My Battle

On October 20th, 2020, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.

While I am not pleased with having the disease, I was surprisingly relieved to have the diagnosis.

You see, every day aspects of my life had become harder than they should have been. I dragged my foot when I walked. I couldn’t get dressed easily, in fact sometimes I needed help. Rising up from a sitting position was often difficult. I had a hard time using a knife to cut things. I had to learn to write with my left hand (OK, that wasn’t terrible, I’ve always wanted to be ambidextrous). My handwriting, which I have worked all my life to improve, was terrible. I couldn’t hold anything still. I could no longer play the piano. That? That was the worst.

And then I was diagnosed. And I got some medicine. And things improved. Walking is easier, dressing is normal. eating is easy again. My handwriting is better, most of the time. And? I can play the piano again. I thought I had lost that forever. One day, I sat down to see if I could play again, I played “You Are My All In All.” And then I sobbed, easily for 5 minutes. I’m so thankful. I see things in a new light now. I lost quite a few abilities, only to partially or almost fully regain them. Oh, sure, I will loose them again. But for now, I can remember to be thankful for those things.

I have a will, and a Living Will. I have joined an on-line support group. It is helpful sometimes, not so much other times. It’s a strange disease in that there are a few things that happen to most all that have the disease, but many symptoms don’t happen to everyone. I know that eventually I will get to a point that I am unable to do anything. I am not afraid of dying that way. I am afraid of living that way. I am afraid of living and feeling helpless and useless. And yet, there is a good chance that is what lies in my future.

I feel guilty. My husband, bless him, is standing by me. This isn’t what he signed up for. I feel bad that what we thought would be our “Forever Home’ will not be able to be that. I feel bad that I am not as active as I want to be with my son. I feel bad when the depression hits and all I feel like doing is crying. I know in my head that it isn’t my fault. My heart doesn’t always listen to my head. But then I think that has often been characteristic of me throughout my life, so why should this be different?

Here’s the thing, though. Everyone has battles that they fight. I hear that often repeated, and it’s true. Some of the battles you can see, some you can’t. Mine happens to be Parkinson’s. You can’t always tell when someone needs help, but you can try to not make their battles worse. Be alert. Be ready. Be kind, always.

Peace, Kat