#235 PD, Story, Memorial, Photos

The Photos in this post are mostly just decoration—old photos found, new experiments, and eye candy. Please enjoy and comment.

The Continuing Saga of Bob’s Parkinson’s

I always tried to teach that to truly analyze an issue meant you had to examine all sides of the issue. Thus, my analysis of the good and the bad of Parkinson’s Disease. First, what causes PD? Fifteen percent of PD can be attributed to genetics—PD running in a family. That’s the bad news; you can’t do anything about it. But that means 85% of PD comes from environmental causes such as exposure to chemical factors (RoundUp, chemicals used on golf courses, etc.). And that is certainly good news because that means 85% of PD could be  preventable.

Next, PD is an eclectic disease where each individual’s symptoms or combination of symptoms and progression of the disease is different for each individual. That fact makes treatment much more difficult and stressful—it’s hard to prepare for what comes next in the disease when it could be any number of things. It takes a team effort to fight PD. The good news is you can find some really good people to put on your team. I’m lucky to have Anne as a care-giver and I worry about working her too hard. But I have also met two efficient neurologists and a great family practitioner, as well as several therapists (physical trainer, movement therapist, voice and swallowing therapist). I attend a group meeting of others fighting the condition and we all work at helping each other. I’ve met some wonderful people because of PD, and that’s a great thing.

Finally, there are good medicines and treatments for many of the symptoms of PD. It’s certainly good news when I find the right dosage of Carbidopa/Levodopa (Sinemet) that controls most of my tremors. The bad news comes when the disease progresses beyond what the meds can control or when the meds themselves cause problems. Constipation is one of the symptoms of PD and Sinemet often causes more constipation. 

Parkinson’s Disease is an ugly problem for all of us, patient and caregiver, and the good side of it becomes more and more a comparative good. But with the support of my team I’ll lumber on from one symptom to the next. Is it a good thing to look forward to the next new challenge or a bad thing? 

Amorak (son) and Myko (father) crashed out after pulling a four-wheeled cart 72 miles through beach and sand dunes in two days with rest of a 7-dog team. Good dogs!

Anne and the team with little snow at Beaver Marsh and Mt Thielson in the background.

Anne driving a five dog team at a Dune Musher's beach race in the '70s.

The Tournament of the Bad Tooth

The fall 1964 University of Washington collegiate speech tournament was an unusual one for me. I was entered in three individual speaking events and debate, but that wasn’t what was unusual. It was the second day of the three day competition that I woke up with a swollen cheek and an extremely aching tooth. All Dr. Mahaffey or Craig Singletary, our speech coaches at Linfield College, could do was give aspirin and tell me to make my way over to the U of W School of Dentistry during the day to see if they could help.[Side note about our team: Linfield’s speech team had a small budget, so to extend our monies Hap had us stay in a downtown Seattle 4th Street hotel where the lower floors were rented out on an hourly basis while our cheap rooms were on upper floors. It was a good educational opportunity for small town debaters and we never had any problems. Back to my story.] With my full competitive schedule I could find only a little time during my lunch break—I had no interest in food anyway—to seek professional help. With my slurred speech, puffy cheek, and sore tooth they set me up to see one of the dental professors during a class session. He put me in a chair, took a look at my tooth, and called another professor over to take a look. Soon all the students were coming over and after seeing the tooth, muttered to each other about it. 

It seems that several years before, when I had had work done on the tooth by Dr. Toothacher in Los Angeles (and yes, that was his real name) he had done some unusual damage to the tooth which had now split right down the middle. The doctors said the tooth had to come out, but they couldn’t do it. They said I would have to take that up with my dentist in Salem when I got home. They did though pack the tooth and give me something stronger than aspirin for the pain.

So drugged up with more slurred speech I took my packed tooth back to finish the tournament. And finish the tournament I did. Mike and I placed 2nd in debate and I finaled and took a trophy in each of the three individual events in which I participated. Even drugged—swollen—and slurring it was one of the best performances of my college speech career. I wonder if I could have done any better if I’d been healthy. 

Osprey bringing home the fish dinner to the nest near Mt Angel.

George the Cat -- (?)1997 - March 20, 2013  (I know I've posted this before, but of all the animals we've shared our lives with he was our last and the one we can't forget.)

George, named by the neighbors, was a stray abandoned by the people who lived behind the neighbors across the street from us. The neighbors neutered George and fed him, but he was just one of several outside cats the neighbors fed. I started hand

feeding George Tender Vittles in the mornings before I went to work. He soon discovered that he liked coming into the house in the evenings, even if he had to share it with Muffy, Queen of the House. Muffy took all the best sleeping spots, but George decided that even the second best spots were better than living on the street. After talking with the neighbors and taking George to the vet for his jabs, he became our cat although weighing between twelve and fifteen pounds he freely claimed the neighborhood as his. 

