Palsy Man

Last night (it’s Saturday morning as I write this) my nose was making life great. I was working right where I am now, at my desk, and I had all my windows open and spectacularly scented fresh air was blowing past me because yes, we were having yet another storm and this one had lots of wind. The air smelt like freedom, fragrant and warm. And the kitchen was full of the smell of freshly baking chocolate cake.

The cake is for a friend’s seventieth birthday tomorrow evening. I’m going to deliver the cake and say Hi, and stay if I can speak to people without losing my motor control. For fun, I wrapped a lot of coins in saran wrap and hid them inside the cake to have a birthday cake like we had when I was a kid.

Yesterday I had lunch with Dwight to see how I’d do with him. At times I could talk with him at about a thirty percent stutter —my new “normal” of this past year. At other times I spoke with great difficulty and at other times I couldn’t talk at all!  

We ate in One Saigon. It’s our favourite place. Then we went to Tim Horton’s where Dwight has coffee and we both have a donut. While I was talking to Dwight at One Saigon, our neighbour kept looking at me; in Tim Horton’s, we left because I was attracting attention there too.

People stare because of my movements. I rock back and forth, my arms and wrists bend and jerk around and head moves around uncontrollably as I struggle to speak. It ain’t a pretty sight. I look like someone with palsy. Palsy is defined as “uncontrollable tremor and quivering of the body.” That’s me, but only when I try to talk —and not all the time!

Sometimes I can talk like I have been for the past year. The palsy comes and goes. When it comes, people see a terribly out of control person with horribly compromised speech and they stare.

Dr. Shoja is away this week — a week that ended with a migraine on both Thursday and Friday. I think next week we have to talk about upping my dosage.

So today I will work on the doily dress. I want to coat the mannequin with something so that the doily jacket shows better and I’d like to figure try to get a little apron on her too. Then I’ll be done with dress number eight.  Then tonight, the party (maybe) and tomorrow, my stuttering first-year anniversary day, I will put the papier maché skin on the marble dress.