Yes. I've been gone for a while. I guess I could explain it by saying that life got ahead of me. Or I could be more straightforward and tell you that I was just plain sick. I think I threw up multiple times each day for at least two and a half weeks. Each meal consisted of 7-Up and/or ice chips. I lost 10 pounds. (Not to worry, though. I found them. They were water.) That leaves one not inclined to want to write or, for that matter, do much of anything else. Plus, there's nothing about which to write.
So what precipitated all this? I don't know. My doctor doesn't know. No one knows - except for a friend of mine who believes that I take too much medication. <Sigh> But that wasn't all. I also had a nasty reaction to a new medication. The nasty reaction was what was happening to me (my concern from my last post). The medicine was exaggerating my Parkinson's symptoms. I was tripping all over the place. I had more frequent and larger tremors. My cognitive abilities were considerably impaired. I couldn't remember things. I got lost on the way to my psychiatrist's office. I couldn't reason. It was scary. The good news is I stopped the medicine and my Parkinson's symptoms went back to their usual selves. I'm going to see my psychiatrist this Tuesday and I'm confident I will get there without incident.
So there you have it: a drug reaction immediately followed by constant vomiting. I don't think there's much of a take-away from these experiences, unless it would be to suggest to you that if you have gotten sick to the point of a downward spiral, and you see that you are dehydrated, ask for IV fluids. That brought me out of the spiral and I actually went a whole 24 hours without throwing up. I also can suggest to you that the aroma of peppermint helps to calm nausea. Sucking on a candy cane, plentiful this time of year, helps, too.
The most significant bit of insight I didn't take away: what caused all the vomiting to begin with and how I make it stop. I hope it's not my Parkinson's meds.
G
Friday, December 16, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?
Something is happening. I don't know what it is, but I can tell you this: I don't like it and and I'm as positive as any patient-who-believes-she-is-can-diagnose-as-well-as-her-doctor that it has something to do my Parkinson's Disease. All of a sudden, I am having difficulty walking. My nose arrives about a foot before the rest of me because I've started to tilt forward when I walk. And, my whole body moves at 35 degrees forward. Also, I stumble. I stubbed my toe two times - the same toe. Finally, I shake. My hands tremor at times. I cannot type. Even if the tremors are light, they still interfere with things. When typing, one of my fingers will randomly drop and one will hit some random key At other times the tremor is so severe I cannot type at all. I don't know what these things are all about, but I know that Parkinson's does these types of things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote the above a week and a half ago. This morning, I sat in Bob's office and wept. I was trying to do last week's work for my on-line course in labor law. I don't know all about the subject matter, but,as a lawyer, I certainly know how to read the law and apply it to the fact situation. Except this last week-end. For three days, I tried to form an answer to the first question. I identified five issues and knew what laws applied. But I couldn't begin to combine the issues and the law. I sat in front of this very computer and couldn't type a single word. Not one.
I told Bob that this just wouldn't be. That I just wouldn't live in a world where my brain was confused and I could hit my daughter's aquarium with the car and have nary a clue about what I did. I'm tired of forgetting words and names; of tripping on the stairs. I told him about how I kept each of my kids' schedules in my head, never having to write any of it down. I told him about how two years after I left the law firm, one of my partners called me to ask a question about why the plan's loan policy was written like it was. I read it and quickly said, "Oh yeah! I remember. We wanted to do XX, but we couldn't do XX. so we did YY which yielded the same result. He couldn't believe that I remembered that.
And neither could Bob. I sat there with tears trickling down my cheeks and explained how my brain just wouldn't do what I needed for it to do. There have been times in the past that Bob has marginalized what I've said about my brain, telling me that sometime he, too, can't remember things or that he, well,... I don't remember, but there was something. This time he told me that the stages of grief don't apply just when we lose a loved one or a pet. Rather, he legitimatized the way I felt. He went through some of the stages of grief. When he got to "anger" he asked me who I blamed for what was happening me. I told him no one - no one raced by me with a PD stick and struck me. Nor did God look down from above and smite me with Parkinson's Disease. The fact of the matter is "crap happens." Bob was thrilled that that was my opinion. I already conquered one of the elements!