George was a lovey cat with us, but fairly shy among other people. He tolerated us having groups over, but relished group dinners when he’d get his own chair at the table--he was content to sit at the table and watch us eat, knowing he’d eventually get some scraps when everyone was done. Almost any meat would attract his interest and ice cream was of course his favorite dessert.

In the twelve plus years we had George he got used to having sitters when we were away, first to debate camps and then to UK adventures. For a while we used live-in house/cat sitters, then we had neighbors who would watch over things while we were gone--letting George in and out on a regular basis. He didn’t like our traveling and started sulking as soon as saw the suitcases come up from the basement. He never knew whether the trip was to be for a weekend, a week, or six weeks--after all, as smart as he was he never learned to read the calendar or the itinerary we always left on the table. He was almost always happy to see us return. In fact, one time we had left our car at the airport for a friend who was coming back from a trip a couple of days after we left. When Scott pulled into our carport with our car George came anxiously running until he saw it wasn’t us. Scott said he looked so dejected when he left in his own car. George would punish us, though, for leaving him (even if he had been well cared for) by demanding to be let in and out at his whim for several days. Out of guilt (and fear, for George had claws which he kept very sharp) we always gave in to his demands. This was the pattern for years, until this last short trip to Eastern Oregon. When we got home George greeted us, wanted pets and a little lap time, but was far more interested in curling up in the bed we had for him in front of the heat vent. This now was the pattern for several days--George became harder and harder to wake up. He’d get up to eat his breakfast and dinner and wait beside us for our scraps, but then it was back to sleep in front of the heater without much lap time. In few days it was just sleep. I had a chat with George’s vet, made an appointment, and took him in for his final visit.

We hope George, good friend that he was, is now enjoying his long, permanent nap.

NEXT: Maybe some new photos...or maybe some old stories...or both.

 

#234 PD Notes, a Story, and Photos

 

San Francisco de Asis Church in Ranchoes de Taos in color and BW

About the photos in this post: I found some photos from a trip to Santa Fe and Taos, NM, we took a few years ago. I combined some I haven’t shown before with a photo program called Sketcher, used to enhance the image or create a more painterly (if that’s a word) look. The photos aren’t meant to go with the PD info or the story, only to brighten up the blog. Hope you enjoy parts or all of this post and I always appreciate your comments.

Barns and ruins in southern Colorado.

Continuing to Live with Parkinson’s Disease

You should easily guess which one of us didn't care for the snake pot displayed in a Taos museum.

There are four main symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease: Resting Tremor (as opposed to active tremors that hit when lifting weight), Slowness of Movement, Impairment of Balance, and Rigidity or Stiffness (the only symptom of the four that I haven’t really experienced yet). Then there are more than forty other and often hidden symptoms, many of which are not pleasant to talk about in detail such as constipation, drooling, and rhinorea (look it up).

What I do want to talk about is the way PD makes the simple things of life so difficult. Autonomic activities, those bits of living we do without thinking about them (such as walking, talking, or eating) are suddenly not so automatic because my brain no longer produces enough dopamine to keep doing those things like putting on a seatbelt in a car. I used to get in the car, grab the seatbelt across my body, plug it in and I was ready to go.Now I slowly get in the car seat, reach around slowly feeling for the belt (remember Slowness of Movement is a major symptom), try to get the metal flange in hand, make several attempts to pull the belt across my body, and hope it only takes me two minutes to plug the buckle in. No wonder I keep my driving to only local and easy jaunts! I find I’m still okay brushing my teeth, but I have some real challenges with dressing. I used to throw on a jacket to go out in the cool winter air, but now I’m pleased to get one arm in correctly before I begin battle with the second arm hole. Buttons are a new challenge when they used to be something I didn’t even think about. There are a few (very few) positives—perfecting the perfect 007 martini, shaken not stirred seems more doable now.

PD does change living patterns. I now leave a full half hour to get dressed—make it an hour if I’m going to add beard trim and shower. And tell me when I lost the ability to dry my back after a shower. Come on, dopamines, let me have a dry back back. 

Line of cottonwoods in southern Colorado.

Sangre de Cristo Mtns from Rio Grande Gorge Bridge and from Taos.

Pure Nostalgic Story about Nona, Silver Bells, and Coney Dogs

Museum art, Taos.

Every Christmas season brings with it special memories of my Nona (Italian grandmother, although Nona was probably a mix of Mexican and Apache adopted by an Italian family in Colorado), the song Silver Bells, and Coney Island hot dogs. During my childhood years I would spend a lot of time with Nona, my maternal grandmother. At Christmas time in Sacramento Nona and I would get on a city bus and travel downtown to what was for me a wonderland of decorated streets and shops. On every corner in the downtown area would be large decorated silver bells and stores would have the song playing in the background. Nona was half blind from Diabetes and I learned to help guide her around town—I was maybe seven or eight years old. My reward was always the same, a lunch at The Coney Island, a hot dog store with a few tables and a long counter with bar stools. A staple in the K Street area in the fifties and sixties, The Coney Island (new owners changed its name to Lindy’s in 1957) closed in the early seventies. I remember hot dogs were 15 cents and coneys were 25 cents and the coney sauce was to die for. As I recall there was never much money for shopping, but Nona and I had great times looking and singing Silver Bells.   

