Menagerie

6/19/2008  

I found another dreamer. Poppi confessed to me that she is thinking of buying some land so she can build a studio. She also recently bought sixteen chairs, SIXTEEN of them, to fix up and resell. She doesn’t have room for them so there are chairs everywhere, even in her entryway. Friends are asking her is she is moving. I can’t imagine her crocheting lace doilies. She has power tools.

In other words, she’s a gal after my own heart!

When Chris and I were first married, we talked about our hopes of buying land someday. We wanted room to have a small farm, grow our own vegetables, and have animals. We wanted our children to grow up around the natural world and for them to have real work to do. There is nothing like a farm to provide real work and plenty of it! We are now down to three rabbits and one guinea pig, but for a number of years, we were able to fulfill our dream of having our children grow up taking care of animals.

We were never able to buy a house with land in the country so we did the next best thing. We bought a house on nearly half an acre, in the middle of Wheat Ridge, Colorado. Wheat Ridge is a small city and a suburb of Denver. If we travel half a mile down the road, we cross into the city of Denver. But here in Wheat Ridge, we have a little oasis. It’s changing now, so people who move into the city can no longer have farm animals, but when we moved in to our neighborhood, the only animals that were not allowed were pigs.

That spring, when our sons were 7 and 9 years old, we invited a few of their friends over and went out to purchase ducklings. We bought three ducklings and brought them home in a box in the car. We nearly didn’t make it home. It made me wonder about the city rule that did not allow pigs. I had always heard it was because of their unique odor. I must tell you, pigs have nothing over ducklings where smell is concerned. We opened the windows and the boys all held their heads outside, plugging their noses and making rude comments that, I must admit, were terribly appropriate.

Once we were home, we went about preparing a place for the ducklings and for the chickens that arrived a week later. The chickens eventually multiplied, as did the ducks, and we also added geese. The geese were always my favorites. They are very sociable animals and loved to follow us around the yard as we did yard work, stopping when we stopped, looking up to us and chattering away. We talked back to them and, if anyone had looked, they might have been convinced we were having a real conversation. Maybe we were.

A couple of years later, my father gave me a goat for my birthday. I was thrilled and even more thrilled when I found out she was pregnant! A few months later, I found out I was pregnant, too, so it was a shared experience. We got grumpy together. That was the year of babies at our house. Chicks hatched out and one chicken sat on a duck egg and hatched a duckling. The poor hen about went crazy trying to teach that duckling how to scratch. She also had a hard time keeping him away from the water. In April, twin goats were born, both female. Now we had Blossom and Buttercup with Bonnie, their mom. We had dozens of chickens, ten ducks, two geese, three rabbits, and two dogs. Meal times were complicated as the ducks preferred dog food and the goats liked to steal the chicken eggs and eat the rabbit food.

Our daughter entered the menagerie…I mean family…in July, and we were kept very busy. It’s not surprising that she loves animals, too.

Eventually the goats had to find a new home as they became expert escape artists and when I discovered our elderly neighbor had been luring them back into their pen with dog biscuits when we were away, I figured it was time for them to find a farm.

When our daughter was in first grade, I decided that she needed an animal to ride. And the perfect animal for her wasn’t a pony, it was a miniature donkey. Stormy spent 7 years with us before she recently retired and found the good life on our friend’s ranch. She now has a best friend, a horse so tall that she can run under him easily.

At some point during this time, I visited my Aunt Margaret in a Milwaukee nursing home. She had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease about ten years earlier and now was dependent on others to take care of her. The Parkinson’s had also robbed her of her ability to speak. She still listened intently, though, and I wondered how much she was really taking in. I described our little farm and at one point admitted that my husband thought I was crazy. For the first and last time during our visit, my Aunt Margaret spoke.

She said, “I think he’s right.”

(Note to Poppi: GO FOR IT!)

For Crying Out Loud!

6/8/2008

My disability benefits were recently approved. In record time, too, as they were approved in less than a month from the time I applied. That’s not supposed to happen! I was told that I’d undoubtedly be denied at first, then I’d have to employ a lawyer, then it could take up to two years to be approved. But that didn’t happen. They saw my records and decided I was disabled enough to not be able to work. They approved this even before seeing the letter from my doctor.

Then it hit me. Was I really that bad?

I rebelled. I cleaned the garage and moved furniture. I gathered trash and another large pile of old things to give away. I pushed myself all day. And then I was flat on my back, exhausted, and couldn’t move for a couple of days. I cried.

