It Could Always Be Worse – Living with Parkinson’s Disease

Dear Diary,

I wish I were writing to you as I did when I was a young. I wish I were telling you about the test I passed in chemistry, much to my surprise (not to mention Mr. Elemince’s look when he handed it back to me with raised eyebrows and a quirky smile).

I wish I was telling you about the part I got in the school play, only to have gotten a phone call from Mrs. Alwazdrumadic, the drama teacher, telling me that they had made a mistake and were giving the part to Rosie Mustgiterway. You and I both know it was because her dad was the mayor. I wish I were writing about how mad I was and prayed that the crickets in scene three would get loose and crawl up her britches.

I even wish I were telling you about my sixth grade crush on Brent Thinksheesallthat and how he looked at me that one fine day and smiled. I wish I could forget it was Mae Missgetsallthat, walking right behind me, that he was smiling at instead.

Instead, I’m writing to you about the pain from today and wishing I was that little girl once again. However, you did once remind me, in the pages of my past, that it could always be worse.

Did you know that I dream of putting on my tennis shoes, tying the laces and going for a run and being FloJo? Instead, I have given those tennis shoes away. Slip-ons are the footwear of choice, now. Well, I suppose not necessarily a choice, but a necessity. My fingers just do not want to move the way they once did, when I was able to tie a hook to a fishing line or crochet a row on an afghan. Okay, well, so crocheting was a little boring but you can see how things have changed – look at my writing! It’s horrific! However, nowadays there’s this thing called a laptop. No, it’s not a breakfast in bed serving tray, but types as you push little buttons and strives to make you, my journal book, obsolete. It could always be worse – but it isn’t.  You’re still here and, so am I.

I also dream of going for a walk and not stumbling, tripping or fearing a fall. Instead, I take short steps, small steps, steps that slow others down. One foot drags, the other mimicking every now and then. To walk – just walk – without fear. However, it could be much worse and even though they’re short steps, small steps, steps that slow others down, they seem to be the perfect steps when Boo and I go for a walk. It could always be worse, but it isn’t.

My mind is such chaos at times that I find myself dreaming of clarity, where thoughts are able to process, one at a time. Instead, they can be so mixed up that I want to close my eyes and wish those thoughts away and I fear I often near the brink of being crazy. However, I still can write and think clearly (at times!) and it could always be worse – I actually could be crazy but I’m not (or am I?)!

I dream of smelling a rose, a skunk, a cow farm, the sea. Instead, there are no smells, there are no tastes and life often seems rather bland in the sensory area of my life. However, it could always be worse – I could smell the skunk that frequents the vicinity of our bedroom window at night or the dog when she has bad gas – but I don’t.

And oh, how I dream of speaking eloquently and being understood. Without having to repeat prior statements in order to clarify not meaning, but the just the mere words that were spoken. How grand that would be! Instead, I stammer, silently begging God for my words to return, only to continue to fumble upon them as they exit my mouth, should they choose to even exit! But, it could always be worse and I might not be able to speak at all (though some might consider that a blessing!).

I have many dreams and just as many wishes, too. For now, however, this is the present, the norm of what is to be. So, in my daylight dreams, I have decided that I will look up and thank God for what He has done and what He is doing still. For not everyday is filled with only dreaming those dreams, but actually living out those dreams. Days of playing with children and singing every song heard, actually remembering every word.

When on the days those dreams become clouded over with the reality of what is today, I have decided that – still I will praise Him. He never has (nor will He ever), allowed anything to pass through His heart, to His hands, and then into my life that has not grown me or made me stronger.

So, I will thank Him for all the walks, whether they take me into flowery meadows or keep me closer to home. I will remember there are many who have no feet at all.

I will thank Him for my slip-on shoes and give the laced ones to those needing them far more than I.

I will thank Him for twice the beauty I have seen in a rose when once I was so easily distracted by its lovely fragrance. I want it to remind me of those who have lost the desire to be a fragrance for Jesus. I want it to cause me to stop and pray they will desire that fragrance once more.

When I verbalize insufficient messages, I will thank Him that I am learning how good it is to listen, far more often than it is to speak. I want to think of those who have never had the opportunity to utter even a sound.

And I will thank Him for my thoughts (and that I still have them!) and chalk the ‘jumbledness’ up to a non-stop gift of creativeness that will not let me give up! I want never to forget that some have lost all ability to remember those who love them most.

For Diary, you know just as well as I, that I very well could be unable to move my fingers at all, unable to speak or voice the words you have spoken through me. I could be stationed in an immovable chair and have no where to go, no one to see, stationed in a empty room surrounded by strangers and no one comes to call . Instead, though I often am quite slower than others wish I would be, I am able to walk and though at times misunderstood, I am able to talk.

I’m going to go now, my friend, but before I do, I want it noted that I am thanking God for the now – not all the time, but sometimes – the norm. No matter how hard it is, it could always be much, much worse.

Thanks for listening and understanding…

Me

P.S. Don’t ever tell that I was the one who let those crickets loose on the night of the last show. Poor Rosie – I never knew she was that afraid of bugs.

Tagged As: chronic illness, disability, faith, God, parkinson's disease, PD, sherri woodbridge, yopd, young onset parkinson's disease