Bob didn't stop there though. He qualified what he knew about Parkinson's, but wondered why these symptoms appeared so quickly - questions I didn't consider. Other of his clients with PD seemed to progress much more slowly. We then discussed a new antidepressant that my psychiatrist prescribed for depression. As we talked, and examined the side effects of my new prescription, Bob noticed that not only were the symptoms I have relevant to Parkinson's, they were side effects of the new drug!
So I don't know. I want to hope that it's just side effects - easily fixed. But I don't want to be disappointed. If this jumbled brain is here to stay, I won't be able to deal with it. It will be a very long, lonesome, dark, scary journey and, I'm going to rely on Bob to talk me through it. He's serious and focused. He insisted (not wished) that I contact my psychiatrist ASAP. I've done that - so now we'll see.
G
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote the above a week and a half ago. This morning, I sat in Bob's office and wept. I was trying to do last week's work for my on-line course in labor law. I don't know all about the subject matter, but,as a lawyer, I certainly know how to read the law and apply it to the fact situation. Except this last week-end. For three days, I tried to form an answer to the first question. I identified five issues and knew what laws applied. But I couldn't begin to combine the issues and the law. I sat in front of this very computer and couldn't type a single word. Not one.
I told Bob that this just wouldn't be. That I just wouldn't live in a world where my brain was confused and I could hit my daughter's aquarium with the car and have nary a clue about what I did. I'm tired of forgetting words and names; of tripping on the stairs. I told him about how I kept each of my kids' schedules in my head, never having to write any of it down. I told him about how two years after I left the law firm, one of my partners called me to ask a question about why the plan's loan policy was written like it was. I read it and quickly said, "Oh yeah! I remember. We wanted to do XX, but we couldn't do XX. so we did YY which yielded the same result. He couldn't believe that I remembered that.
And neither could Bob. I sat there with tears trickling down my cheeks and explained how my brain just wouldn't do what I needed for it to do. There have been times in the past that Bob has marginalized what I've said about my brain, telling me that sometime he, too, can't remember things or that he, well,... I don't remember, but there was something. This time he told me that the stages of grief don't apply just when we lose a loved one or a pet. Rather, he legitimatized the way I felt. He went through some of the stages of grief. When he got to "anger" he asked me who I blamed for what was happening me. I told him no one - no one raced by me with a PD stick and struck me. Nor did God look down from above and smite me with Parkinson's Disease. The fact of the matter is "crap happens." Bob was thrilled that that was my opinion. I already conquered one of the elements!
Bob didn't stop there though. He qualified what he knew about Parkinson's, but wondered why these symptoms appeared so quickly - questions I didn't consider. Other of his clients with PD seemed to progress much more slowly. We then discussed a new antidepressant that my psychiatrist prescribed for depression. As we talked, and examined the side effects of my new prescription, Bob noticed that not only were the symptoms I have relevant to Parkinson's, they were side effects of the new drug!
So I don't know. I want to hope that it's just side effects - easily fixed. But I don't want to be disappointed. If this jumbled brain is here to stay, I won't be able to deal with it. It will be a very long, lonesome, dark, scary journey and, I'm going to rely on Bob to talk me through it. He's serious and focused. He insisted (not wished) that I contact my psychiatrist ASAP. I've done that - so now we'll see.
G
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
I HAVE PARKINSON'S
I have Parkinson's Disease. No, really. I have Parkinson's Disease. My neurologist diagnosed me in August 2008. Today, I heard what he said.
He told me I had Parkinson's Disease. Now, I'm not going to say I didn't believe him because I did believe him. It's just that I already was so sick with depression, I just didn't see where it was a factor in my daily life. So I just went right along, ignoring it and thinking that it wasn't so bad.
Since 2008, I have admitted I have Parkinson's. I've accepted the tremors. I've accepted my sometimes unsteady gait. I've accepted I need a handrail when others do not. But what I haven't had until recently is buy-in.
All of the things I felt before are still true. I have Parkinson's and it's inconvenient now. It promises nothing but for an uncertain future. It's made me depressed. It's made me angry. But now, I guess what I'm feeling - well, actually more like doing - is mourning. I'm mourning the loss of my dopamine. I know. It sounds stupid. It sounds disrespectful and I don't mean any disrespect. I'm mourning because I'm sad - sad about what I've lost. That's different from what I have.
