Minefields & Timebombs

A Walk in NYC

Fall in love with a thousand strangers,
Knowing full well that the lure of anonymous connection is never to be made in flesh,
Shirk in fear of a thousand apparent felons,
Knowing that the whack of the leaden pipe, the cut of the blade or the leering bullet engraved with your name will never come…..
Until it does…

Hope my poem doesn't sound paranoid. Reminds me of a story: man goes to a shrink to prove his friends wrong.....they all say he's paranoid. Doc does battery of detailed psychological tests, calls him in: 'well, I have good news and bad news for you..."

"what's the good news?"
"you're not paranoid"....."Great! 'Knew it!....so, doc, whats the bad?"
"Checked around a bit.....everybody really is after you"

I find myself living amidst minefields and timebombs....
the first is of a more pleasent variety (2 and 6 year old daughters....
"mine!""mine!"mine!""mine!'MINE!!!! WAHHHHHHHHH! / you get the picture.

The other is of the PD variety. Still early enough in this process that many of the things that inevitably will happen haven't.

Timebomb: telling at work
Timebomb: telling wife's side of the family....
Timebomb: explaining this in a healthy way to my children....
Timebomb: further impact of process..

Things kept unexpressed develop more psychic gravitas....suppose the key is to accept the reality of changes coming....not to rush them....and not to fear...

New Forms of Deep Brain Stimulation....

Played handball today with my six-year old - felt really good and triggered some 'thinking-

At first, I was amazed at how much my body remembered - spent a good part of my teenage years playing handball growing up in the Bronx - and it all came back. First, the pain....hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, at least at first. I used to play so hard that my hand would swell to the size of a plump grapefruit - and then I'd go and try to make music at the keyboard. Switched by my early 20s to a raquet, which insulated me from the pain....'kinda stopped playing all together by 40.

But playing today, and feeling the pain -and exhilaration to see that even my gimpy left arm still knew in some deep place how to return a ball - watching my daughter run this way and that to whack the ball - all the pain of PD faded and I saw myself back in the Bronx, not much older than my little girl trying unsuccessfully but happily to return the effortless volleys shot by my Uncles Joe and Uncle Izzy, the pickle maven (ran "United Pickle Co".,or so he said...probably was some front for the Mob, looking back)...and, if but for a moment, it was all OK.

So, seems I have stumbled upon an organic form of Deep Brain Stimulation -
buried memories triggered by the whack of an errant tennis ball - 'gots to beat the kind where they pop electrodes into your head and turn up the juice in your cranial toaster-oven.

Parkinson's strips away the insulation of any happy plans you may have - think I'll start playing again....without the racket. Feels right.

Strange Attractors

Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?


When like meets like an attraction, a visceral magnetism seems to operate to pull one towards the other. Kabbalistic lore posits that we were all once part of the primordial body of Adam Kadmon, the initial human containing all the souls of every human form ever to manifest. And when you feel an unexplainable attraction to a stranger its probably because in your primordial state of creation you were both part of the same organ ... maybe the primordial ear, or hand or eye (....now we can better understand where assholes comes from .....:)

As for my story, I've noticed a strange - non-sexual, but compelling -- attraction towards another teacher who I can clearly see has a Parkinson's condition (unilateral tremor, stiff arm, etc....all the markers I know too well) - though she has never come forward and revealed this to the faculty or students (...nor, have I).

So when I run into her the best I can describe it is as a meeting between the PD consciousness in me and the PD consciousness in her - its as if 'it' recognizes a nearby manifestation of the same 'morphic field' that it inhabits. Strange stuff, strange attraction. Go figure....

Counting your Blessings....

One of the things you could say about me is I'm a man with deep pockets.....unfortunately the periodontal variety, not the financial kind. So - when I made my most recent visit disclosed when asked if I were taking any medication that I had a PD dx and was on Azilect and Requip.

The Drs. reaction was scary - gave me a nervous smile, said aloud 'well, you just have to count your blessings!" - I could see him make a quick count of his own on his gloved hands before dashing out of the room.

