Old Yellow

I'm thinking about renaming the old, yellow, beat up, threadbare recliner that Carol bought at a yard sale years ago. I loved that chair and spent many hours in it, dozing, reading, watching TV and dozing some more. I always thought of it as “Old Yellow.” The mechanism has broken several times, and the last time I fixed it by replacing the busted linkage with a piece of electric fence wire. Several generations of dogs have left their smell and some of their hair is embedded in it, but to me it smells like home.

Eventually we bought a new recliner and retired the old one to storage, hopefully for a yard sale of its own. The new one, while a lot better looking, just never felt right to me. After several failed attempts to sell the outcast, it sat forgotten in the back of our shop covered with other junk, until some friends who were furnishing a new house came over. They were looking for good deals on furniture so Carol took them out to the shop to see if we had anything that they could use.

They picked out a desk, some old end tables, an office chair, and the old recliner. I helped them load their pickup, but when we got to Old Yellow I suddenly felt like I was losing a dear friend. “Wait a minute,” I said, “There's another one in the den that you would probably like better!”

“You can't be serious!” Carol said, as we went in the house. A few minutes later we carried out the newer chair and loaded it up.

“I never liked that chair.” I said, “It just didn't feel comfortable, and I can fix anything that's broken on the old one.”

The old yellow recliner resumed its place in the den, and after I sat down in it for the first time in several years, I realized what I had been missing; all of the lumps, valleys and creases were in exactly the right place, and I could have easily dozed off right then and there.

Sitting down and pulling the foot rest lever back is like sinking into a comfortable cloud, and to read or watch TV for any length of time without falling asleep is a real challenge for me. Sometimes I'm awakened by a loud rattling noise and it takes me a few seconds to realize that it was my snoring that so rudely interrupted my dreams.

When the dogs hear the clunk of the footrest going out they know that my lap is available and it only takes a few seconds before they both have joined me. With them in my lap it's difficult to read, so I usually turn out the lamp, lay down my book and ...zzzzz.

Maybe I'll name it “Serenity.”

Venting

Parkinson's Lament

I feel more than a little guilty about complaining, since so many other people with Parkinson's have symptoms that are much more advanced and serious than mine. I consider myself fortunate that my symptoms are still mild, but every now and then, like everyone, I need to vent a little bit.

I guess the symptom that I hate the most is my deteriorating manual dexterity. I used to be proud of my ability to work with my hands and I enjoyed putzing around in my workshop, sawing, sanding, soldering, welding, and building various projects. Now the shop is littered with unfinished undertakings left behind in frustration.

The medicine (Dopamine) that I take to reduce the tremors, works most of the time, but sometimes I feel like I have two left hands. Eating in public is embarrassing, a knife and fork just won't work for me the way they used to. It almost feels like I've never used them before, and sometimes I think I could do just as well with chopsticks. Inevitably the morsel of food that I've struggled so hard to get on the tip of my fork will shake off just as I bring it up to my open mouth, and the more frustrated and stressed I get, the more the tremors increase.

The second most irritating symptom for me is the gradual weakening of my voice. If I haven't spoken for a while and try to answer the phone, about all I can get out is a garbled croak. It usually takes a couple of tries before I can say a clear “Hello?” Other times it's difficult to speak loud enough to be heard, especially if there's any background noise.

Thirdly, I really miss my sense of smell. I remember what the Northwest rain smelled like early in the morning; “Green ice, silence and minnow breath,” as Tom Robbins wrote. The odors of Lilacs, fresh coffee, newly mowed grass and puppy breath are just memories now.

My upper body strength is poor, especially the grip in my hands. The weather's been too crappy to do much kayaking, which would help. Walking keeps my leg strength up and I squeeze rubber exercise balls while I walk, (Carol likes to remind me to keep squeezing my balls while we're walking,) but so far it hasn't helped much. (My grip that is.)

Memory lapses are getting more frequent, I even forgot how to tie my shoe the other day. Mostly it's just temporary though, a missing word or name will eventually come back, sometimes in the middle of the night. My other symptoms; dizziness, loss of balance, difficulty swallowing, are all mild.

I'm going to resist everything this disease throws at me and I plan on keeping my sense of humor while I'm doing it.

Housebreaking Squeak