There is more to my life than my hate affair with parkinsons - but since it does affect my entire existence and how I relate to everyone I love - how I relate to everyone I meet - how I relate to God - how I relate to my art - how I relate to myself, I must tell you some secrets, if only to get them out of my head - spread them around and dilute them somewhat. Thank you for helping me cope with this whole crazy "brain go wild" life I am now living.
"To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub.” Hamlet by Billy Shakespeare
I am on a 48 hour sleep cycle. I get 12 to 16 hours of deep restorative sleep, the best I have received in a long time, every 48 hours. It’s pathology is complicated because it is a result of mr. p, like almost everything in my life. But it is basically very simple. I sleep every other night. If you average it out I am logging 6 to eight hours a night, all anyone needs. It started when the pain from bloating in my stomach caused by gastroparesis, which 65% of all victims of parkinsons have and like parkinsons is incurable, became unbearable. Unbearable to the point that it kept waking me up. when that’s not bothering me mr. p takes the next pain carnival I am experiencing, say the pain in my left wrist, and wakes me up with that. If there is nothing hurting then he see to it that I bite my swollen tongue - swollen by the meds that I have to take, and wakes me up with razor blades of agony running amok in my mouth. However, after being up for 36 hours I am so tired that nothing he can throw at me will keep the sandman away.
I certainly did not wish it or push myself in this direction, it’s been going on for a couple of months now. And I either welcome its consistency or detest the havoc it plays with my life. I am not sure which one to pick.
Tonight is an awake night.
it’s 3:44 AM my son Donovan will coming home from work soon. This used to be his alone time but he is starting to get used to seeing me up every other night. We usually don’t say much to each other - I expect his privacy. Sometimes we watch mindless TV together. That’s pretty cool. I have given up on trying to fight it all I do is keep Kath-a-Leen The Garden Queen up by my thrashing about. so I stay downstairs with my electronic friends and either write or rehearse my music using headphones. I can be very creative during this time now that I don’t fight it. Like I have written before I feel this is because most of the artists and such in my Neighborhood are either asleep or too drunk to be taken seriously and I have the muses assigned to the is area all to myself. We have a grand time if I don’t say so myself.
My arm is slowly getting better 2 steps forward 1 step back, but I am getting there. I can tie my shoes without passing out and I opened a door with my left hand today. Yay!!! My wonderful dentist Dr. Roessler at Five Points Dental filed down some sharp points that were on my teeth so my mouth has 90 percent fewer razor blades in it. But mr p is relentless and never tires of messing with me. So i will never say that some thing is on the mend because that will jinx it. right now my arm just cramped up and i am in total agony t;7 gutcfgj so i guess mr p now has access tomt fbok page.
Well that’s tonight’s secret
#parkinsons #insomnia #moredrugs #dotnodot #sleep
HERE’S THE SPACIAL BLOGfish ONLY PART
THIS IS FROM A BLOG ENTRY MADE OVER A YEAR AGO with additions and subtractions made in the here and now to keep it alive.
It was the late nineties and I was playing with the Mike Shakelford band at the Sun Dog Diner in Neptune Beach, it was a fun gig. Mike is great, fantastic, the perfect band leader. We played a mix of originals and covers that always kept the place hoppin. Mike was like a cross between Bruce Springsteen, Jimmy Buffet and Elvis. It was a fun gig.
The SunDog is found a block from the ocean at a party central everyone used to call “the corner”A place full of sailor boys, frat boys, and ocean girls, all headed for their favorite meat market, their favorited spot of rejection or acceptance. I’m not sure what they call it now or even if those clubs are still there, I haven’t been to that part of the beach in over 10 years.
During our breaks I would go outside sit behind the club and contemplate safety issues. The cool ocean breeze and sound of the waves would be an relaxing sound bed for all the activity around me. My spatial spot was out of the way, but unfortunately right next to a coveted parking space. On this night there was a Particularly Overcompensating Orange Corvette parked in that prime parking real estate.
Just then, two painfully beautiful, ubermodel, searchlight whiteteeth type, young ladies walked by my Siddhartha spot and, pointing to the Expensive Orange Sports Car that was next to me, said with a mix of sexyness and sarcasm that I call sexcasm...
“Oooo... Nice Car - Is that yours?”
I replied...“No ma’am, I already have a penis.”
They laughed, as one does, and said that was the funniest thing they had ever heard. I couldn’t help but sigh and think girls that pretty should get out more.
Here and Now addition - not much has changed since that encounter. I still have a penis, but I no longer drive or own a car. And most important, I am still always concerned about mine and my crews personal safety, as one is.
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/\\