Apathy to Optimism - My Parkinson's Pendulum

Parkinson’s disease can test the toughest and most hardened, playing havoc with your emotions. Over time, the Parkinson's pendulum picks up speed. Sometimes it is like a swing, pushed so hard that it reaches a near horizontal plane at both ends. It is then that I feel insecure, a sense of being out of control. Yes, there is a rush as I speed from one emotional pinnacle to the next, from push to pull and back again. But I wonder each time that I fly by the safety of the ground, who or what is pushing me out of control. Or am I simply pumping my own legs to achieve the heady heights and speed.

Life with PD has been like that lately. One minute there is exhilaration at the challenge, and the next discouragement. I move with ever-increasing velocity from enthusiasm to apathy, optimism to cynicism, ready to take on the future then over-burdened by the present. I know it is related to the PD, whether it be the disease itself, the medications, or the psychological reaction to the uncertain but inevitably compromised future.

And yet there are moments, like now, when the spin cycle slows enough for me to gather my thoughts and remember my commitment to being positive. You see, I realized that it must be a commitment, a decision, for there are those who will beckon me to visit the land of negativity, all the while gripping their own half-empty glasses. They seek to defeat any sunshine that might creep ever so tentatively from behind the cloud that is raining on every parade it can find.

At every step along the path of Parkinson's there are choices I have to make. Will I be brought down by the pending problems, or buoyed up by the challenge to find the silver lining. Will I, by words and attitude, choose to encourage others and myself, or fall into the pit of despair, self-pity and depression? In a phrase, will I be positively Parkinson’s or sadly resigned?

Of course, this vacillation in living goes to the very core of who we are. It forces us, even if we do not face the challenges of a debilitating and degenerative disease such as PD, to ask serious questions we fear because we do not have adequate answers. What or who will we put our faith in? At the risk of "wasting" our time, energy and money, what investments in the future will we make? Despite how we may feel; hurt, alienated, angry, or isolated, how will we live each day such that each person we touch will feel cared for? These are not questions that can be answered once and then never revisited. Curious, but that is the way it is with most important issues. They must form part of the fabric of our lives, demanding of us a response, a commitment, a decision, on a continuing basis.

The emotional swing goes forward then backward. For every action there is a potential reaction. Most of my reactions are ill-considered, emotionally-driven and self-centered. But I have learned that it is often better to feel the sting, take the punch, and study the source so that my responses can be reasoned, tactful, sensitive and caring. It is the way I can slow the swing of the pendulum to a measured pace.

It is my prayer that the start of a new month will be an opportunity to re-commit to the goal of living out my Parkinson's positively rather than succumbing to cynicism. Let me point the way to Hope and in the process replace the panic and pain of the pendulum's swing with peace and purpose.

Snowed Under?

I did the unforgivable. I locked up the brakes and we were sliding, and not in a fun way. Only a few centimeters of snow had fallen, enough to bring cheery smiles to young children, and stark fear to those drivers who view the white stuff as evil. But sliding out of control was like being on the receiving end of a snowball with a rock in it.

I need to explain. I grew up in an area of the country where the first snowfall enticed me to scream down any semi-deserted country lane, spinning tires and fishtailing until my 1967 Volkswagen "Bug" was doing pirouettes. And even if my fearless snow bug went in the ditch, several of us young joyriders could bounce it back onto the road within a matter of minutes. But I seem to have lost my deft snow skills recently. Perhaps it is the Parkinson's, the fact that I am just getting older, or simply a lack of practice. Whatever it is, I don't seem to be able to drive like Mario Andretti on skis any longer.

Case in point: yesterday I slid (not rolled like I too often do) down a snow-covered street in slow motion, through a stop sign, then through the intersection, then to the edge of a 8 foot ditch. Fortunately, it was then that the tires grabbed the gravel under the wet snow, pulling me back to the road. More fortunately, the brown Dodge Caravan that had entered the intersection about the same time, complete with shrieking family, had swerved to miss me and passed behind me by a foot. After a quick look in the rearview mirror to see that the family van continued on its way (as opposed to turning around to follow me in order to curse me to my face), I gingerly drove on. Immediately my heart was pounding on the inside of my ribcage demanding to escape the chest of the suicidal maniac driver. Of course, my normal shaking took up a sympathetic rhythm reminiscent of our washing machine on the high-speed spin cycle. Clearly the pumping of adrenaline does not short-circuit the depletion of dopamine cells.

After a very controlled reminder by my long-suffering wife that I needed to slow down, my mind jumped to the analogy between driving too fast on snow and living a life that can far too easily careen out of control. Of course, the most obvious area of life that needs to "heed the speed" is my work. I have always been guilty of taking on too much ("overwhelmed" is what the "o" in "Bob" stands for). It was work that was on my mind that afternoon, rather than driving, which resulted in slowing too late in the snow, forcing me to brake too hard, thereby narrowly avoiding a crash under a tree for Christmas.

It is not uncommon to be “snowed under” at work this time of year, as every client seems to need their particular matter finished before Christmas, or at least by New Year's. Often the inability to shovel out from under the avalanche of assignments leaves me exhausted and with limited ability to enjoy and celebrate the Christmas season, as I would like. This year is no exception, with too many late nights and early mornings. Now I am not really complaining; being blessed with wonderful clients who trust me, and actually pay me to help them solve their problems is nothing to grouse about. But some days it seems more difficult to manage the "snow" like I used to.

Just as in my recent “cars on ice follies” incident, I need to learn to slow down. Believe me, when it comes to work, it is not easy. I feel like a sled dog that enthusiastically steps into the harness, ready to run the race, even if it is the Iditarod. To slow down, resist the “harness”, somehow feels like I am giving in to the disease, as if I was snowbound. Of course, it is not so much resignation, as recognition of reality. Parkinson's disease, like aging, does slow you down. A realist acknowledges that fact. Resisting it may be laudable, but it also may be foolish. There is a delicate balance between enjoying the snow and ignoring its dangers, thereby risking serious harm to self and others.

So I have decided that, in driving and living, I need to learn to slow down a little. But let me be clear, even if I propose to think twice about overdriving my snow-skills, I will not be giving up the occasional snow doughnut in a deserted parking lot.