Thursday, January 26, 2017

Wednesday Was Hellish Till I Took a Pill

took my strongest calming drug Wednesday morning because I awoke feeling like staying in bed and cancelling everything. My day went like this: What time is it? I wonder if I have Parkinson’s? I wonder where Leon is? What’ll I do if I have Parkinson’s? “Want something to eat, Leon?” Will I be able to do this when I get worse Parkinson’s? Water? What if I do have Parkinson’s? Etc. Etc. Even though I doubt altogether that I have it.
So I took the pill and it worked. I had a FABULOUS and elegant lunch at le Crocodile with Edwin. It’s easily the best place for lunch downtown.
On Tuesday, Dr. Montaner said: “There’s clearly a problem in your central nervous system. If there’s reduced blood flow, let’s fix that. And lets have a neurologist check you out—not just for Parkinson’s but for any reason your speech may be affected. And we’ll hear what Dr. Shoja has to say about your speech and then, once we try everything they suggest, if you still have the problem we’ll change you meds for three months and carefully monitor you.”
Yesterday Dr. Pimstone, my cardiologist, called. He’s having me come in on Monday—I suspect that this is due to a call to him from Dr. Guilemmi. I guess I will find out if I am to get a pacemaker or not. I don’t, as yet, have an appointment with a neurologist.
Dr. Montaner is clearly committed to finding out the cause of my speech. He is the head of AIDS treatment both at St. Paul’s and a treatment advisor worldwide. He is an AIDS “star” at the UN. He’s a world leader in treatment and so he wants to know if my speech is due to my chemical therapy. As Dwight said: I am his bitch Guinea pig now.
Today I am over the shock and feeling completely back to PTSD/stuttering normal.
Am I over reacting? Yes. That’s what you do when you have C-PTSD. Is it irrational? No. Dr. D. (whose name escapes me) had me do two things: First: Extend my arms straight out in front of me at shoulder height, palms down. No problem. Then, keeping them straight, I was simply to turn my palms up. It was a disaster. My arms flew all over the place. I could not do it.
My second task was to turn my head to the right. Well, I can do it but it’s not easy and I shook like mad.  Then he asked me to turn my head to the right and it was like I had palsy. Later I was able to do both tasks; the capacity comes and goes.
I’ll say it again: it’s like there’s a loose screw. These physical symptoms come and go like my speech and so I’m practically positive I don’t have Parkinson’s, but there’s clearly more going on than just speech. Call me Enigma—Mr. Enigma, if you please.
It’s hard to work on my script when my mind keeps skipping to the question of Parkinson’s or not, so I am working up more dress ideas.
I’ve got the materials with which to make the baseballs. And the Ping-Pong balls are on their way. The current challenge is marbles; toy stores don’t carry many. I saw bags of ten for $8 that seems crazy, so I’ve some Amazon research to do and more stores around town to visit. (I’m wondering if the swallowing hazard has brought an end to them. They were such a huge and happy part of my childhood.)
I remember my first crushing celebrity death. It was Gilda Radner and I was just gutted. Princess Diana was number two. I was very sad today about the death of Mary Tyler Moore. I was just smitten with her and her cast of characters in her show. There was a goofy megalomaniac Ted who was so incredibly funny I could barely watch him. And Betty White as the sexual predator secretary was comic genius. We lost a classy lady.


















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