It’s embarrassing how easily I can cry. I cried at the end of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan. I mean, geez, Spock saves everyone’s life and now he’s dying and there’s that emotional scene where he’s talking to Captain Kirk and no one can do anything to save him. I cried. And I was really grateful that I was alone. And it was much worse whenever I was pregnant. Then I could watch slapstick comedy and tear up. It didn’t take much. I don’t mind crying, actually. If I am sad, it’s a wonderful release and I feel so much better afterwards. Often I can solve problems more quickly after a good cry, too. I rarely can stop tears from coming if they’re going to come, but I will also admit something else. I would really prefer not to cry in front of other people.

Crying in public is not cool. People react. They pat your arm and say something sweet and comforting. They offer you a drink of water and generally do everything in their power to get you to STOP crying. They think you’re upset about something. And maybe you are. Usually, I’m just pissed off that I happen to be crying in public – again. Then the pats on the arm and the sweet words aren’t much help. I rather swear. Or maybe hit something.

If you cry in front of your doctor, you are generally offered drugs, which is fine if you really want drugs. It’s even legal.

It seems to me that since crying is something that humans have done for thousands of years, there must be some purpose to it. And if there is a purpose to crying, why should we be embarrassed or try to hold it back?

I was curious enough about this that I did some research. I wanted to find out if there are any physiological benefits to crying. My research was thorough and complete. I looked it up on Google. I found two articles (you’ll find many more, I just read two), one by Charles Downey and the other by Dr. Kevin Keough. In the first article, I learned that crying in public was considered normal until the Industrial Revolution. At that point, we suddenly needed diligent, focused workers, not emotional ones. Crying became a solitary activity. Before that, even our heroes cried! Odysseus cries in nearly every chapter of Homer’s Iliad.

Dr. Keough talks about the chemistry of tears. It’s amazing!! When we cry out of sadness or frustration, our tears actually contain stress toxins and stress hormones that would otherwise be affecting us physiologically in a negative way. In fact, it is those stress hormones that attack the parts of the brain that are responsible for mood disorders. Crying helps to get rid of those nasty buggers so that our brains can feel safe. And it was even found that the tears that come when one cuts up onions are not the same as the tears that come when we are sad. It’s those tears from sadness that are so healing. Holding back our tears, on the other hand, is not at all healthy.

My mentor teacher always asserted that crying helps prevent head colds. I believe this is so because I have had only one head cold in the last six years. Every time I get the sniffles, I hope that something will make me sad. I don’t like head colds. So far it has worked very well.

After a good cry, there is something else I need. The pat on the arm is fine. The sweet comforting words are also okay. But what I really want at that point is for someone to say something totally off the wall and make me laugh!

Another wonderful release, laughter is like the rainbow after the rain.

People who keep stiff upper lips find that it's damn hard to smile. ” Judith Guest

Dreaming……..

6/2/08

Did you ever have one of those days when you just knew you could do anything? You feel good and confident and if anyone asks if you’d be willing to help with something, you immediately reply, “Of course I will!!” and you mean it.

I must have had one of those days a while back because now I find that I’m responsible for writing the names of all of our high school graduates on their diplomas in beautiful calligraphy. And, that’s not all. The person who writes the names on the high school diplomas also writes the names of the 8^th graders on the certificates that they are given at Continuation. I will get them done and I will probably even enjoy it, but there is some humor in giving a calligraphy job to a person with Parkinson’s disease. I’d better be fully medicated when I begin this!

From time to time, I am pretty realistic about what I should and shouldn’t take on. I have learned not to volunteer in a classroom all day or I will be thinking murderous thoughts by the afternoon. That’s not good. I have learned that any heavy work has to be done in short increments, like a minute and a half. Then it’s time to rest. I don’t say that I CAN’T do something. I just find ways to do it little by little.

Then there are other times when I just dream. I get ideas all the time. I suspect it drives my poor husband nuts, but I can’t help myself. I know full well that 98 % of my ideas won’t fly and I don’t expect them to. The fun is in coming up with the ideas to begin with.

