Neurotalk - alternative medicine talkers...
 

HELLO, dear ones~

I cant agree with everyone,
and I am not happy w/ this board, because
there is nothing new, and except for fiona, and a few alternative thinkers.

I could care less about "new drugs" = new patient CT's clinical trials,
I just cant stand repetition...

I love the newcommers looking for answer's yet - there is alot of info
in the Neurotalk library -it is just harder to reference...


I am so sick of PD, I just can not think about it 24/7
:hug:

luv,
tena

Dear Tena,

You must care about clinical trials for new patients! What is discovered there--successes and failures both and the questions they raise--may help all of us.

Just 3 months into this surreal world I too am sick of thinking about PD. My mind is utterly colonized!

In solidarity,
Rose

PS TY for your many postings; they have helped me.

Tena, miss you so much........

dear roseofhearts~
 

Dear Rose of hearts,
I am so sorry yet still -
I could care less about clinical trials, because - all of the PD patients have
been on a clinical trial of some type or another.
especially by prescription!
ie; the MIRAPEX fiasco, as the FDA is full of itself...one big drug dealing vicious cycle...

the CT's of WWII Germany, was led by BAYER -they just changed the name and outside yada yada formalities...
~~~~
peace to you,
tena

dear dear Fiona~
 

:hug::hug::hug: I miss you too- sweetheart, you are in my heart prayers,
always,
luv,
tena

As a person thinketh in their heart -so are they...

Then do not
 

Then do not think about P.D as P.D is not all there is to you.It does not define you. It is not you.You are just somebody with P..Try and keep a sense of self.Sent in love. Barbara

dear barbara
 

dear one,
when it starts limiting life functions like not being able to speak, it ******
me offf -as I do hate Mr.Parkinson's!

LOL
with luv & peace
& 16 years of PDcrapola
tena

Alt Med Junkie
 

Dear Tena-
Try 22 years and counting...
I get your point
While waiting in the acupuncturists office the other day, I couldn't leave because I couldn't move to get myself home. Those are the moments when something somewhere happens to help me make it through. This is a story about what happened:

Waiting
Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman are not the only one’s with a “bucket list.” There are many things I’d like to do and more places I’d like to see before I kick the bucket. As I sit in the acupuncturist’s office, I am waiting. Waiting for my medicine to do its magic, for that surge of energy to rise from the soles of my feet, reconnecting my body to my brain, releasing me from my frozen posture so that I can get up and go.
While I sit waiting, I’m wondering what will happen when the medicine stops working its magic, when I am permanently trapped in a frozen body that cannot respond to marching orders, and I am forced to observe through a static lens the world as it dances by. But I have little time for such morose thoughts as I am distracted by a raucous crew, a mother and two children enter the waiting room. They are jostling over the possession of a small treasured parcel, a video game of some sort. I’m impressed by the youngest child, the support she offers to her mother, “Up and over. That’s right Mom.” When the doctor calls the mother for her treatment, the two children are left on their own to tussle over the game.
In an effort to distract both them and myself, I strike up a conversation with the older child, about 9 years old. He carries himself with a offhanded nonchalance belying the insecurities of a young man in charge. He tells me that he is a poet, and read a poem in front of the entire school in the auditorium. I aske d him how he had managed to accomplish such a feat? “I was scared”, he confessed. There were so many people in the audience. I just kept my eyes on the paper. I didn’t look up.” I shared that I had a similar experience recently and thanked him for his tip.
His five year old sister, vying for attention, interrupted with a twirl around the room to an imaginary tune. She flaunted a notepad shaped like a purse from its string handle, soliciting a request. “I write my poems in here.” She was only too glad to “read” me a poem. She turned the pages of her book with a flourish. When she found the right page, she used her pencil as a pointer and sang her way through her first poem about her friend Bess. Next she belted out a bluesy sort of ballad about inviting Bess to share their favorite ice cream. The page had a drawing of two girls and an ice cream cone. She recited several other song/poems, each delivered to a different tune, in a different voice. One truly captured my imagination, “Dancing with the Sun,” written and performed by Zora. Her joyous spinning and playful spirit actually brought the sun into the room.
When the world wrestles me to a stand still. I will try to recall and accept Zora’s invitation to join her in her dance with the sun.

a rose for you all - from me -
 

thank you tena!
 

Thanks for the rose, Tena...it's such a beautiful color. :)