Parkinson’s. … Parkinson’s. Another crossroad of life – my life. Four days post-Parkinson’s, I remain quiet. Not a word. Not a soul. And unlike my tumor, to which I told only a selected few, nothing.
Like my tumor, I don’t want Parkinson’s to by my identity. I know it will (eventually), but not now. Not yet. I can’t handle this being the forefront of life. Just can’t.
I don’t want to be dependent. In Tuesdays with Morrie, author Mitch Albom noted the loss of control that leads people to rely upon others unconditionally. For me, Parkinson’s represents a loss of self. Maybe it’s the fact someone gets to wipe your a••. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

Albom’s work was about his conversations with a former professor, Morris “Morrie” S. Schwartz. One night, Schwartz was talking to Nightline host Ted Koppel.

“Well, Ted, one day soon, someone’s gonna have to wipe my ass. It’s the ultimate sign of dependency. Someone wiping your bottom. But I’m working on it.”

In my way, Parkinson’s scares me more than my tumor. Depending upon the story, Parkinson’s is slow. And while cancer can be as well, the thought of losing my mind, my thoughts, my most inner secret is worrisome.

The good news is that I know I will die. I have too much negativity in this old body to make it too much farther down the road—arthritis, Cervical Stenosis, a tumor, and now Parkinson’s. But dying is more than negativity; it’s about the positivity that I understand my death, and that to live better despite it.

A significant part of me is not to whither against the hard rain darting past my hat. I aim not to disappear. The key for me is the daily query of one repetitive question, “How do I make the best of it?” I believe in the life hereafter. I believe Ms. K., will meet me. I believe in a spiritual force. I believe in God. I believe in love.

And that’s where I want to live. And that’s why I will probably say zilch until I absolutely must. I prefer to live in the center of those items just listed then in Parkinson’s. I should have done that all along.