When I left my job, I had all sorts of plans. I looked into a number of job possibilities and then looked into going back to school to get a degree in special education. I researched every angle, calling the advisor at the college and figuring out how I could work half the day and go to school the other half day and get my degree in four years – somehow, without having murderous thoughts by the afternoon. I decided I would build a new chicken house and raise chickens, ducks, and geese again. I also looked into putting a walkway in our garden, building up the vegetable beds and planting roses along the fence. I plan on having our garage completely cleaned up and organized by the end of the summer, a bread oven built in back of the garage, a deck built by my studio, and my workroom cleaned. I also want to do volunteer work, travel, pose nude for a life drawing class, and learn to play at least one musical instrument well. I have a wide variety of interests. And these are just the tip of the iceberg. I haven’t even included anything about the long list of artistic projects that I simply must do someday soon.

I did accomplish one goal. We have semi finished our little “studio” building in our back yard and it is home to a few art workshops. I don’t hope to make a living with my art work, I just want to open up the space and invite people to come and work and learn with me. I enjoy creating art with other people.

Now I also have all sorts of advisors coming up with ideas for me. My former colleagues would like me to make crafty things for their classrooms. One friend has been trying to convince me (unsuccessfully) of how much I would LOVE skydiving. I have a new exercise coach who has told me that I WILL start doing Tai Chi. He’s a big guy, from Delaware, and he’s into Martial Arts. He’s going to be calling me regularly to make sure I’m following through, so I think I will. Another friend feels that I should be relaxing and watching lots of movies. He also checks up on me regularly. And my younger son says I should go back to college, but not yet.

When we drive down Federal Blvd. in Denver, there is a large billboard showing a photograph of a woman receiving her college diploma. The ad announces “The World’s Oldest College Graduate: Nola Ochs, age 95.” My son wants me to beat that record. He wants me to go back to college, but not before age 92. Then after four years, I’ll have my degree at age 96. He’s also added another idea. “But mom,” he says, “you really should live in the dorm.”

I still keep my hatchery catalog. Maybe someday I WILL have a nice chicken house again. I will also keep my gardening books, my wood working books, and my college catalogs handy. I plan on coming up with lots more ideas, too. If it happens that we do have more than one lifetime on this earth, I’ll be in good shape. I’ll have enough to keep me busy for a long time!

But first, I’d better get those diplomas finished.

Choices, Choices....

May 15, 2008

Years ago, while teaching kindergarten, I caught a couple of the boys eating iris blossoms on the playground. A frantic call was made to the Poison Control Center and I found out that iris blossoms were not on the list of dangerously poisonous plants. I was asked to watch them, however, as there really wasn’t much information listed about the effects of consuming this particular flower. Not many people would consider doing this. In fact, probably the only people who have ever experimented with the wild notion of eating irises would be five year old boys who wanted to make purple spit. I passed that bit of information on to Poison Control and for the next few minutes, I couldn’t make out anything they said. Maybe it was a bad connection.

I thought of this story not long ago when I was prescribed a new medication. Among the side effects was that it “turns all your bodily fluids orange”. COOL! If only I had that medicine all those years ago, I could have been the coolest kindergarten teacher on the planet – the one with orange spit.

My doctor is extremely good at explaining medications and their side effects. This is good because my body tends to be just sensitive enough that if there are side effects, I’ll have them. It’s nice to have at least a little bit of warning. And if they are not explained to me in a healthy way, I tend to freak out. That happened a while back with a (now former) nurse practitioner who prescribed a drug that, when I read the literature, I found had a possible side effect of “falling asleep without warning while doing routine daily activities, such as driving.” As I was then driving 17 miles on the freeway each way to work, I called and talked with the nurse practitioner. She tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry, if it happens once, we’ll take you off of it.” I told her that if it happened once, it probably wouldn’t be an issue. After that, I went through my neurologist whenever I needed to ask about medications.

My neurologist, by the way, is a lovely woman who listens to me and respects me as a person. She is obviously very intelligent, articulate, and I am sure she is one of the top doctors in her field and deserves a raise. If I have DBS brain surgery in the future, she’s the one I will trust. She also reads these articles. Did I mention how intelligent she is?

So, at my last visit, I was prescribed a couple of new medications and my doctor very carefully went over all the side effects with me. “Oh, and it can cause compulsive behaviors, so if you experience anything like that, please let me know and we’ll adjust your dose.” She went on to say that while it sounds humorous, she knew of patients who had spent all of their savings on shopping sprees while on this drug. The compulsive behaviors could include compulsive gambling, shopping, or even sexual behavior. She also said that some people try to direct this compulsiveness into a particular area, such as crafts. They might work on their crafts to the point where they forget to feed their family.

