Why would I need a flu shot?
Fear is a funny thing. We have a fear of the unknown and we fear the
known. One of our worst fears is that of the “it might be”, wanting and not
wanting to know. I sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office the Saturday
after Christmas. My flu bug was not getting better and I was fearful it might
turn into pneumonia, not what you want to happen especially if you have
Parkinson’s. I was fortunate that the doctor could see me right away. The
office was 10 minutes down the road. It seemed much longer as my beautiful wife
reminded me about that flu shot I did not get. It was a wonderful way to pass
the time at all those stoplights….ahhhh, what could any spouse wish for more
than a good I told you so.
Now the last time I was at this particular doctor’s office I was told
that I would be diagnosed with Parkinson’s by the neurologist that I was being referred
to, and I was. The way I looked at it was that I didn’t have anything until I
was officially diagnosed. Sure I had a bunch of symptoms, but no official label
of PD to go with it. What great news was I going to get this time.
“Put this mask on and have a seat,” the very friendly desk person told
me. When I am out in public, quite frequently I get stared at because my hand
tremors are quite noticeable. It bugs me a little. I would rather people come
up to me and ask what I have than stare and whisper to each other. “I wonder what’s wrong with him. Maybe he did
not get his flu shot.” But there I was, doing that same thing I always complain
about. I sat down and I was staring. I stared at this person sitting in the
chair in front of me, just like people do to me. Her body moved uncontrollably
from side to side as did her head. Her speech was unintelligible. I overheard her husband telling the nurse that
she suffered from Parkinson’s. My heart sank as I stared. I wanted to put my arms around her and make it
go away, but I couldn’t. “You can go in now,” the nurse said. I walked back wondering,
“Is this my future?” and there it was, fear.
The phone rings
Now let me go back in time a few days before Christmas. I was home, yes,
sick. The phone rings. I don’t get to it in time because I move slowly. Thank
you Parkinson’s. I thought for sure that I was going to miss a great opportunity
to speak to someone about my current phone plan or better yet the call you get
that starts out, “Just wanted you to know I’m not selling anything, so don’t
worry.” Feel free to use this response, “That’s too bad. I was really in the
mood to buy something.” CLICK. The
answering machine picks up. The very cheerful voice is leaving a message for my
wife, “Your mammogram has shown an abnormality in the right breast and you need
to schedule an MRI as soon as possible.” I felt sick to my stomach as the fear
set in.
The gift that was not under the tree
Christmas Day I felt as sick as I ever could recall, but I managed to
come downstairs to open gifts with my family. Christmas morning is a grand
event in our house and a big production. It was particularly so this year
because the wonderful young man my daughter is seeing was here from Germany. My
wife and I are thrilled that they are together and the look of joy on my
daughter’s face having him be part of our family’s Christmas was truly a wonderful
gift in itself. Like my daughter-in-law, he has been a blessing to our family. Those
special moments helped take my mind off the lingering thoughts of that MRI and
what it might reveal. We opened our gifts, but the only gift I wanted was not
under the tree -- the one that would tell me that my wife would be all right.
Fear was trying to take Christmas away from me.
It all came to a head
We arrived to our dear friend’s house after the funeral of his father.
It is difficult to find the right words sometimes to give comfort to someone
who has lost a loved one. A life that was meaningful is one that leaves this
world a better place and my friend’s father did just that, reflected by the
children he raised with his beautiful and wonderful wife. Their long and loving
marriage defining what happiness truly is. My heart was broken for all of them.
Memories of when I lost my mom flooded back as I walked over to my friend. He
thanked me for being there for him. I choked up. The best I could do was a
grunt as I composed myself. I felt terrible. I could not get the words out. It
all hit me at once: being sick for that
long, seeing the devastating possibility of Parkinson’s, the fear for my wife,
and the grief I felt for my friend and his family -- a title wave of emotions
that I had been trying to suppress. Fear, depression, and anxiety, all
magnified by Parkinson’s. These are the symptoms that people don’t see. The ones
that can do the most damage.
The MRI came back. It was negative and my wife was fine. No poem ever written. No lyric ever sung could
have be more beautiful than those words. My prayers go out to all those who are
battling breast cancer. God bless and heal all of you.
Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is what you do in the
presence of fear. Sometimes it takes courage to talk about your fears. Me, I wrote
this blog instead.
I am Pat Younts and I Move to Live.
