I am very spoiled. My husband helps me hugely. He is wonderfully supportive without hovering and without any cloying babying, which would drive me to despair. I was always the caretaker and he the sufferer of a myriad of small and not quite so small ailments. We are both still shocked that I am the one who has PD, I was always so strong and healthy. And I am amazed at the amount of help and support and compassion I receive every day. At the same time he respects my wish to manage my own illness. He does not take over. He is interested in the information I discuss with him, but he does not make my illness his project.
I am convinced that his support and love play a huge part in slowing the progression of my PD. He helps me cope with the illness with humor and patience, and we make the best of what we can't change.

Our children are concerned about me, but talking about my illness is painful to them. I was, and still am, the family's 'Rock of Gibraltar', and it is upsetting when a rock you depend on begins to show signs of weakness.

Remember the woman who lived under a boat, in Dickens's 'David Copperfield? She became a new and bigger person when she felt needed. Some carers become good carers to their own surprise. And some just don't have it in them.