Oh boy.

Of course, if that last one is how this manifests with me, I’m okay. My family wouldn’t notice. I’ve been doing that for years. But it made me wonder. Could I possibly direct compulsive behavior in a way that it would be beneficial for me? What would I choose?

I’m afraid that gambling and shopping are out. We definitely can’t afford that. I will give all my credit cards to my husband and also have him change the passwords on my internet accounts so I cannot click and spend.

Compulsive sexual behavior is also out. That would be way too complicated and way too much work.

My kids would probably prefer that I become a compulsive baker and spend hours every day baking cookies and cakes. The only problem is that compulsive baking would lead to compulsive eating which would ultimately lead to the need for buying bigger clothes which would lead to compulsive shopping which is out already. Sorry kids.

My husband might suggest that I become compulsive about cleaning. This actually sounds good and if I could pull it off, that might be the way to go. I’m not sure that we can direct compulsive behaviors to something that is totally against our nature, but it’s worth a try. If nothing else, I would be busy for months. The thought that someday MY house could be sparkling clean and neat with no piles of papers anywhere and nothing out of place…? I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time even imagining that one.

Perhaps I’ll try compulsive gardening. It wouldn’t matter how many vegetables we eat and that would save us money in the long run. And I would love to see neat rows of plants with no weeds growing in the pathways. I would also have our lawn and flower beds perfectly manicured. This sounds good. I’ll have to let you know how it goes.

Oh, and we have a large bed of iris that desperately needs attention, too.

Miracle Cures

4/29/08

I was shopping the other day at my favorite natural foods store. We do our best to eat good healthy natural food, of course, all the time. And with the exception of the occasional burger from the fast food restaurant, milkshakes, anything that is chocolate and mmmmm… those jalapeno bites from Arby’s with the red sauce that looks like transmission fluid, I do pretty well. As with everything in life, it is nice to have a balance.

I meandered down one aisle, looking closely at everything and feeling pretty good. I was doing the good mom thing and buying natural organic food. Then I went around a corner and was immediately accosted by an older woman (okay, she was maybe a little bit older than me) offering me samples. Would I like a sample? I asked what the samples were but before she answered, she looked at me closely and asked, “Are you in pain?”

“Uh, no, I’m just moving slowly.”

“But are you in pain?”

Okay, now I figure it’s easier to just explain it right out than to risk any more inquiries. “No, I’m not in pain. I have Parkinson’s disease. I just move slowly.” How could I have known what would happen next?

“Did you know that this is the number one diet supplement for Parkinson’s?” She began. And she went on and on about her product, about which she was obviously very passionate. I learned an awful lot! And after several minutes I was quite ready to believe that it stops pain, cures the common cold, helps hair to grow, makes our bones strong, stops the moodiness of menopause, and helps prevent global warming. She had me hooked. It is fun to listen to anyone who is enthusiastic but a fanatic can be irresistible! It’s very possible that I would have even bought some of her miracle supplement, except for one thing. She was just a little too confident and suggested that I try the sample, walk around the store for ten minutes and then come back to let her know how much better I felt. I had the picture in my mind of the crippled child throwing away his crutches and wondered if I’d rip off my leg braces and dance through the aisles of the store. But no, ten minutes after taking the supplement, I felt no different than I had before. Well, that’s not entirely true. My legs were aching and my speed was approaching that of a geriatric turtle. I was too embarrassed to go back.

Once home, the more reasonable parts of my brain kicked in. How many miracle supplements, remedies, and therapies had I been presented with in the last ten years? I’m actually not knocking them at all. I believe very strongly in natural, wholistic medicine and have often consulted with doctors who practice wholistic medicine. There are so many different products out there that I am more than happy to allow my doctor do the recommending for me. He’s also an M.D. so I know he’ll understand my prescription medicines and how things might interact, too. Letting him be the expert makes less work for me and is ultimately less expensive. As with any medicines, what works for one person doesn’t always work for others. Even at best, it can take time to find what’s right. When we do find something that works well for us, it’s tempting for us to become the fanatical salesperson telling others about our wonderful miracle cure-all.

Here are my magic remedies:

1. Hot baths. I am a firm believer that there is nothing that isn’t helped by a hot bath. If need be, you can even take three or four in a day. The only side effect is wrinkly fingers and toes.

