Parkinson’s Disease and Me

By Garland Davis

It was nine years ago that I diagnosed myself with Parkinson’s Disease.

I stopped for a beer at a neighbor’s house while walking my dog on a Friday evening. My right hand was shaking. I showed it to him and said, “Look at this.”

He asked, “Have you ever been checked for Parkinson’s?” He had seen it before; his dad had had the disease.

Of course, I hadn’t been checked. I had heard of the disease but my knowledge of it was limited to knowing that Michael J. Fox, Muhammad Ali, and (probably) Hitler had the condition. I spent that entire Friday night and well into Saturday on the computer researching PD. I read scientific papers that I barely understood. As I read, I more and more recognized symptoms that had plagued me for two or three years.

I was a runner normally running three to five miles a day and it bothered me that my right arm no longer swung naturally and that my right foot pronated to the right along with a sensation of running in water. These difficulties had put an end to running a couple of years earlier. I had taken to walking instead. My dog and I logged as much as six miles per day. I saw him slow as he grew older. One day while watching him walk with my wife, I realized he had slowed to compensate for me and my slower gait.

I walk with a different dog now. I walk a mile each day. Well, most days. Some days it is difficult and other days difficult is too mild a term to describe our daily trek. The day will come when I will no longer be able to walk the mile, but I will hold that day off as long as I can and when the day comes that I can only make it to the end of the drive, know that I will be taking that walk.

But to get back to my story, I made an appointment with my doctor. I told him I had Parkinson’s Disease and the reasons I believed so. He referred me to a Neurologist who confirmed my diagnosis, prescribed some pills, and told me what to expect as the disease progressed.

Sounds depressing, right? Well, it is. Soul-sucking depressing! One can look at it as a death sentence not knowing the time you will have to wait on death row.

I decided, “That’s not me.” I decided, “I will not give in to depression.” I decided, “Although I am sixty-five years old, instead of retiring, I will continue to work.” And I did for two years, but I was a professional driver and failed to pass the bi-annual physical exam. I was forced to surrender my license.

I envisioned long idle days with nothing to do. Well, as I said, that just wasn’t me. I always had it in mind to try writing and had done well in university courses through undergraduate school and later in graduate school. But those had been business subjects. I had in mind to write poetry and fiction. So, at sixty-seven, I enrolled in literature and creative writing courses at an online university.

A little over three years ago, at seventy-one, I started an online blog where I tell true and fictional stories of growing up in rural North Carolina, tales from my thirty-year career in the Navy, I write historical articles about Naval events, and feature articles by my shipmates. There are currently over nine hundred blog entries. I have had a poem and a couple of stories published in an online magazine that features articles and stories written by veterans.

Every year I travel alone from Hawaii to Missouri to attend a reunion of sailors who served in the Far East. I have done this since 2013 and am looking forward to the 2019 gathering.

What I’m saying here folks is you have it in you to relegate this Disease to a secondary position in your life. Do more than you think you can! Don’t agonize over Parkinson’s Disease or dwell upon it. That is the road to depression and batshit crazy.

ODE TO THE NAVY RETIREE!

When I was young, a friend of mine,
Retired with thirty years of Naval Service.
More years than I had lived.

I asked him, “was it worth it?”
And a tear came to his eye,
He said, “Son, I’d do it all again.”
And then he told me why.

He said, “This nation can not stand,
Unless we have someone,
To guard our country night and day,
The way that I have done.

“There is better-paying jobs.” He said.
With much better hours too.
But the future of this country.
Depends on guys; like me and you”.

“I’ve not got a lot to show,
And my years at home were few.
But I did my job the best I could,
And now it’s up to you.”

I think about this friend of mine.
As my thirty years grow near.
And I understand how he felt.
And why I saw that tear.

I’ve been gone from home a lot myself,
And I’ve got a scar or two.
But if I had it all to do again.
I’d do the same thing too.

There’s a youngster out there somewhere,
Who’ll enlist to take my place?
He’ll ask me, “Was it worth it?”
And see a tear run down my face.

They’re good, these young replacements.
I work with them each day.
With faith in God, they’ll do the job.
And the best of them will stay.

And in thirty years, a youngster
Whose service just began,
Will ask, and get the answer:
“Son, I would do it all again.”