ol'cs,

Your musings and ponderings are really deep, and I've had to spend some time thinking about this before I post. I guess as you've said we all deal with things differently. Right now I am in the "honeymoon stage" with my medication and disease. There are times when things aren't "right", but overall my mobility is at its best it has been in years. I'm not the one who has said this either. The CEO of my workplace came by to say hello to me and he remarked how well I looked, and how well I was moving around. This made me feel really good. But... Deep down inside, I know that this period is not forever like the PD-clueless have. I know for a fact that I'm kidding myself if I think not. I'm sure enjoying myself while I can though. Why spoil a good thing while I still have it!

Through this I've decided to enjoy what I can from life while I can still get around. I no longer take each day for granted. I get outside and enjoy the sunshine when we have it, and enjoy the change in the seasons more now than ever. I've learned to appreciate the color and sound in nature instead of taking the green grass for granted, or the sky reflecting off my beaver pond. I recently noticed that the pond turns different colors depending upon the weather and the time of day. The water can be as dark as a mirror, or as cheerful as a sunny day.

Anyway, I am quite concious of the changes I am dealing with, When I wasn't in drug-balance like I am now, I was quite unstable on my feet when I went to the supermarket, to the mall or even sometimes at work. I would lose my balance and need to grab the cart really hard or even the shelf in front of me to keep me from falling. The process of walking in the supermarket was particularly difficult for me. The constant stopping and starting made it not just uncomfortable, but also very difficult to walk, thus the falling and stumbling in the store. I even fell twice at work and scared the whahoozies out of my manager.

I've noticed that I do have the tremor especially when stressed. During my tremulous and stiff periods, I hide my hands from view the best I can and stand up slowly to make sure it wasn't noticable. This was okay until I had trouble one morning trying to climb into a van. I couldn't lift myself up in the van and had to sit on the floor to bring my legs in. Once in I was able to scooch myself up to the seat. I had a traffic jamb outside while I struggled in. I had revealed what I was hiding, and that hurt. At that point I then explained to my fellow travellers about what I was going through, and I know that at least one person out of the 16 understood because one of his in-laws has PD which he told with me afterwards.

What's so nasty about this disease is we look pretty normal on the outside. We don't always have the obvious signs of the disease, and when we use a handicap parking spot, or walk kind of funny, we get the stares from other people. I had this happen one day at my workplace. I pulled into the HP spot and got out of my car slowly. One of the smokers, from the other company in the building, was outside and watched me get out of the car and take the stairs slowly. Later on that day, after the meds had worked some, I was walking almost normally, even walked to the sub shop for my sandwich, and I got the glare again from someone else. They couldn't figure out why I was parking where I was, and perhaps thought I was using the placard to park close to the door.

This hurts the pride, and the stiff upper lip has a tendency to curl some with the embarassment and hurt we have to deal with. In a way it makes me feel guilty like I'm a leech or a burden to many people. It's not like I look for any sympathy or special breaks. I am quite capable of getting around by myself. The close parking is great for the morning when I need it the most, and I rarely drive anywhere else once I'm at work so the car stays put. What I don't like though, is being second guessed and treated like a second-class citizen, which is what has happened to me at work.

Anyway, I hope this rambling makes some sense.

Best of luck to you always, ol' friend.

John