2. Naps. I’m up to two a day. When my body says go to sleep, I say “Sure, why not.”

3. P.G. Wodehouse. Having my husband read passages out of Wodehouse’s novels can be nearly as good as the meds. But it has to be my husband reading them! It’s not just the words, you see. It’s his presentation. As I said before, an enthusiast is fun to listen to, a fanatic is irresistible!

4. Chocolate. This is best when shared with my 14 year old daughter.

5. Late night conversations and scrabble games with my son.

6. Going out to the coffee shop with my good friend. I’m not going to divulge his name. I don’t want him to be suddenly deluged with invitations for coffee. He’s hyper enough as it is. But he makes me laugh and even if I forget to take my meds, I will be symptom free for a couple of hours.

7. Diet pop. I know, those who promote natural healthy foods will say that diet pop is poison. But in reasonable doses and shared with a dear friend, there is therapeutic value.

8. And last but not least, those jalapeno bites from Arby’s. Don’t forget the transmission fluid.

I’ll tell you what. Try one of these remedies. Walk around for ten minutes and then come back and let me know how much better you feel.

Late Bloomer

April 18, 2008

I had a disturbing wake-up call today. I went out to do my gardening. I was determined to get the potatoes planted earlier this year to take as much advantage of our growing season as possible. Over the last two years, gardening has been a wonderful therapy for me. I would go out and pick weeds for an hour or more. Granted, if I did heavier work, like shoveling, raking, cutting up the old branches with the saw and bundling them up, or something like that, I knew that I would be worthless later in the day. But, I figured, I could either do the work and feel useless later in the day or not do the work and feel useless all day. I wasn’t going to stop.

I’m still not going to stop gardening, however, it was disturbing to find that I could only turn over about five shovelfuls of soil before having to sit down and rest. After a few minutes, I forced myself to continue on with the work, leaning on my shovel as I walked over to the potatoes. I finished my work between rest stops and, though it took much more time and effort than it ever had before, I was still pleased that I could do it myself. I’m not so useless after all.

It did make me think of the future, though, something I try not to do too much. If gardening is this much harder today, what will it be like next spring? Damn.

At least I can swear about it now!

Through no fault of my own, I didn’t learn how to swear until much later in life. It’s not that I have anything against swearing, it was just not something I was exposed to while I was growing up and when I was, it was like being exposed to a foreign language. I just didn’t get it.

I am sure that at some point my parents knew how to swear. My father was in the Navy during WWII on a small ship in the North Pacific. Swearing certainly must have been a requirement. My mother grew up on a farm. The youngest of ten children, she had five older brothers. What would the chances be of her NOT hearing the more colorful words in our language? But regardless of this, I don’t think I ever heard a swear word uttered in our house. I certainly didn’t learn to swear at St. Anthony’s Catholic school, where I spent my first five years of elementary school.

This can be a bit of a handicap if you find yourself in a sticky situation. Granted, if you are around small children, corporate business associates, clergy (including Catholic school nuns), your grandmother, or anyone else who might be mortally offended by the slightest off color language, you would be prudent to stick with gosh darn golly gee whiz fiddlesticks, and such. But I am alone in my garden, leaning on my shovel, not a young child in sight. Considering how young we were when we married and started our family, and that I worked in early childhood education for most of my adult life, this is the first time I’ve actually had the freedom to not worry about what I say. And I can tell you, gosh darn golly gee whiz fiddlesticks just doesn’t cut it when I allow myself to look too far into my future.

I let loose with a string of obscenities that would have made my male friends proud.

It is interesting to note that, while being an early childhood education teacher prevented me from using certain language, it’s not as if I didn’t hear it. I think I even learned a few new words from the children. Most of them are very innocent, however, and when a young child came to me on the play yard and tattled that another child had said the “F” word to him, I was suddenly wary. I turned to the child and said, “Which F word did he say?” The child looked at me cautiously and whispered in his quietest voice, “He said shut up.” Mr. Baker, who teaches woodwork to the grade school children, lets the students know that he doesn’t tolerate foul language. And the foulest words, in his opinion, are the words, “I can’t”.

Back in the garden, it was strangely uplifting to be able to get angry and yell, not worrying what I said or who might hear me. The earthworms didn’t seem to mind at all and our rabbits didn’t even blush. One of the foxes turned and looked at me suspiciously but I’m used to that. He does it all the time whether I am swearing or singing. Come to think of it, he really looks at me suspiciously when I sing. I’m not that bad, am I?