Next: More found photos I hope. PS. Thanks, Rumpelstiltskin, for the kind comments.

#233 Happy New Year

 MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ONE AND ALL

In this post I attempt to cover two topics, the first related to my struggles with Parkinson’s Disease and the second an assignment I gave myself in the last post of the blog.

A Fall in the Fall

First is a story that happened a couple of weeks ago—-it’s about a fall which appropriately happened in the fall and is being written about while it’s still autumn [Notice how I deftly avoided another use of “fall.”] Also appropriately I was leaving a Parkinson’s support group meeting at the Canby Adult Center when I suddenly found myself on the ground of the parking lot. My head was bleeding, glasses askew, small gashes on my hand and one knee. How I got there I’m not sure. I could have tripped over a rough spot in the parking lot asphalt or I could have stumbled on the toe of a dragging foot. Whatever happened, I luckily didn’t hit the ground very hard. 

Taken by Anne at my request. Me on the ground surrounded by help while waiting for the professional (EMT) help.

Better yet I had numerous people around me ready to help—Anne (who goes to the meeting as a caregiver), a couple of other PD patients and caregivers, two staff from the Adult Center. Also, it was good that I knew what to do. I stayed down and waited for the EMTs who were called soon after I fell and who specialize in picking up and caring for the fallen.

The Canby Fire Dept. rescue truck arrived in five or six minutes, thankfully with no siren blaring. The two EMTs checked me over and after confirming that I had no major injuries picked me up off the ground and got me on my feet. They helped me walk to the rescue ambulance where they checked me out more thoroughly.  Since I had hit my head on the ground, bending my glasses but not breaking the frame, they said I should consider a visit to the hospital in case I was concussed [I’ve always wanted to use that word, “concussed,” if it is a word.], We decided that with neighbors on both sides being nurses, we’d have help close by if I felt worse later. 

The result of the fall was a sore wrist and knee, some facial scabs, a little embarrassment, and a reality check. There is good logic to Parkinson’s warning that each of us struggling with the condition are only one bad fall away from a really bad day. My day wasn’t this one.  

My Photo Assignment

Celebrating Thanksgiving with a dinner out at Arrowhead GC in Mollala.

We did manage to get in a round of golf in good weather.

 

I managed to take a couple of almost good photos at the course.

The second part of this post is my response to an assignment I gave myself: "put together a photo essay of a small town between Thanksgiving and Christmas." My intent was to produce a coherent narrative of events and scenes in and around the holidays as celebrated in Canby. Within the photos I’d come up with I would hopefully find a couple (maybe more) of significant artistic value. What I ended up with was a bunch of trite snapshots not worthy of a passing grade on the assignment.

We went to our rented storage unit to pick up the last of the 17 boxes of Christmas decorations.

Why such a poor result when I had had such lofty hopes? This may sound like I’m looking for an excuse for my performance, but really I’m just recounting how I conspired against myself and got no help from outside sources.

Some of the decorations in our home for the holidays. Anne does a great job of organizing and displaying our treasures.

I had envisioned going to local town events and taking pictures of holiday cheer and happiness, but when I had opportunities I blew my chances. For instance, when at Anne’s birthday meal out with friends I didn’t even think about taking my camera until we were already at the restaurant. I did the same for a big band Christmas concert at the Hope Village Community Center. 

At the concert I did borrow Anne's iPhone to get picture. It's the only shot I took and you can tell I'm not used to using the iPhone as a camera.

I had planned to visit a couple of local parks (for nature photos and pictures of lighting displays). I did neither, I simply dropped the ball on those ideas. I have to say my Parkinson’s didn’t cooperate at all. Early in the month I fell [see previous story] and recovery was slow with several visits to doctors and therapists in the way of anything planned. I could have pivoted on my plans and come up with something else, but winter blues or Parkinson’s apathy put an end to that. The pictures I did come up with lack any value beyond the typical scapebook snapshots which could have been taken with 1953 Kodak Brownie. 

The city of Canby is nicely decorated by local snowman contest (as well as a light in the park display. I made very poor use of bothers opportunities. There's much more that I could have done.

I did learn that if I’m going to continue to produce anything worth your time to view I have to find ways to overcome physical and mental blocks that I faced on this assignment. If  I do that, the month will not have been a total washout.

Lots of local flooding and wind damage was done by the three Atmospheric Rivers (used to be called The Pineapple Express) hit us in a two week period.

NEXT: Something worth your time to read and see.