibrations etc, etc
(with apologies to Mike Love)

Now that's drama! But really, if you are a part of the tribe, it is necessary that you maintain an optimistic outlook. Think - "I can slow the progression with good thoughts" or " I believe that a cure is not far off". Things like that. Good stuff will follow.

Oh yea. Exercise too. You might fall and get cut up, but get on your feet and run/walk again. This time (it has happened to me 3 times. You'd think I would learn.) I finally got to say "You should see the other guy" when I caught a fellow staring. Felt good. Like making a silk purse out of a sow's ear, as they say.

Close my eyes, it's somehow closer now
Softly smile, I know a cure is there
I feel the noise of those excitations
On the wind that lifts my future through the air.

Good, good, good, good vibrations
Etc...etc...etc

Back in the Saddle Again........"Deliver thunder, God, If you choose not to talk".

Mother nature was in an ornery mood and thunder and lightning were her weapons of choice which she used on me, as I described in my last entry. To inspire awe in us, her majestic display of bad temper is beautiful and disturbing at the same time. She touches everyone in some way at one time or another, but She seems to have a particular beef with the Canadian prairies. Here storms can arise suddenly, last for 10- 20 minutes producing a battlefield of destruction. Thus, on my walk, when I heard the thunder getting closer and the sky began to light up with flashes of lightning, I decided to head for shelter - home. Trekking poles do offer you the ability to move fast. I was half way finished with my walk when the storm was only minutes away. Should I continue and finish my walk? No thank you sir, just please Thor, do not throw that lightning bolt at me. I have no need to be fried electrically. There it was; my mind was made up. I was going to go home using my poles to help me with speed. I got going and the poles propelled me at greater speeds than I have ever reached and I got careless....twice. Uncontrollable festination(twice) sending my face skidding across the pavement. Festiation, an unwelcome symptom, is common in PD.

There are ways to stop festinating but it was too late for me and I fell twice just to make sure both sides of my face would scare children.

BUT! I am back in the saddle again. Yesterday, two days after my fall(s), I was trekking again, albeit a little slower.

The festinating gait, as it is commonly called, is not inevitable. You have to understand its cause. If you are moving so that your body is bent forward, your center of gravity moves out in front of your body and you body simply tries to catch up to it. You fall into that alien run, rapid, short steps causing the body to lean more and more forward until you fall. It has been my experience that once it starts, there is nothing you can do but try to head for grassy areas (almost impossible to change directions as you have lost control), or hope for a friendly snow bank to cushion the inevitable.

But, there are hints that this parkie phenomenon is going to happen. These hints cannot be described, you have to see for yourself. Your own body's hints may be peculiar to you alone. But you will feel an odd sensation that signals the possibility that it is going to take over. Stop walking. Hold on to something or some one. If you feel it coming on, try one or all of these suggested preventative measures that have been told to me by experienced members of our tribe:

• my personal favorite is to just sit down for 20 minutes and the feeling will pass
• Take big steps, thinking "heel, toe, heal, toe" over and over
• turn your body 360 degrees and make your first step a big one
• walk backward.

I have tried them all but sitting down is the best.

On another note, A couple of you have suggested I am starting to feel depressed as I continue on my journey. I am happy to say, I am not depressed and still fully in command of my forces striving to keep the disease at bay.

Want to see a prairie storm in all its glory, go to

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN0K4f_8-wg)

Prairie Lightning and its After effects - We all Fall Down

Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances,
profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.

There's nothing like a prairie thunderstorm. A pox on it! Lightening cleans the sky followed by rolling thunder. If you count the seconds between the flash of the lightning and the detonation of the thunderclap, you can tell if the storm is nearby and whether it is moving toward you or in the opposite direction.

48 friggin's seconds is what I counted. The storm was far away and so decided to do a short (1.5 miles) walk. It was raining, but so what. Off I went.

The trouble ain't that there is too many fools, but that the lightning ain't distributed right.

The count was now at 21 and decreasing rapidly. The storm was coming toward me. I picked up my pace and headed home. 10 seconds....5 seconds and then FESTINATION. My poles were useless as I started to run across the road. I fell face first onto the pavement, just as the clouds discharged a lightning bolt and the thunder rumbled over my head. I knew I was hurt; I could feel the blood. I got up and after 2 steps - FESTINATION - I was headed toward the house. Good, I thought, I will stop my runaway body by hitting the wall. Nope, didn't make it. I crashed into the front sidewalk, half on the concrete, half in the garden.

The clouds opened up and rain pelted my aching body but I couldn't get up. I felt like an idiot, lying there in the mud, watching the cars go by. I guess nobody saw me because nobody stopped to help. Finally, using my poles, I got to my knees and crawled to the front door and with a little more effort, I entered the house.

