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Tuesday, 14 March 2017
Some Statistics
Time cannot erase my memories, just my ability to recount them
I see a bad moon arising when my inability to converse will be spotlighted.
I am very honoured to have been invited to a high school reunion. Not my high school, but one that my junior high and elementary students attended, once they left me.
In my second year of teaching, I taught a wildly enthusiastic grade 6 class. What a year! We made 2 movies, captured creatures in the summer ditches and........ just generally enjoyed each other. I spent 7 years in that school and each year was a repeat of that first year. That was 4 decades ago and to have them remember me now.....well, that is truly an honour.
I have looked at the facebooks of each former student and I am shocked at the adult faces looking back at me. And they have children too!!! I have to face it, I am an old man. I don't recognize most of those adult faces. I remember them as young teenagers, not as grown-ups. As Dr. Seuss said, "When did it get so late so soon?"
Now, about that bad moon.
PD has robbed me of my ability to communicate. I talk only to family and close friends and even then I stumble over my words. I am hoping I won't have a vicious attack at the reunion. I want to remain in the high esteem of my former students.
PD has set me up for a semi-solitary life:
- my voice makes it hard for people to hear me.
- people have difficulty understanding me, particularly if the setting is noisy
- the clarity of of my voice is dubious
- people ask me to repeat myself because I am speaking too softly
- I am burdened with a word finding problem when I speak.
Funny how that works! I can't find the words when I speak, but they flow easily when I write. I guess you can't have every thing. I am so looking forward to this reunion. Wish me luck.
It's night before it's afternoon.
December is here before it's June.
My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?”
― Dr. Seuss
Silence - the whiner has left the desktop.
Friday, 10 March 2017
The Loodleladdle within me
We set up the tent, laid out our sleeping bags and spent the day exploring the woods and shooting the .22 at non-existent spectres. As night fell, we sat by the fire, eating, joking and insulting nature with locker room banter. Just before 11pm, the topic of the Loodleladdle came up. My buddy told me facts I didn't know. To this day, I say that he was trying to scare me with tales of a malevolent ghost of a bad guy who was killed many years before and now haunted the area around his decaying cabin.
Well..... he succeeded.
"I'm going home," I told him.
Naturally, he started in on me with boyish insults, followed by attempts to convince me to stay; but, my mind was made up. I gathered my gear and headed for home. The old dirt road to Waggle Springs, rose and fell and in the pitch black night, I rode as fast as I could, bouncing up and down on the seat, giving myself saddle sores but otherwise, I made it home without incident. My friend stayed the night and forever after he kept to himself the topic of my cowardliness. This is the first time I have admitted my craven act,
Unfortunately , I think the Loodleladdle inserted himself into me that night. We became as one, and I now carry the curse of the loodleladdle. He is determined to make my life miserable. The signs are there. Shortly after my frenzied breakout from Waggle Springs, I was bewitched and bedevilled with a backache that has lasted 50-odd years. A couple of decades later, years after my midnight ride, I agonized for six months under the spell of a spinal stenosis; very painful. Excruciatingly so. Next arrived the highlite of my list of things I wished to avoid. My anti-bucket list so to speak. Seven years ago, I was diagnosed with parkinson's and now I have a pinched nerve, (or so they tell me). All of these conditions are, without a doubt, disturbing my suburban routine. I shudder to think that perhaps the Loodleladdle came with me on that furious ride home with the intent of making life difficult. Can there be any other explanation?
Why he chose me is a mystery.
But now onto reality. I wonder if the cause of the new pain in my back is a symptom of PD. I know many doctors will tell the patient that pain is not a part of PD.
Do I take them at their word?
Not a chance.
The first result of a google search took me to the webpage of "The National Parkinson's Foundation" where I found an article by Jackie Hunt Christensen, in which she talks about Parkinson's and pain. She begins the article, Does Parkinson's Hurt, with the following:
If you are like most people who have Parkinson’s, one of your major complaints is probably pain. Fortunately, there are steps you can take to reduce its impact on your life. Existing treatment options, including both pharmacological and non-pharmacological, can prevent it from interfering with your daily activities.While many family doctors and even some neurologists will tell you that Parkinson’s disease does not hurt, most people with the disease will probably disagree. In fact, pain might have been one of the early symptoms that, when combined with other signs, first compelled you to see a doctor. Chances are, if you did not experience pain as an early symptom, it will show up later, as your disease progresses. Usually, it occurs or is worse on the side of your body that is most affected by Parkinson’s.
