About Parkinson's - I Promise this time

As I was saying, Parkinson's is a fascinating disease. Most people think of PD as the shaking tremor that they associate with old people. In younger patients the symptoms are more varied, and we cycle precariously from one clinical state to another, with the occasional and precious hour or two of "on" time, in the day.

This daily dance has extreme lunges that go from the painful muscle spasms and cramps of dystonia to the involuntary muscle movements of dyskinesia, that most people associate with Michael J. Fox. The dyskinesia dance is actually the side effect of the standard med for PD: Levodopa. Levodopa looses effectiveness over the years. It is not particularly effective for
older patients, which might explain why they don't have the extreme swings in the dance. Younger patients tend to respond more to Levodopa in the early stages, some even experience a honeymoon phase where the Levodopa works very consistently, almost miraculously for a few years. In my case, I had about five months of honeymoon. Some of you might remember my "Walking and Leaping and Praising God" speech at church. In it I said that I didn't know if God had healed me, or if He just granted me a Divine Reprieve from the pain,                       

 Parkinson's is a progressive non-terminal disease. That means that the symptoms get worse and worse and then you die. PD doesn't kill you, it just makes life increasingly more miserable until you die of choking, or pneumonia, or a fatal fall.

I hadn't meant for this post to be so morbid and depressing, But if I am going to be honest in these blogs, some of the thinks I thunk are morbid and depressing. It is what it is. Godspeed!

Parkinson's is a Fascinating Disease

I didn't choose this disease. I don't know why God chose to either choose it for me, or allow it to attack me, but for whatever reason, I've got it. And that's just what is. Like Derek saying when he was dying from a horrible cancer, "It is what it is." As far as I know, he never complained or questioned God. At the start, he was sure that God wouldn't let him die first, because he was committed to taking care of me. But he was wrong.

The main difference between Derek and me was that he expected positive results from whatever he did and he was always sure that he was right. And he usually was. I always expected negative results from whatever I tried to do, and usually failed spectacularly. I was almost always unprepared for whatever I was responsible to do, and never understood why I couldn't just be more like Derek. He also could never understand why I couldn't be more like him.

I think I finally understand. It was how he was raised. It was genetic and/or his mother's positivity about whatever she took on and her expectation that he would excel at whatever he tried.

I was raised differently. It is also genetic and/or environment and my father's expectations of me. (In Derek's family his mother was the dominant parent, in mine it was my father.)

My dad was always sure that I would never succeed, Not that he lowered the bar for me, or didn't have the expectation that I ought to excel at everything, he just knew that I wouldn't. And he was usually right.

It didn't really dawn on me that Derek turned out like his mom and I turned out like my dad, and it wasn't anybody's fault. We can't even blame our parents, because they were just the result of their parents genetics and environments and so on all the way back from the very first parents.

I realize that the title of this blog does not reflect the content. I planned to write about Parkinson's, but I went off on a rabbit trail and then bunny trails naturally follow. My normal response would be to either erase the content and start over, or to change the title to reflect the content. But the definition of stream of consciousness writing is to let your brain go and write whatever you are thinking.

My thoughts change content continually, and my brains were scrambled like eggs even before Parkinson's. I will tell you about how fascinating a disease it is tomorrow. I think I will call it something like "Blame your Parents, And then Get Over It." And that's my time folks. There are lots of other Random Thinks I have Thunk, and I will try to share some of the less bizarre creations with you folks, all two of you. Godspeed.

Procrastination

The sooner you get behind, the more time you will have to catch up. Words that I have lived by. Procrastinator should have been my middle name. My middle name is Lucille. I remember my cousins saying my name was Lucille Ball, because I was always bawling. I don't remember if I cried about that, but I may have.

I remember my dad saying that he wanted to name me after a country music singer named Lucille Star. Nobody that I asked had ever heard of her. I wondered if maybe I was wrong about that memory, and my dad died before I got around to asking him. I procrastinate. 

I did get around to googling the name, and found out that it was true. There really was a country singer named Lucille Starr, and apparently she lived in St. Boniface in the 60's. We lived in St. Boniface in the 60's. Coincidence? Maybe my parents went to a concert, or maybe they knew her. She could have been our neighbour. 

Technically, this blog was not finished on the third day of daily stream of consciousness blogs, because it's 1:05 am on Tuesday morning. I procrastinate. My time is up. 

Day 2 of daily blogs

It seems like only yesterday that I started back to daily blogging. That's a day longer than most things that I start. I really would love to be diligent and self disciplined, but I am not. I am a starter upper, not a finisher.

My first grade teacher saw this trait in me and commented on my report card that I was smart enough to do the work, but that I didn't hand in my school work at the end of class because I wanted it to be perfect. I remember grade 1 quite vividly: my desk neatly organized with all of my unfinished assignments nicely stacked in the corner. Pretty much still functioning the same way. I start a project, but get stalled by the second day because I want to do it perfectly, so I will leave it until that magical day when I have time to do it justice. Then I start a new project, and the cycle continues. I remember Derek coming home from work and I would have ten unfinished projects lying around the house. 

Twenty minutes went by so fast again. This daily blog thing might actually happen. It might nor actually say anything of value or interest to anyone, but it's finished.

My Latest Thinks

My friends have been asking what I've been doing during this time of self isolation. I would love to say that I have been writing my next novel. Nope. I have a draft, a really rough draft, of a bit of memoirs, that I started at least 10 years ago. Every time I  open the file, I delete a little bit more of the manuscript. I've also got another novel in my brain that just isn't writing itself down. 

Even my blogs have become just a place where abandoned and unpublished drafts go to die.  It's been about 3 years since I last wrote anything and posted it. 

So today, I set a timer for 20 minutes and then I will publish  whatever I've got on my Random Thinks blog. No more sitting in front of a blank screen for hours trying to squeeze words out of my brain and transfer them onto a suitable platform to share. Even if I end up with a couple hundred words before I decide what I am writing about. Like a stream of consciousness session. No pressure. 

Who am I kidding: the pressure is still on. Dang. I am thinking about what I can say about my life. 

And that's my time today. Wow, 20 minutes goes by fast. I will stick with my plan, though, and give you readers (if there is anyone actually reading this, a bit more content.

Light Bulb Moment

This morning I had the perfect example of a Light Bulb Moment. It started when I left the kitchen to get something from the linen closet.

Then I spent at least two minutes staring at the contents of my linen closet, trying to remember what it was that I was there to get.

That was when I had my Light Bulb Moment -- I was here to get a new light bulb for the kitchen.

Ask a Stupid Question . . .

Ask a Stupid Question . . . . 

They say there are no stupid questions. I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I think they are wrong on this one. Here are a few that I have been asked. I am sure that I have asked lot of them myself, but l don’t remember, not that I would want to remember.

At coffee shops, my usual order is a large black coffee. The kid behind the counter will invariably ask:

               “Would you like cream with that?"

When my hubby asks me something,
     and I say, “I think thus and thus...” 
he will almost invariably ask, “Are you sure?”

 "No.  I am not sure!

 That would be why I started my answer with “I think.”

I was once asked,e “Are those your real eyes?”
Ummm. Yes?

 I think the question he meant to ask was, 
           "Are you wearing coloured contacts?"
    or: "Is that your real eye colour?" 

       or maybe it was just a really bad pick up line.

Anyway, I think those are stupid questions.