I don’t know how things will be for me in a year. The only certainty is that it won’t become easier with time. But I still plan to garden. I’m not going to PLAN on what I will NOT be able to do. It’s inevitable that I will look into the future from time to time. It’s not the wisest thing to do but I know that it’s only natural. At those times, I will need to arm myself with all my life coping skills. Swearing is required.

The only foul words I don’t want to ever use are, “I can’t.”

“I Meant To Do That" and other Life Coping Skills

April 8, 2008

I’ve been quite proud of myself lately. I’m pleased with how I’m handling life and all its ups and downs. I have a good attitude, I tell myself. I don’t wallow in self pity, I try to look at the positives, and I laugh a lot. With family and friends like mine, I truly have no excuse for doing anything else. When life hands me a lemon, I make lemonade and all that stuff. So if I am so good at handling life and all its bumps and bruises, it stands to reason that others might be interested in how I accomplish this monumental task. “How do you stay so positive?” one might ask.

I think the answer is that I love life and everything in it! I try to enjoy every day and accept the bad with the good with grace and good humor. I always have good days. I love everything about this world -except lima beans. And waiting in line at the bank, or… or driving 12 miles to the doctor’s office to find out that they had cancelled my appointment! Geez, I hate that! Man…and then having to drive straight to school and “hang out” till my daughter was ready to come home because there really wasn’t enough time to drive back across town to our house, and not wanting to see anyone on the way because I was just so pissed off that I knew I’d burst into tears if I even looked at someone I knew.

I just had an awful day. Horrible and nasty from start to finish. Okay, well, nobody died and nothing caught on fire. The kids are safe and the sun still rose this morning. AND I DON’T EVEN CARE!! MY DAY WAS AWFUL, DAMMIT!

I handled everything in my usual calm, cheerful way.

After my missed appointment, I drove to the school, determined that I would make the most of the day by working on my wooden spoon in the woodwork room. The teacher is gracious enough to allow me the time and materials to do some simple projects. I think he wants the students to see just how much THEY know in comparison. I think it works. On my way, I stopped to say hello to a friend. I wasn’t really in shape to be seen by normal human beings, but this being a good friend; he didn’t take one look at me and run in the other direction. He calmly listened to my rant about my day and then looked at me suspiciously, “You’re pissed off at someone so you’re going to make a wooden spoon. Not something I’d think of, myself.”

My woodworking was cut short as I realized that I had forgotten to bring my medication and I began to have a Parkinson's moment. My left hand was now curling into my chest, my right side was collapsing on me over and over, and my right arm (with carving knife in hand) thought it would be best to fly upwards each time I collapsed, in a feeble attempt to help me maintain my balance. Knowing that this "moment" would last till I got home and took my meds, I felt it would be safer to put the knife down and quietly back out of the room.

We arrived home finally, and I listened to my phone messages. Our phone doesn’t beep or blink or do any of those annoying things that tell you that there’s a message waiting. And there it was: the message from my doctor that my appointment had been cancelled. They had called promptly at 8:30 am, while I was taking my daughter to school. Now, the only one I could be pissed off with was me. It didn’t help me regain my humor.

I made it through the evening. We had leftovers for dinner and I decided that my daughter would have to deal with her homework on her own. I secluded myself in my workroom and began to sew my books together. After I finished the third book, I started to feel better. At least I had accomplished something in my day. And when the green thread broke before I was finished sewing and I couldn’t find any color besides pink to finish, I told myself, “I meant to do that.”

That’s what the 6 year old boys always say. After spending 18 years teaching kindergarten, I know it’s always the same. They do something totally insane, like climb to the top of the swing set and then jump down. No matter how they land, SOMETHING is going to hurt. With eyes watering and jaw set, they rub their knees, get up slowly, cradle their broken arm, look me in the eye and say, “I meant to do that.” There was something magical about this. Somehow, it made everything okay. This is what they WANTED to do and if something got a little hurt in the process, well, those things happened. Rub the knees, get up, sniffle a bit and run to play. (Unless their arm is really broken.)

Tomorrow I will go back to the doctor for my appointment. And I will remember to check my messages. I will stay away from lima beans and I won’t go to the bank. And if by chance, they cancel my doctor’s appointment and I don’t get the message, I will drive out there, give everyone my greetings and then visit the new thrift store that opened up across the street. And if anyone asks, I’ll just look them in the eye and say, “I meant to do that.”