What are the chances? PD or something else? Probably only a pinched nerve is culprit. With fingers crossed, I will have to wait and see. I am certain, in a Blair Witch sort of way, it is not the loodleladdle giving me grief. That's for sure. The loodleladdle is a ghost and as I have never seen a ghost, VOILA, I conclude that I don't believe in them. They are just the stuff of nightmares. Ain't no ghost going to scare me!
But, you know, as I have said in past entries, I have never seen an 80 foot great white shark either.
Doesn't mean it doesn't exist!
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Tuesday, 7 March 2017
A carousel of time
Oh well, it is just another burden for my catalog of woes. I will try to distract myself with my latest interest, i.e. an interest in the concept of HOPE; not the kind of hope as in "I hope the Jets win tonight" but; rather, something deeper, more to do with your subconscious mind than your conscious mind. It is hope veiled with emotion.
My mother was 96 when she died. She still was totally rational and still taking medication that could prolong her life, but because all her sisters were dead, and husband and good friends had died, She was frank in announcing, each time we chatted, that she would welcome death.
After our chats, I wondered if her brain, was conflicted, with a "winner" takes all" kind of spat. It seemed too me it was a contest between her minds, as to whether she should take her pills in order to live (Conscience mind)or to stop her meds and die (subconscious mind ). In her own words, while still taking meds, she asked the universe, "Why can't I die? My sisters are dead as are my friends and your dad is waiting for me." Hope involves emotion. They are inextricably connected. Her future was clouded by emotion and life after death. She now hoped there would be an afterlife. She became emotional when we first talked about it as a possibility. Her subconscious mind became her consciousness. There was no way she was going to give up hope of life after death.
My mother's hope for death to take her was eventually satisfied. She and I had had several discussions on the topic of the after-life, satisfying moments for each of us. A decision was made. She was going to die. It was inevitable. In her sub conscience, she knew her fate. She stopped her meds (except for pain)and shortly after, she went on to the next level of our existence.
Hope can have several meanings. My definition of hope as a state of mind that, no matter what happens, you confidently expect the desired outcome to occur.
If that definition is not clear to you consciously, look for it. You will find it hidden in your subconscious mind somewhere. You will feel it like a zephyr, scratching at your pant legs, tickling your timing, creating chaos. I trust you will join me in my world where pessimism is not permitted
I know, you complain that my mother's story was a sad story, but get on with showing how all that has anything to do with Parkinson's.
In my world, we swim in a sea of hope, so allow me, on behalf of all PWP, to say we all hope they find a cure for PD. Researchers have told us the cure is certain, probably within the next decade. I hope it happens in my time and, if not, I hope to die a dignified death.
If you hope for a vibrant future, free from PD, it can become a certainty.
Ponder the concept of "Hope" and make your definition a positive one. As cancer patience say:
Friday, 3 March 2017
Home is where the fart is (Hemingway)
You are what you eat and I like to eat whatever is placed before me.
Wrong strategy my friend. Sometimes my rear end sounds like an intermittent fog horn, while other times it is so blocked up, I swear the air turns blue with my groans of dissatisfaction .
You too, right? And you want to know how to stop this misery. Me too. So I looked it up and here are my findings*.
These are good for PWP:
- Diet rich in antioxidants which apparently helps to reduce the negative effect of free radicals in the brain, including dopamine producing cells
- Foods that reduce constipation include vegtables, high fibre foods, fruit
- Vitamin E foods like olive oil, some nuts, asparagus, mangoes
- Foods rich in vitamin C such as citrus fruits, coconuts, figs, spinach and melons
These should be avoided as they tend to produce flatulence:
- legumes such as peas and beans
- cabbage, Brussels sprouts, etc
- carbonated drinks
- coffee or tea
- too much protein which inhibit the effectiveness of L-dopa (note that some portions of protein may benefit PD, but that is a discussion with your neurologist)
That's a short summary. You should take notice and plan a diet; and I will do so also..... when it has been reliably ascertained that hell has frozen over. I like my cokes and Brussels sprouts, etc and I can put up with a little constipation and I simply try to avoid people when flatulence is in play. I mean, What's it matter to me anyway? PD has robbed me of my sense of smell and I am learning to control the volume of the flatus (Low E).
In the words of Hemingway:
Come let us fart in the home.
There is no art in a fart.
Still a fart may not be artless.
Let us fart and artless fart in the home.”
― Ernest Hemingway
Thursday, 2 March 2017
Just another sore loser
I am good at that, so "rest" it is. I still use treadmill and stationary bike, but weights are out. Hence my bourgeoning waist.
If I could, I would lose weight, but the truth is, I hate losing.

