A Celebration of Parkinson's Disease
| by Ray Eastcott In October of 2000, my wife Judy and I were walking with friends under a canopy of brilliantly coloured maple leaves at our chalet in the lower Laurentian Hills, north of Montreal. Gordie noticed that I was limping slightly and that I was not swinging my right arm. As I had always been an excellent right-arm swinger, I attributed this to normal aches and pains from my recently started (20th) season of old-timers’ hockey. Several weeks later we dined with other friends. Rena, who was adept at using the internet as a medical diagnostic tool, thought that my limping and non-swinging was symptomatic of Parkinson’s Disease (PD). This is a ridiculous, alarmist shot in the dark, thought I – pass the wine please. She was about twelve months ahead of my doctors in reaching this conclusion. In August 2001, my general practitioner, a terrific doctor, having eliminated more pedestrian causes (that is, pedestrian, with a limp) referred me to a new friend-to-be, my neurologist. I never knew that I needed one – never thought in terms of “my mom, my wife, my boss, my stock broker, my neurologist”. The first step in diagnosing my problem was blood tests with a myriad of vials and Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI). I truly did not fathom that we were trying to answer a life-altering multiple-choice quiz something like this: a) Ray has a minor & treatable hockey injury b) Ray has a brain tumor c) Ray has Wilson’s Disease d) Ray has Parkinson’s Disease e) Ray has all of the above To be honest with you, my biggest concern was my confinement in the MRI machine. How many patients would actually ask “how the hell do I get out if there is a power failure?” Also of concern was the fact that the magnet is so powerful that it will suck any metal from the room, such as a folding metal chair, into the centre of the machine, this being precisely where my head was positioned! My neurologist, one of the top movement disorder guys in Canada, is also a kind and understanding man. I can imagine that his final diagnosis of “PD” saddened him too. Myself, I left his office and cried like a baby. Thankfully, I had Judy by my side – had I mentioned to you that she is the most beautiful person in the world? Michael J. Fox wrote “Lucky Man” in 2002 before I could snag that title for myself. Judy, and my wonderful son, Daniel, both treat me like I am normal, which is how I usually want to be treated. But somehow they sense and respond to those moments when I need a little more attention. Lucky man indeed. Michael J. Fox described PD as a bus with your name on it, wending its way across town towards you, an image which prompts several observations. Sure, PD is a progressive, devastating disease, but at any point in time, you have what you have, and you can choose to make the most of what you have or not. The remarkable 2004 film “The Man Who Learned To Fall” is a true story about Philip Simmons, who lived life to the fullest to the end despite the steady loss of function due to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Anyone with PD would relate to a steady loss of function. I cried like a baby at the end of the film, as did many others. Another observation is that it could always be worse. Having PD does not prevent ALS, cancer, MS or heart trouble. If you live each day to its utmost, you will be ahead of otherwise healthy individuals who drift from day to day. By the way, if you want to see a whole bunch of positive and productive PD folk, participate in the annual PD SuperWalk – we do, and I am so proud of my courageous fellow PD-er’s and their marvelous family and friends. A classy event and classy people! Recently I asked an intelligent and affable fellow when he would retire. He said that he would work as long as he was healthy! This is a foreign concept to me. I left a good job with great coworkers three years ago (on April Fools Day!) because I still had sufficient health to do good stuff for me and my family. Good stuff like walking the half marathon in Ottawa in 2006, 2008 and 2009 at a quick 6.5 km/hour pace. Like walking the 60-kilometer Weekend to End Breast Cancer in 2006. I curl in the winter and golf in the summer (just as badly as ever!). I garden, mow lawns and tackle home renovation projects. I clean and cook. I help my son with his music studio business. I love to fish small-mouth bass at sunrise at the chalet. And to walk in the autumn leaves with friends. I call these activities “A Celebration of Parkinson’s Disease”. Although this expression is a sample of my dark sense of humour, I have come to realize that life is a celebration even more so if one has PD. In a way, it is a Celebration of PD. Of course, not all is perfect. I try to eat, shave, computer-mouse, and screw-drive with my left hand. Sometimes my right hand floats in the air like it is weightless. My balance when standing still is terrible – thankfully cocktail parties come with relaxing beverages. My face, which was never overly expressive, is now at times outright surly despite possible hoots of laughter inside of me … I should take up poker. Sometimes when I shift the car into “drive” it requires great internal resolve to get started. I walk with a limp and rigid right arm, and alternate between feeling like a ridiculous fool and a bonafide hero. Sometimes I sleep through the night. Yes, the bus will come. Sometimes I cry like a baby. For a few minutes. Before resuming the celebration. Celebration? Yes, it is a Celebration of PD! Tomorrow may well be the best day of my life. What can I do? I can walk, I can fish, I can cook, I can write, I can think, I can smile, at least inside. I will be the best that I can be. Why not? What else? Back to Story Corner » |