But, here's what else I know - I know it's OK to be sad - to be in mourning. Sad will pass.
He told me I had Parkinson's Disease. Now, I'm not going to say I didn't believe him because I did believe him. It's just that I already was so sick with depression, I just didn't see where it was a factor in my daily life. So I just went right along, ignoring it and thinking that it wasn't so bad.
Since 2008, I have admitted I have Parkinson's. I've accepted the tremors. I've accepted my sometimes unsteady gait. I've accepted I need a handrail when others do not. But what I haven't had until recently is buy-in.
All of the things I felt before are still true. I have Parkinson's and it's inconvenient now. It promises nothing but for an uncertain future. It's made me depressed. It's made me angry. But now, I guess what I'm feeling - well, actually more like doing - is mourning. I'm mourning the loss of my dopamine. I know. It sounds stupid. It sounds disrespectful and I don't mean any disrespect. I'm mourning because I'm sad - sad about what I've lost. That's different from what I have.
But, here's what else I know - I know it's OK to be sad - to be in mourning. Sad will pass.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
ADVANTAGE
I saw my neurologist yesterday. Now, I'm usually a glass-half-empty kind of gal, but, I've come up with a glass-half-full view on something.
I was telling my neurologist about how my younger daughter was complaining to my older daughter about how long it takes me to eat. We were at a restaurant and the others at the table finished their meals and were waiting on me to finish mine. I also told him about how I didn't seem to be able to keep up with the other teachers walking to the Buttery for lunch. (They have butteries in Great Britain - it's an uptown way of saying cafeteria.)
As a matter of fact, my doctor always asks me to move faster when I take my little stroll down the hallway in his office. He told me I also talk slower than when he first met me. Bob told me that, too. The bottom line is, I've slowed down. My neurologist told me "slow" was an early Parkinson's symptom - in fact, it frequently presents before tremors.
OK. So what advantage do (you and) I have? Well, I'm not expected to move at today's hectic pace!! I have no excuse not to stop and smell the roses - listen to the bugs - watch the night-time sky. I can take the time I need to respond to a question and I will look thoughtful - not slow. I will look measured - not scattered. I can bring an atmosphere of calm to the classroom.
Like I told you, my glass is always half empty. As for slowness though, I'm going to look at my glass as half full -- and take a L O O O N G time to drink it.
G
I was telling my neurologist about how my younger daughter was complaining to my older daughter about how long it takes me to eat. We were at a restaurant and the others at the table finished their meals and were waiting on me to finish mine. I also told him about how I didn't seem to be able to keep up with the other teachers walking to the Buttery for lunch. (They have butteries in Great Britain - it's an uptown way of saying cafeteria.)
As a matter of fact, my doctor always asks me to move faster when I take my little stroll down the hallway in his office. He told me I also talk slower than when he first met me. Bob told me that, too. The bottom line is, I've slowed down. My neurologist told me "slow" was an early Parkinson's symptom - in fact, it frequently presents before tremors.
OK. So what advantage do (you and) I have? Well, I'm not expected to move at today's hectic pace!! I have no excuse not to stop and smell the roses - listen to the bugs - watch the night-time sky. I can take the time I need to respond to a question and I will look thoughtful - not slow. I will look measured - not scattered. I can bring an atmosphere of calm to the classroom.
Like I told you, my glass is always half empty. As for slowness though, I'm going to look at my glass as half full -- and take a L O O O N G time to drink it.
G
Thursday, October 20, 2011
I'M AFRAID
I'm a reader. If there is something I want to know, I research it and read about it. So, you might imagine when I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2008, I started to research it. What caused it? What can I do about it? What can I expect from it? How is it treated? How will it impact my life? When will it impact my life?
When will it impact my life? "Now" is the answer, but it's also a really the big unknown. Parkinson's is divided into 5 stages. I can't even tell you what stage I'm experiencing right now. I suspect it's like every other thing I know about Parkinson's. Nothing is the same for everyone. Each person progresses at his or her own rate. Some may suffer from dementia and some may not. Each will have a different level of muscle stiffness. Some may never experience swallowing difficulty. Others may have swallowing problems early, but never deal with many tremors. Other may experience tremors no matter how much carbidopa/levodopa they take.
