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| Bob Shryock |
Tubby Raymond, former head football coach at the University of Delaware, had a patented expression he used to describe a slow and painful loss:
"It's like being bitten to death by a duck." How's that for a graphic portrayal?
The analogy was clear and excruciatingly accurate. And, unfortunately, it translates to the way I'm feeling these days as I battle the sinister disease Parkinson's.
Well-wishers continue to encourage me to keep fighting, and, for the most part, I do just that. But the disease is a lousy way to squirm out of helping my wife with the housework. And the alternative is unthinkable.
The fight is long and arduous and mentally draining because there is no cure and little hope for progress in that area in my lifetime. It is said "Parkinson's won't kill you." And while that's refreshing to hear, the cumulative effects are, quite candidly, a drain on the psyche. The buzz word appears in far too many obituaries to suit me.
I was diagnosed with the disease 17 years ago after enduring a litany of office visits to Parkinson's specialists and "essential tremor" explanations.
I also endured DBS (deep brain stimulation) surgery at Pennsylvania Hospital in 2003 to successfully eradicate the tremors that threatened to compromise my lifestyle.
The surgery didn't hurt — you're only mildly sedated and awake for most of it.
But while the procedure qualifies as a minor miracle, and continues to do so, I'm now linked indefinitely to a post-op battery-operated device that requires daily charging, or, if not properly tuned, will throw the user into a full-throttle abyss within a few days. When re-charged, there is a euphoric tingling sensation that permeates.
On the negative side, I find myself falling too frequently, usually forward, and have cuts and bruises on my knees and legs to show for it. For the most part, I manage to avoid the helter-skelter "welcome home, Bob" attacks staged by the dogs, although one failed defense resulted in my worst singular fall on steps bridging our bi-level. In that case, I broke a finger when I used my left hand to brace myself against the fall. That wasn't too smart, a lefthander breaking a finger on his left hand. While my finger heals, I've been attempting to type with my right hand. That's a lot of fun.
So I limp around with the aid a cane and tri-pod walker and have learned to avoid most perils that a Parkinson's patient routinely faces on a daily basis.
I still miss driving a car, although convinced taking myself off the road absolutely was the right thing to do.
On the plus side, my appetite is very good and I sleep well an average of nine hours a night.
My caregiving wife should have been a nurse. And my support base is terrific. I enjoy it when Jim Clark, who has had a far worse year than I, can easily figure out ways to keep me laughing at myself.
Every time my morale dips, I think of those whose physical maladies far out-weigh mine.
My struggles are intensifying. But as long as I'm able to wake up and write, how taxing can life be?
Bob Shryock may be reached at bshryock@njadvancemedia.com. Find NJ.com on Facebook.
http://www.nj.com/south-jersey-voices/index.ssf/2016/10/parkinsons_disease_a_drain_on.html
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