Go figure...

Smile! Now '50 is the new '70!

Had a business venture some time back (Positive Content Interactive) and worked closely with a major marketing guru named Bob. He was into developmental psychology big time and was angered with Big Advertising for its relentless effort to turn younger and younger children into adult consumers. Apparently there's even an acronym in the trade for this - 'KGOY' i.e., kids getting older younger'.

On the other end of the extreme, marketers work just as hard to keep aging boomers locked into an endless & highly consumtive adolescence, even as they wrinkle, sag and droop their way into through midlife and beyond. So there's alot of pressure to 'think young'when you're not, and to act old while half of your milkteeth still are in your head. 40 is the new 30.... and 60 is the new 40...which is, of course, the new 30.

Not for me....P.D. symptoms, slow movement, gimpy arm that screams in pain trying to simply put my arm in jacket....often make the '50' I'm approaching more like the new '7o. So, maybe I'm the real 'avant-garde'.....ahead of my time.....'MGOY' i.e., men getting older younger.

Drug managment ...

Pale pharmacy girl

Ashen skin from florescent lights

Greets me by my name now. . .

I much preferred the drugs of my youth. I am for the first time in my life starting to notice - and be recognized - by the 'regulars' at the nearby CVS pharmacy. My new family is made of an odd assortment of zocor-popping, paxil dependent, lunestra lusting and sinemet sucking geezers and geezer pleasers (safe bet that the previous sentence was never once thought, much less uttered, in all of human existance....) ....bunch of 'freakin druggies, and I've joined the club. Only difference now than in my teenage experimental years is we all have a license now.

If this country is serious about the 'war on drugs' we damn well better start to figure out how to live healthier and find alternate modalities to manage long term conditions.

But in the meantime though, I'll have to resign myself to doing another crossword as I wait in line for another monthly supply of requipcrestorzilect salvation. Hallelujah!

Reflections on D-Day

D-day (diagnosis day)... a day that will live in infamy.

Knew it was coming, but it was one nasty rollercoaster. To date, there is no accurate trustworthy test for PD - only sure way to tell is to slice your brain open and take a good look-see at the pigmentation of a brain region dangerously close to your brain stem - short of that diagnosis is reached, essentially, by testing for and ruling out every other possible malady that could cause symptoms. Took over two years in my case, which is not unusual.

Take enough tests and, sure 'nuff, you're 'gonna find something wrong with you. In my case, high levels of arsenic showed up on tests for heavy metals (!) - must be that nice glass of hot tea my wife brings me each and every night. Cut back on fish and managed to get that back in the pocket (...fun test...24 hour urine sample...every drop for one day goes into a special vat).

MRIs are taken to rule out brain lesions. My internist suggested taking an MRI of the neck area (cervical spine)....I was perversely happy to hear that it showed a narrowing on the spinal column (cervical spinal stenos is...) which he thought may be the cause of symptoms. So through the woods and over the dale its off to the neurosurgeon I go...

I felt a tremendous sense of relief, thinking, for a couple of months, that I dodged the shaky bullet with my name engraved - but, on examination, the neurosurgeon did not believe that the spinal compression was significant enough to be causative of the symptoms. Not what I was hoping to hear :( and back to the neurologist I go....

Neurologist concurred - and after 2 years of testing concluded that I indeed was displaying idiopathic Parkinson's. Excused himself for a moment, came back in with a small shmorgasboard of medical samples of Mirapex, Azilect and a couple of other things and more or less said try what you like and let me know if anything works for you.

Upon arriving home, I took out the shiny starter kit of Mirapex....showed a happy smiling grey haired couple - you could see that the wife was admiring her Parkinson's afflicted hubby - you could almost read the invisible text bubble above her head (...gosh hunny, it's ok if you drool and need me to change you, but you're always gonna be one hot studmuffin to me!).
I examined my hands....they smelled of desinex from the last change to my 18 month old little girl....too soon for this stuff, 'freakin way too soon....