Even the medicine, itself, poses uncertainty. Here's what WebMD says, in part, about Levodopa:
When will it impact my life? "Now" is the answer, but it's also a really the big unknown. Parkinson's is divided into 5 stages. I can't even tell you what stage I'm experiencing right now. I suspect it's like every other thing I know about Parkinson's. Nothing is the same for everyone. Each person progresses at his or her own rate. Some may suffer from dementia and some may not. Each will have a different level of muscle stiffness. Some may never experience swallowing difficulty. Others may have swallowing problems early, but never deal with many tremors. Other may experience tremors no matter how much carbidopa/levodopa they take.
Even the medicine, itself, poses uncertainty. Here's what WebMD says, in part, about Levodopa:
Levodopa does not slow the disease process, but it improves muscle movement and delays severe disability. . . . levodopa allows people with Parkinson's . . . to stay independent and able to function for longer periods of time. But the majority of people taking levodopa develop [movement] complications caused by long-term levodopa therapy within 5 to 10 years.
So here's what I really want to know. The information I read is peppered with words like "disability" and "independent." When is someone else going to have to help me do things? I tremor, but not much. I have a strange swallowing thing going on, but not such that it affects me in any way. But, gosh, I ache. I ache all the time. I don't know if it's Parkinson's or being 54 years old. I know it sucks.
I'm afraid that if I don't start doing those things I'm supposed to do, I'm going to need the assistance sooner rather than later. I get that. That's why I'm afraid. But I'm so tired and so achy, I don't have the gumption to get up and do it. I wish I had a Parkinson's Coach: a person who will come to my house and wake me up in the morning at a healthy time and push me through my day. Exercise with me, fix meals with me (not for me - with me), and then push me to go to bed. Oh, and help me clean my bedroom, so I'm more inclined to go in there and go to bed. If it goes right, it won't be a full-time job.
I suppose a Parkinson's coach isn't very practical. So, I don't know what I will do. I'll talk to Bob. I'll figure something out. I'll let you know.
If you come up with an idea, let me know.
G
If you come up with an idea, let me know.
G
Monday, October 10, 2011
TALK THE TALK? THEN WALK THE WALK
Excuse me while I pull my foot out of my mouth and wipe the egg off of my face. To anyone who read the post wherein I quoted Yoda saying there was do and do not, but no try - I'm sorry.
Why? Well, Tuesday, I went to see Bob - you remember Bob. He's my therapist. I was telling him about how I just haven't felt like doing anything of late. I don't want to open emails for fear there will be someone that wants me to do something. Same thing for the phone. I don't want to answer it and I don't want to listen to the voice mail. I also don't want to go anywhere. I'm in a state of "just leave me alone. Please. Don't talk to me." It's depression. My psychiatrist even told me that avoiding mail and email was one of the early signs of sliding back into a depression.
Further along in our conversation, Bob, as he always does, asked about this blog, so I was telling him about Herman Cain and how I observed that Mr. Cain must have simply decided that he was going to defeat cancer. It was stage IV - it took will. Of course, as soon as I started down this road, Bob smiled, and I knew why. I grinned at him and said I needed to shut up. But no. Advantage: Bob. He said, "No. No. Pretend you're Herman Cain. What do you think you can resolutely decide to do that would help your depression?" Of course, the answer to that question is, good sleep hygiene, good eating habits, and, of course, exercise. "So," he asked, "can you do those things?" "Well," I said, "I......." I was going to say I could try. Bob grinned because he knew that. He knew he had nailed me. I had to say "yes" or "no." I was completely stuck in my own pontificating. I wanted to say that I could try, but I couldn't say that. I certainly didn't want to commit, but I didn't want to say I wouldn't do them.
Bob came to my rescue - bless his heart. He asked me which of the 3 would be the most difficult (exercise) and then which of the remaining 2 would be easier (diet). His solution - don't start all 3 at once. Start with one meal and make it healthy and go from there. Bob gave me permission to try. He also told me Yoda's no-try attitude wasn't appropriate in every situation.
