How could you loan me your body without telling me it had Parkinson’s…

It was the summer of 2013 when I knew something was wrong and I needed to seek the knowledge and diagnosis of a medical professional.

I’d been having difficulties walking. It was like my left foot didn’t get the memo…or TPS report. The right was behaving just fine. It showed up to work on time every day. Did its job dutifully. Kept me walking, from falling on my ass. The usual right foot duties.

The left however was beginning to slack off. It stopped responding to my brain's request to have it move and support me. It started to drag a bit when I would walk and it required more of my concentration to make it act ‘normal’.

I wasn’t sure what was wrong. I hid the problem the best I could. Always walking behind people. Never giving them a chance to see my possible limp as I tried to get my left foot to behave.

Eventually, people started to notice. Mainly the people closest to me.

“Hey what’s wrong with your leg? Why are you limping?”

I stalled for more time… I hadn’t gotten up the courage to see a doctor about the problem so I gave an excuse that I thought they’d buy.

“Oh, I pulled a muscle in my leg… I think I slept funny last night…”

Whatever excuse that came to mind.

At the time the only thing that made me go see a doctor was that I couldn’t hide it anymore. Back then I was always of the mindset that if you don’t acknowledge a problem it doesn’t exist.

Sadly that does not work with most medical problems. Especially with Parkinson’s disease.

The Parkinson’s diagnosis was difficult at first, but I soon learned that even though I had PD it didn’t define who I was. Yes, it was an unwelcome visitor. Yes, it had my body towed all the way to my house…and yes it was the same one that complained that all I had for it was a ‘light beer’.

Luckily I didn’t have to have Biff Tannen as my movement disorder specialist…