Here endith the story. The moral(s)

• don't go out in the thunder and lighting or at least follow the advice of Lee Trevino
  

  In case of a thunderstorm,
  " Stand in the middle of the fairway
  and hold up a one iron.
  Not even God can hit a one iron."

• Don't try to break records for the 100m dash while using trekking poles. You simply lose control. Your center of gravity moves forward, outside your body and your body attempts to catch up by breaking into that freaky run called festintation.
• The end game is always the same (see picture of me after this morning's fall). It ain't pretty is it. Notice I lost part of my front tooth. Well, hell, I still have a couple of dozen left. But, I will no longer laugh at anything, at least until I get that tooth repaired.

Is there a dentist in the house? A cheap one?

I WRITE TO KNOW I'M NOT ALONE

Having a degenerative brain disease is a lousy way to garner attention. Knowing that, I set out in 2011 to complain to the world and to spread knowledge of the shaking palsy. When I began to write my blog, I anticipated and hoped for about 500 page reads. I passed that goal long ago. Today I reached 36,207 and I thank each reader of my catharsis. Sadly, I am losing my ability to speak coherently. Luckily, I can still write; it comes easily to me. In the words of my favorite author, Ernest Hemingway "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Well things have / have not changed. I use a keyboard now but that is still my blood on the paper. I hope you will keep on reading until my blood stops flowing. Thank you.

Statistics for last week

1. United Kingdom 73
   
2. Canada 48
   
3. United States 46
   
4. Croatia 4
   
5. Czech Republic 3
   
6. Ukraine 3
   
7. Belarus 2
   
8. Germany 2
   
9. Russia 2
   
10. Bulgaria 1

Rockets have a way of failing

Slow down, I'm moving too fast
Don't want to make this moment last
Just fallin' on the cobblestones
Lookin' for luck and feeling woozy

O.K, I haven't fallen for some time and generally I feel pretty good. I know I am declining because whenever I turn, leave a room without holding the door frame, or stand up quickly, I feel like I am high on drugs - not the "feeling groovy' kind of high but a more sinister type that I have yet to name. Needless to say, my balance has been affected and a few times I have actually wobbled like a happy drunk. When my drugs are at their peak, I approach normalcy, so it is not all bad. I remain optimistic albeit a tainted optimism.

I am back in the city. My Vancouver trip was both bad (the sadness of the wake) and good (seeing my brother and his family). The 3 hour plane ride was tolerable because I reserved Economy Plus and I had plenty of leg room. Later in the year we are going to Europe. That flight I am looking forward to - business class - sleeping pods - catered to - airport lounges. This will be the first and last time we fly in that fashion and for me, it might be the highlite of the trip. I should have no PD problems flying in luxury.

First we go to Paris and then Barcelona where I am visiting a very good friend whom I have not seen in 20 years. He has cancer but for now his defenses are holding the disease at bay. Still, cancer or no cancer, PD or no PD, at our ages, this will be our last visit. We are growing old and .....I was going to tell you all the bad things associated with aging but there is no need, it is your destiny to find out for yourselves. There are some really good moments involving children and grandchildren, but for the most part it is true that growing old ain't for sissies.

One last Brian story

Brian and I and occasionally our brothers, were into all things science with runaway imaginations. Upon their return from a sojourn in El Paso, Texas, the Howies brought with them a rocket powered by liquid fuel. It was a wicked looking thing with 2 stages. The nose cone was where we put our astronauts (grasshoppers) none of whom survived the flight (we gave them a proper burial). The first stage was the fuel chamber where two chemicals (my memory is vague on this detail) mixed together to build up the pressure to push the rocket skyward. To keep it on the ground while it pressurized, there was a pin, attached to a 20 foot string, holding the rocket in place. To make the rocket fly, you waited for the pressure to build and, standing 20 or so feet away from it, you pulled the string which released the pin and the rocket went on its way with another astronaut with a short lifespan. The whole rocket was mounted on a mechanism that enabled it to be aimed at any angle. One summer day, Brian and Bruce decided to launch the rocket. I was a bystander while the two brothers readied the rocket. We allowed the chemicals to mix and the pressure built up and it was ready to fly. Bruce pulled the string but the pin didn't release. Rather, it got snagged on the rocket and caused it to slowly swivel downward until it was pointed directly at us. We stood mesmerized, waiting for a disaster. But for some reason, that rocket remained on the pad and fizzled out. We were lucky and broke into nervous laughter. That rocket would have seriously harmed someone,but the gods look after crazy people and idiot children and the incident became another glorious Howie brother deposit in my rapidly filling memory bank.