So, there you are. I didn't have the right to suggest that we with Parkinson's must "do or do not" because when it came right down to it, I shouldn't have been talking the talk when I wasn't willing to say that I would even TRY to walk the walk. I do believe that a positive attitude will make doing the things we need to do to address our Parkinson's go easier. But we don't have to be supermen and superwomen. Our situation, while difficult for us, is not an immediate life-or-death situation like Herman Cain's situation. We can take baby steps.
Last night I had a spinach salad for dinner. It was healthy and tasted wonderful. It's high on the list of brain foods. I also had more buttered bread than the law allows. The bread had no redeeming attributes other than it tasted good. Technically, I ate well. Technically, I did not eat well. But I tried!
Why? Well, Tuesday, I went to see Bob - you remember Bob. He's my therapist. I was telling him about how I just haven't felt like doing anything of late. I don't want to open emails for fear there will be someone that wants me to do something. Same thing for the phone. I don't want to answer it and I don't want to listen to the voice mail. I also don't want to go anywhere. I'm in a state of "just leave me alone. Please. Don't talk to me." It's depression. My psychiatrist even told me that avoiding mail and email was one of the early signs of sliding back into a depression.
Further along in our conversation, Bob, as he always does, asked about this blog, so I was telling him about Herman Cain and how I observed that Mr. Cain must have simply decided that he was going to defeat cancer. It was stage IV - it took will. Of course, as soon as I started down this road, Bob smiled, and I knew why. I grinned at him and said I needed to shut up. But no. Advantage: Bob. He said, "No. No. Pretend you're Herman Cain. What do you think you can resolutely decide to do that would help your depression?" Of course, the answer to that question is, good sleep hygiene, good eating habits, and, of course, exercise. "So," he asked, "can you do those things?" "Well," I said, "I......." I was going to say I could try. Bob grinned because he knew that. He knew he had nailed me. I had to say "yes" or "no." I was completely stuck in my own pontificating. I wanted to say that I could try, but I couldn't say that. I certainly didn't want to commit, but I didn't want to say I wouldn't do them.
Bob came to my rescue - bless his heart. He asked me which of the 3 would be the most difficult (exercise) and then which of the remaining 2 would be easier (diet). His solution - don't start all 3 at once. Start with one meal and make it healthy and go from there. Bob gave me permission to try. He also told me Yoda's no-try attitude wasn't appropriate in every situation.
So, there you are. I didn't have the right to suggest that we with Parkinson's must "do or do not" because when it came right down to it, I shouldn't have been talking the talk when I wasn't willing to say that I would even TRY to walk the walk. I do believe that a positive attitude will make doing the things we need to do to address our Parkinson's go easier. But we don't have to be supermen and superwomen. Our situation, while difficult for us, is not an immediate life-or-death situation like Herman Cain's situation. We can take baby steps.
Last night I had a spinach salad for dinner. It was healthy and tasted wonderful. It's high on the list of brain foods. I also had more buttered bread than the law allows. The bread had no redeeming attributes other than it tasted good. Technically, I ate well. Technically, I did not eat well. But I tried!
Monday, October 3, 2011
THE OTHER SHOE FINALLY DROPPED
Well, today it happened. The article I wrote for the Kentucky Bench and Bar about my bipolar depression finally hit attorneys' "In" boxes. I've received a few comments already, all of which were positive. So I've done it. I've revealed to every lawyer in Kentucky - from Pikeville to Paducah - that I have a mental illness. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, I've posted a link to my article on this blog. It's right under the title for links.
Here's to you!
G
Here's to you!
G
Monday, September 26, 2011
HERMAN CA...N
I'm not saying anything about politics. Heaven knows I have my opinions, but I'm going to spare everyone from those. But here's what I do want to say. I really like Herman Cain. I want to meet him. I want to have lunch with him and hang out for the afternoon. I don't care what we talk about, so long as we hit on his time as CEO of the pizza place and having cancer. He says things like, "That dog won't hunt." If he doesn't look like the cat who swallowed the canary when he smiles, no one does. I love it.
