<H1>Some chicken! Some neck ! </h1>

I feel trapped by time, by the unholy trinity known as past, present and future. The past is a collection of moments that were good to me; the present is non-existent and the future is a shroud. For moments each day, I exist in darkness.

Time has a knife to my throat and PD is its greatest fan, urging time to cut my throat slowly and make my last days miserable.

Up to this year I have been able to keep PD chained in a prophet's cage. But now, due to circumstances beyond my control, I am forced to Let my guard down. I have entered stage 3 on the PD Wall of Shame:

In Stage 3 motor symptoms become worse, patients may begin to experience loss of balance leading to falls and movement can become very slow. Although many patients can still live independently they may have difficulty in everyday activities such as eating or dressing.

Yup, that's me to a "T". I never thought PD would get this far, and maybe it hasn't. I am never out of control. Sure I have no sense of smell, my ability to talk coherently has been injured and I do have bouts of "I almost fell there" situations, but I can look at it this way. The average length of time from onset to full PD is 10 years and I have survived quite nicely for 8. I will get through at least 10 more. Drugs still control my symptoms and when I encounter those depressing shadows (I was entering one when I started this entry), I just quote Winston Churchill to myself:

We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender

The war is not over yet, PD, you bastard.