REQUIEM

I went to Brian's remembrance service. It was held in a plain, but elegant, old church in the town of Ladner. My brother and I arrived early and sat outside at a nearby coffee shop, watching the living go by about their business. We passed the time discussing the virtue (brother) and non-virtue (me) of Bill C51. We were at a stalemate and so we drifted down to the church. We met old friends and sat down to listen to the eulogy(s)and I got choked up but held back any tears. The service ended and we went to another room for refreshments and there it started. The PD monster stood by my shoulder and try as I might, I could not repel it as it took over my body. My mouth became the Sahara and my tongue swelled, making talking a difficulty. My words began to slur and join together but I was determined that on this day, I would suffer through the struggle and join the conversation while swaying, a sure sign that PD was winning the battle. Little did I know what lay ahead on this, the worst day of my PD journey.

We decided to join the family at Brian's home. I was amazed at the back yard with its pergola, ponds and waterfalls. Amazed because I had just learned of another talent of Brian's. He had built all of them. Such talent!

Old friends and new gathered around and again I entered the conversation, forgetting familiar words and substituting simple synonyms and even those I stumbled over. The swaying period grew until I had to hold onto to a leg of the pergola. Nonetheless, I was enjoying seeing and talking (?) to friends, a couple of whom I had not seen for 40 years. I would have stayed, but my brother suggested, quite forcefully, that it was time to leave. What could I do? It was his car, and so we left. On the way to the car I stumbled and weaved, like a drunk trying to walk a straight line.

The next day I was fine. What caused this disastrous day? Could it have been the change of time zones? the length of time standing? a lack of sleep? a change in climate? I think it was a combination of some or all of those but I feel the main component was a touch of grief. Brian's brother Bruce had given a moving eulogy complete with a video showing him and Brian, along with Ken, making some beautiful music which showcased Brian singing. I was incredulous. I had never heard him sing before. He had written the words and music and his voice, combined with some falsetto from Bruce made for a perfect score. The only problem was, it brought a lump to my throat and I wished I had seen more of him and his brother in the past 20 years.

It had been a celebration of his life and I will remember our youth forever and his dry sense of humor will become the stuff of stories.

As for parkinson's, it won that skirmish but I hope I will fight it to my death, with the help of the scientists working for a cure. A little hope can be an illness but the cure for it is to hope more, not less. In fact, hope all the time. That will become my mantra.

To Brian, I hope you have found peace. In the words of Robert Louis Stevenson:

UNDER the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Rest easy old friend. Until we meet again.

Of tumbleweeds and a blatantly obvious metaphor

In my youth, my family lived on an army base and my house was on the perimeter of the camp. Out my back window stretched mile after mile of prairie and on a windy day, the tumble weeds would roll across the dry grass in a furious race to their finish, in the form of a forest, where blocked by trees, they were no longer able to move.

Am I to become a tumbleweed; made to roll by the harsh winds of PD,on my way to...... One day down the road, I may be in a stable state when a breeze starts to blow and I will be on my way to who knows where. I have no idea what will stop me tumbling, but along the way I might encounter the more nefarious of symptoms. I might experience on/off periods, funny walk, the freezing effect, wearing off, festination, greater loss of speech, etc, until ultimately, the "chair". Who knows, I might even be bothered by "real" hallucinations, not the vague momentary visions I experienced early on, but real ones. You know, the kind that only you can see and which you believe are really there. Can you imagine what people might think if it happens in a crowd? I try not to let my thoughts and fears test the patience of future adventures and especially not the possible endgame. The end may come quickly, as I tumble through stage two at a hare's pace and wind up in a chair sooner than I thought; or, I might remain where I am for several years. Nobody knows.

Well, right now I remain optimistic, rooted in optimism, believing stage 2 will last longer than it does for most people. Yes, I believe optimism is another serious weapon of choice. Sometime in the future I know there will come a tell-tale zephyr, to signal me to prepare to tumble. When that happens, I shall deal with it and do my best to stay rooted until "they" find a cure. I refuse anymore to drift along with the tumbling tumbleweeds.

We await that cure. But is it going to be good news/bad news every time we get excited? You know the kind, we think we have found some new weapon, but it won't be available for 5 years.- that kind of "news". Our numbers are growing by the second and once we pass stage 3, we are all going to need your help. It is just easier financially to cure us now rather than treat us in the future. So powers that be, holders of the purse strings, fund research to the max, pay now and reap the benefits later.

Some scary-assed statistices

• approximately 6 new cases are diagnosed every hour
• 160 new cases a day
• 500 a month
• 60,000 per year.
• There are over 1,000,000 people in the USA living with parkinson's

Some better statistics

here are the number of page views and their origins from last week.

• Russia 92
• Canada 55
• United States 27
• United Kingdom 19
• France 5
• Croatia 4
• Ukraine 3
• Netherlands 2
• Germany 1
• Greece 1

total page view to date: 35,492 Thnks to all who read me.