Five years ago, in 2006, Mr. Cain was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer and Stage IV liver cancer. Can you imagine? According to WebMD, the 5-year survival rate for Stage IV colon cancer is about 8%. http://www.webmd.com/colorectal-cancer/guide/treatment-stage?page= and, with regard to liver cancer, "Advanced liver cancer has no standard curative treatment." http://www.webmd.com/cancer/understanding-liver-cancer-treatment?page=2 I've heard that when Mr. Cain's doctor told him they would be removing a significant portion of his liver, he is reputed to have asked, "Can I survive with just a sliver of liver?" Obviously, he did.
So, here's what I want to know from Herman (we're now on a first-name basis): did he smile like the cat who swallowed the canary before he prevailed over such odds and use phrases like, "That dog won't hunt," when he was discussing treatment alternatives with his doctors? Or did grasping a one out of 12 chance to live somehow infuse some "happy" into him? I mean, I don't know if I could do that. Of course, if I think I cannot, then there's a good chance (better than 1 out of 12) that I won't. Even if I say I will try, I'm painting a bleak picture for success. In the words of the great Jedi knight, Yoda, "No! Do or do not. There is no try." So I'm guessing Herman just picked himself up and said, "I'm going to beat this cancer," and he did it with that smile of the cat who ate the canary.
So here's what this tells me. If I want to go on with life and figure out what I can do so that I'm not constantly focused on my Parkinson's, I have to get off my bottom and take affirmative action to do it. I get that. The problem is knowing what "that" is. For me, I substitute teach. In fact, right now, I'm sitting in Honors Algebra. And I write. In fact, I doing that right now while I'm substitute teaching. I'm having trouble figuring out if there's anything else I want to do. I have some things in which I'm involved, but they don't make me happy like subbing and writing do. So I don't know if I'll keep doing them or not. In the meantime, I will continue subbing and I will continue writing and I will capitalize on the "happy" I experience from them.
Happy hunting!
G
P.S. Look over at the right side of this page. There's a short poll on today's topic. Take a minute and vote! Thanks!
Five years ago, in 2006, Mr. Cain was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer and Stage IV liver cancer. Can you imagine? According to WebMD, the 5-year survival rate for Stage IV colon cancer is about 8%. http://www.webmd.com/colorectal-cancer/guide/treatment-stage?page= and, with regard to liver cancer, "Advanced liver cancer has no standard curative treatment." http://www.webmd.com/cancer/understanding-liver-cancer-treatment?page=2 I've heard that when Mr. Cain's doctor told him they would be removing a significant portion of his liver, he is reputed to have asked, "Can I survive with just a sliver of liver?" Obviously, he did.
So, here's what I want to know from Herman (we're now on a first-name basis): did he smile like the cat who swallowed the canary before he prevailed over such odds and use phrases like, "That dog won't hunt," when he was discussing treatment alternatives with his doctors? Or did grasping a one out of 12 chance to live somehow infuse some "happy" into him? I mean, I don't know if I could do that. Of course, if I think I cannot, then there's a good chance (better than 1 out of 12) that I won't. Even if I say I will try, I'm painting a bleak picture for success. In the words of the great Jedi knight, Yoda, "No! Do or do not. There is no try." So I'm guessing Herman just picked himself up and said, "I'm going to beat this cancer," and he did it with that smile of the cat who ate the canary.
So here's what this tells me. If I want to go on with life and figure out what I can do so that I'm not constantly focused on my Parkinson's, I have to get off my bottom and take affirmative action to do it. I get that. The problem is knowing what "that" is. For me, I substitute teach. In fact, right now, I'm sitting in Honors Algebra. And I write. In fact, I doing that right now while I'm substitute teaching. I'm having trouble figuring out if there's anything else I want to do. I have some things in which I'm involved, but they don't make me happy like subbing and writing do. So I don't know if I'll keep doing them or not. In the meantime, I will continue subbing and I will continue writing and I will capitalize on the "happy" I experience from them.
Happy hunting!
G
P.S. Look over at the right side of this page. There's a short poll on today's topic. Take a minute and vote! Thanks!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Gambler
Remember that Kenny Rogers song The Gambler? "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em; know when to walk away, know when to stay. You never count your [winnings/money?] when you're sittin' at the table; there'll be time enough for countin' when the dealing's done."
Well, today I'm applying that to talkin' - er talking. I don't have anything to say that's worth saying. BUT, I do have something to ponder. Take a look at the article on the other side of this link.
http://www.michaeljfox.org/podcaststranscripts/Depression.pdf.