Bumping into Life

10/10/07

When I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease last year, I had to face the fact that my future was uncertain. But, then again, everyone’s future is uncertain. I mean, it is uncharted territory, after all. We haven’t been there, yet. There isn’t anyone who can say with certainty what they will be doing a year from now. We like to think that we have control over our lives but we really don’t have as much control as we think we should. I learned that lesson every time I was pregnant. When it was time for the baby to come, it was going to come whether I was ready or not. I remember when our first son was born. I was so excited to be in labor, I could hardly contain myself! Our first child was about to be born, I was going to be a real mom, and everything was going to be wonderful and we would live happily ever after!

Then the baby came and HE decided when I was going to sleep and when I was going to wake up. He also decided how often I was going to eat. He had preferences, too, about which foods I ate and would respond with several hours of colic if I ate something that he didn’t like. Control over my own life? Hah!

When I found I was in labor with our second son, my thoughts were a bit different. How could I be in labor? This baby wasn’t supposed to come for another THREE WEEKS! I needed those three weeks. I didn’t have anything ready. Couldn’t I go home and come back in a few days? Nope. Sorry. The body has taken over. You no longer have any control over it. And when I finally did get to go home, there were two little beings telling me when I could eat and when I could sleep and otherwise demanding my attention and bossing me around.

I did finally learn how to balance caring for my family and having some time for myself. Occasionally, I even saw my husband when we weren’t just passing each other in the kitchen. He graciously introduced himself to me and reminded me that he was the one who was snoring in bed when I came in at night. By the time our sons were 9 and 11, we must have been able to see each other a little more often because it was just about then that we discovered, to our amazement, that we were expecting another child!

When our daughter was on her way, I thought I was ready for anything. And then she decided to come 12 weeks early. Between hospital stays, doctor’s visits, therapies, and long nights, it took years before I felt that I was even remotely in control of my life. I can’t imagine how she felt. She didn’t even get to boss me around like her brothers did. At least not till she was a little older!

So, maybe what really concerns me about Parkinson’s is that my future isn’t as uncertain as all that. Parkinson’s is progressive and, as much as I am doing to make sure I can be upright as long as possible, there is the possibility that I may one day require much more help in just being able to live day to day. If that happens, I want others to know NOW how I want to be treated. I’m not taking any chances, you see. Though experience has taught me that it’s not very realistic, I still want to feel that I have some control over my life. Will I ever learn?

So…

If I ever need others to take care of me, I want people around me who will allow me to live a normal life.

This means:

· Friends and family who will get me out of the house and into the world, even if I am grumpy about it.

· Friends who will pour me a glass of wine and help me drink it, even if I’m not supposed to have it.

· Friends who will tell me bullshit stories and make me laugh.

· Friends who will make me cry.

· Friends and family who won’t mind if I tell the same stories more than once.

· Gossip. If there is a juicy story, I will want to hear it.

· Adult stories. I don’t ever want to be talked to as a child. Politics, religion - don’t stick with “safe” subjects!! I want to always have an opinion. You can even swear, if you need to.

· Friends who will get mad at me from time to time. And who will take it if I get mad at them.

· Friends who will tell me if I’m out of line.

· I want my friends and family to tell me what is going on in their lives, even if it’s painful. Don’t keep things from me so I don’t worry. You are my family and my friends and I have every right to worry about you.

· Friends and family who will hold my hand or put an arm around my shoulder.

· At least one friend who is not afraid to kiss me on the lips, even if I drool.

· Someone who will sing with me, no matter how I sound.

Being normal, being a real living human being means experiencing life. And life is both beautiful and painful. Experiencing life means experiencing disappointments and triumphs, joy and intense sadness. Sometimes it means getting really pissed off, too. And it can be delightful to get really pissed off from time to time. It’s energizing and it keeps the brain working.

I don’t want to be wrapped in cotton wool. Being safe doesn’t mean padding all the corners and keeping me from falling down. Being alive means getting hurt from time to time. I don’t ever want to be too protected. I want to be able to struggle – physically and emotionally. I want to wrestle with the real questions of life and love and friendship and what does it all mean, anyway?!

I want to keep bumping into life and crashing into love. Life does make its marks on each of us, but don’t worry. The marks you see on me?

They’re just love bruises.