Parkinson's Disease thinks that every day is April Fools Day. It fools you. I'll go days upon days, swearing up and down, that the Doctor must have screwed up, because I'm fine. Then it turns around. My leg shakes, I shuffle my feet when I walk. I feel like an old man. A very good looking, old man, but an old man, nonetheless. Picture Paul Newman in "Our Town," not Henry Fonda in "On Golden Pond."
I'm sure that there have been studies done on the effects of temperature on Parkinson's sufferers. I'll never read one. Why should I. I know first hand. In the hot weather, the sweat pours out like the water falling from Niagara Falls. In the winter, "Every single breeze seems to whisper, you freeze." You're probably thinking, "hey this schmuck is cold in the winter, what does he expect?" I've rarely been cold before. I've gone through entire winters without turning on the heat.
There are days that it just gets to me. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I just want to walk erect and briskly. I'd like to be able to shave, without using two hands. I'd like to easily button my sleeve button. I'd like to have the option of wearing laced shoes.
I'm sorry, I cranky and grouchy today. This will be better tomorrow.