It discusses the connection between depression and Parkinson's. In a thumbnail summary, it identifies depression as one of the major symptoms of Parkinson's - not a byproduct, as many people might think.
The person being interviewed in this script raises a good question. Why are people who suffer from depression associated with their Parkinson's so disinclined to reveal they suffer from depression, but have no hesitation in admitting they have Parkinson's?
Each person who suffers from depression has his or her own reason for disclosing he or she suffers from depression. I suppose one of the most obvious is stigma. Do you suffer from depression? Why would you be willing to disclose or not disclose your depression? Would you disclose to anyone or perhaps just your closest friends? I've taken the gamble. I've disclosed my depression and bipolar disorder in a big way, but I don't know the results yet. I'll let you know when next we meet.
Happy thinking.
G
Well, today I'm applying that to talkin' - er talking. I don't have anything to say that's worth saying. BUT, I do have something to ponder. Take a look at the article on the other side of this link.
http://www.michaeljfox.org/podcaststranscripts/Depression.pdf.
It discusses the connection between depression and Parkinson's. In a thumbnail summary, it identifies depression as one of the major symptoms of Parkinson's - not a byproduct, as many people might think.
The person being interviewed in this script raises a good question. Why are people who suffer from depression associated with their Parkinson's so disinclined to reveal they suffer from depression, but have no hesitation in admitting they have Parkinson's?
Each person who suffers from depression has his or her own reason for disclosing he or she suffers from depression. I suppose one of the most obvious is stigma. Do you suffer from depression? Why would you be willing to disclose or not disclose your depression? Would you disclose to anyone or perhaps just your closest friends? I've taken the gamble. I've disclosed my depression and bipolar disorder in a big way, but I don't know the results yet. I'll let you know when next we meet.
Happy thinking.
G
Thursday, September 8, 2011
PEACE, MAYBE
.
I
keep a journal. It's not fancy - just a medium-sized spiral-bound
notebook. Usually, I record what I'm thinking. Usually, it's something
that frustrated me that day. That helps to externalize it - push it
away from me. There's a recurring theme in my journal - how do I
strengthen my spiritual internal self.Last year, at just about this time, I took a personal retreat. I reserved a cabin in Townsend, Tennessee. Townsend is known as the "quiet side of the Smokies," and that it was. Only one or two fast food places. No shopping. No movie theater. No tourist attractions. In fact, when I was talking to the person who met me at my cabin, I asked her if Townsend was just a little farther down the road. She chuckled and said, "Oh, no. This is it. You're here."
What's important is what I didn't take with me: a computer, an iPod; in other words, nothing electronic that would shout at me for the week. As soon as I backed out of the driveway, I turned off my car radio/CD player and I drove from Lexington to Townsend in silence. It was wonderful. When I arrived in my cabin, I unplugged the TV and pushed the radio to the back of the refrigerator top. I did take my phone, but advised people that I would check text messages only once - at the end of the day. And I stuck to that promise.
Townsend is at the entrance to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Each day, I woke at around 6:00. I didn't set an alarm - it just happened that way. I read for a bit on the screened-in back porch. It was spirit-driven reading - I opened my Bible to Luke, closed my eyes, turned to a page and put my finger on a verse. I read the verse over and over - slowly, and then thought about what it was saying. Afterwards, I ate breakfast, got dressed for the day, and headed out to the Park. I drove. I walked. I sat. I even fell in a creek and hurt my wrist. (I'd like to think that was a slippery rock and not Parkinson's.) More days than not, I didn't talk to anyone for the entire day. But what I did do, especially while sitting and staring into a creek, was contemplate what that passage from Luke meant for me. Amazingly, I managed to stay away from thinking about "why me?". Why am I bipolar and have Parkinson's? The answer didn't matter. It was my intent to try to hear what Luke was saying about the here and now - not about what happened a couple of years ago.
After a full day in the Park, I headed back to my cabin for dinner and some light fictional reading. I went to bed around 10:00 and as I went to sleep, thought some more about what I could take from that morning's reading. The next morning, I got up and did it again.
 |
| My last day in the Park. |
Peace.
Gayle
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