LATE NITE POST FROM MY BIG RED CHAIR
2:56 - 5:11 AM
A Gift Of Pain...
I have a ridiculously comfortable oversized red chair in the living room of my house, this is were I go when I can’t sleep upstairs, I call it a change of slumber venue. Sometimes it works. Tonite it is not. I said the other day I was going to talk more about what I have been given and less about what I have had taken away since my diagnosis, I did not think that I would be writing to you concerning this gift, this gift I am receiving this cool January evening, this gift of experiencing the most intense pain I believe I have ever experienced in my life. A gift of pain - doesn’t sound right, does it? It isn’t.
This gift is radiating from my left wrist, my poor little overused left wrist. I have had repetitive stress injury issues with this hand for quite some time now, playing upright bass every night 9 days a week was the first cause. Working on our 104 year old beautiful urban paradise is the most recent. But enough history, back to the chase scene.
I have been knocked to my knees only twice in my life. One was 35 years ago when I worked for a Veterinarian; I reached into a lady’s car to retrieve her little 18 pound dachshund who, just doing his job, caught me completely off guard by sending all of his fearless little dog energy into my nose knocking me out of the car and onto to the ground. It was embarrasing. The other was last night when I was surprised by this sadistic torture, this bigger than death pain like I have never seen, a pain so enveloping I could hear it, my legs buckled from under me and I went down to my knees on my wooden kitchen floor all the while holding a very scared pop-sicle. A pop-sicle, which, once the pain gift eased off a bit, I ate with thanks. I didn’t pass out, I was just floored. I’ve been hit by men up to a foot taller and 75 pounds bigger than me, on several different occasions, and none had the effect that little dog and now this gift O’ pain had.
parkinson’s has taken over my human operation - much like the mob takes over an honestly run business, and uses their ruthless practices to eliminate the competition. Or, like a biker gang ( one of those fellows that didn’t knock me down was a biker) who take over your favorite bar and turn it into a “Gentleman’s Club” slash Meth Lab. Mr. parkinson is bully and has very poor social skills he is also a sociopath and a minion of satan. I hate him, I am not afraid of him, and I plan on running him out of my town, or at least make him scale his activities way down.
Mr p believes any pain in my body belongs to him, even if I stub a toe he is first on the scene, amping up my nerve signals, lowering thresholds, and seeing if there is any more damage I could do to myself while he was in “Pain Management” mode. Maybe he will try to make me fall, he would love to see me fall. In other words he loves it when I hurt, as someone would love bowling. He would have me writhing and cussing every night of the week if his wife would let him, he’s even thinking of joining a league. He increases my agony for his own pleasure, which only pisses me off and makes me fight him harder.
I don’t know the neurological explanation of mr.p’s relationship with my pain. I do know, however he is thoroughly entrenched, connected, and responsible for the lions share of my anguish. It’s all connected - my emotions - my reaction (or lack thereof) to my environment - my pleasure - my pain - my speech (or lack thereof ) and can all be traced back to him with a paper trail made up of my tears, my cries, my blood and my anger. For example, the medicine I take that allows me to pee standing up among a host of other activities such as swallow and walk. This medication I believe is working, against his will, for mr p’s organization. One of the side effects, there are many, is an involuntary twitching and flexing of my muscles. It is different than the shaking of parkinson’s. If you see me when it is bad I appear to be dancing, my hips rotating in time to music that only I hear. I thank God I do this dance in time with the music I am playing or listening to, I THANK GOD. This insane dance, with every bone and muscle in my body in attendance, I believe is why my arm isn’t healing, it’s always being sent messages to move - it never rests. So, mr. p is multitasking, increasing my pain and my reaction to it all the while preventing my body from utilizing it’s natural healing abilities. You can see why I hate him.
I’m not writing this to receive your sympathy or pity, or cash - if I was I would tell you about the 3 other areas of pain mismanagement that I am currently forced to endure. That’s not why I’m writing this. I feel that one of my duties is to inform you of all the weird things mr p and his gang of miscreants throw at me. parkinsons is much more than a trembling hand, a clumsy walk, a funny talk, much more. parkinsons is an evil, invasive criminal with around 250 different symptoms that is different for everyone coping with it. And it’s going to take a lot more than the worst pain I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet to make me stay down when it knocks me down. I plan to always get up, to always get up and dust myself off and to always eat the popsicle.
Thank You and God Bless...
just say yes!
meet Andy Ward King, a professional musician and artist until a diagnosis of parkinons dsease at age 49 forced him into an early retirement., he now uses his music, his art along with the whimsical world he has created in this blog as therapy to ( as he puts it ) outsmart his brain and make the daily battles with parkinson’s a little bit easier, to give him that all important reason to get up on the morning, to make his life worth living. Andy has learned how to say NO to gving up \ NO to depression and apathy \ NO to following willingly the road of decline that stretches before him. he learned that to say no to all of these things all one has to do is say yes. Andy has learned to just say YES to life/\\