ME

Five days ago, I embarked on the most fantastic vacation I had ever been on.  Unfortunately, my vacation ended today.  I went to a land I’ll call “Me.”  I haven’t been to “Me” in years.  As a matter of fact, I had forgotten what it was like to be “Me”.

I need to give you some background information first.  As time passed, Parkinson’s proved to be a skilled butcher, carving away small pieces of my physical being and large chunks of my soul.  The changes have been dramatic when viewed in aggregate.  Yesterday, I came across a picture of me from 2017.  When I compared that picture to a current picture, I realized how thorough Parkinson’s had been at destroying the man I was meant to be, leaving behind the creature I had become. 

The creature I had become was a jealous one.  It would sit outside on its walker and watch its neighbors go on their morning walks.  Its abilities had been so diminished that walking any distance had become next to impossible.  My neighbors walked on a solid surface, enjoying the beautiful North Carolina days while I walked in quicksand and pain.  I thought, if only I could walk, I’d be happy. 

I’ve searched the medical world for an answer, to no avail.  The search did reveal that, in addition to Parkinson’s, I have cervical disc disease with a disc herniation at C4-5, along with a long list of other disorders.  I wasn’t joking when I described Parkinson’s as a butcher, but I failed to mention that its assistant in my destruction was Father Time.

Now, back to my trip.  My neurosugeon sent me to a physiatrist to try to deal with my pain.  Dr. Plummer is a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark world.  We talked about options; and, as a short-term fix, she started me on a steroid dose pack. I went to sleep in my hideous body and awoke in the land of “Me.”

Yep, the next morning I could walk better, move better; and, for the most part, I was pain free.  I felt like “me” for the first time in years.  My companion, Parkinson’s, was still there; but the real “me” had taken over.  It was heavenly.  I was back on dry land and functioning.  My sense of humor returned.  I was fit and ready for duty.  It was as if my prayers had been answered.    

Unfortunately, you can’t stay on steroids forever.  Dr. Plummer had given me a 6-day pass and that pass is expiring today.  A Medrol Dosepak starts off with 6 pills on day one and the dose decreases by 1 pill a day.  My trip is coming to an end.  Six pills were marvelous; 2 don’t cut it.  Unfortunately, the butcher’s work is permanent; and I’m returning from the land of “Me.”

I am grateful for the short vacation.  I am better than I was before I took this trip, as I know, buried under a pile of Parkinsonian shit, “me” still exists.  I will continue to look for a way back to the land of “Me” but, mired in quicksand, doubt I’ll find it.   

Today, most doctors follow rules and there are rules that govern the use of steroids.  In my day, doctors made up their own rules, understanding that there were risks and weighing the risks vs. the benefits.  Perhaps I will find a doctor willing to break the rules and give me a trip to the land of “Me” on a more regular basis.  We’ll see!

Here’s today’s joke:

A biker walks into a bar and sits down on a bar stool near the end of the bar.

He takes a look at the menu and it reads as follows:

Hamburger – 2.99

Cheeseburger – 3.99

Chicken Sandwich – 4.99

Hand Jobs – 19.99

The crusty old biker waves the bartender down and up walks this tall, busty, beautiful redhead in her mid-twenties. She smiles at the biker coyly, and he asks in a quiet voice, “Are you the one who gives the hand jobs?” The bartender blushes slightly and says, “Yes, I am” with a sexy little smile. The biker grins and says, “Well, wash your hands, because I want a cheeseburger.”