Tuesday, 3 November 2015

Looking Backwards To Go Downwards


 Hope to publish tomorrow (Jan 9)

Foreward /Disclaimer>  \I am an EXPERT on Parkinson’s - (My Parkinson’s) I’ve been around the PD block enough times to know that with so many different flavors of PD around, - there are few prescriptions for the disease that can be considered universal. However I am confident in saying that you can take the following three gems to the  bank. 1) There   is nothing better than daily exercise.  2) Don’t bet the farm  on a cure in your lifetime - Chip away at that bucket list  while you can. 3) Laughter is therapeutic. Find a good blog from someone who likes to poke fun at PD. And if you don’t think it's funny, laugh anyway. Your body apparently won’t know the difference - and neither will he.

Since 2005 I have been involved in  a bare-knuckled donnybrook with a fellow,  and the altercation shows no sign of waning. Of course I am not the only one to engage this fellow on the playing field. If you frequent any of the  neurodegenerative disease forums you will find that many others  also choose to frame their dealings with him in terms of their favorite sport  I have heard having Deep  Brain Stimulation done compared to pulling the goalie in hockey, another comparison I have seen is to throwing a Hail Mary pass in football.  Yet another described Parkinson's having some good body shots, but that recently he had managed to take a few rounds.

In fact  it is common in Degenerative disease communities, whether expressed in sporting terms or not - to consider a tie, a win. (Ie, if one managed to finish a 6 month period in the same condition as they started that would be considered a success. Apparently I am not the only one who imagines that he plays for the Bad News Bears, that he unfortunately is locked into a long-term contract - but I confess that I am likely the only one who fantasizes that after a long spell of losses, my Neurologist implements the newly instituted Neurodegenerative Mercy Ruthe, where after incurring a number of losses due to PD, my Neurologist is required to take me out to Dairy Queen for Ice Cream following my appointment.

And yes, that is quite the speculative observation that the job of a Neurologist can be contrasted with coaching the Bad News Bears. I suppose that you are referring to the low expectations of both scenarios. I can see how a job with such low expectations would be so attractive to a person like you that thrives on low expectations.  

    Also, your observation that only monitoring two practise's per year would seem rather light on the preparation sid, seems right on. I might add that in most leagues, regardless of the sport, that kind of laissez-faire behaviour would net the coach a one-way ticket to the farm team in Schenectady, You are right - the clincher certainly has to  be the fact that they are not required to attend ANY games.


Old Man Parkinson's (OMP) - Scouting Report
Old Man Parkinsonès (OMP)
Being built like a fire hydrant - he’s not quick off the start in fact, he has been known to give away a lead in the early going, but he has a devastating finish. His forte is mind games - he is a master of psychological warfare. He owns some immobilizing physical shots  that target your gait, balance, and memory - but he would much rather see you beat yourself, as he knows the race is won or lost upstairs in the noggin. The truth is he's the classic bully. He loves to intimidate, so the theme of his race strategy is to make you feel small by diminishing your voice, stride, and your handwriting until you feel like a Liliiputian. Sadly, the bastard will not quit until he has you not caring whether you get a medal at all.


The Challenger
So if the old fella  really is that fast  - what business does a mere mortal such has myself have in even lining up beside OMP at the start? I had rowed in University  for four years in 5-seat (the engine room of the boat - where your presence is expected to be felt but not heard (Just think of me as one of the big galoots in the classic Far Side rowing cartoons. While I had never considered myself a “big fish” in the sport I represented Canada twice – once as a U18 in 1979 in Moscow and as a U23 in Copenhagen in 1984.

By sifting through scrapbooks, connecting with former teammates, and jogging my yard-glass fogged memory, I have calculated that I won 51% of my races - In other words, I won the majority of my races but more importantly spent likely more time  in not just a trailing but in a chasing position.This is important because I think that you learn the most not when you are winnng - but when you are ,chasing and "in the hunt".


1) It’s Your Game- You Define The Win 
One of the core skills required of a successful rowing coach is to manage a crew's expectations. 
The part most fraught with peril is when every scrap of intelligence tells you that maybe it's 
time to aim for silver or bronze. A ways back I saw a documentary on Canadian Boxing Icon George 
Chuvalo. Chuvalo speaks of his fight with Ali and how success for him was a fluid concept - in 
flux as the fight went on. A win for him was initially to survive, which then morphed into lasting 18
rounds with Ali, then to not getting knocked down. 

Chuvalo was the master redefining what winning meant. If you have PD you may want to
consider  pondering what the gold might represent to you. Forgive me if it sounds like I’m 
pissing on hope - but if a PD cure is your gold, that’s perfectly fine as long as you ready yourself 
for the possibility of having to settle for silver. 

2) Keep Your Head In The Boat
Looking out of the boat during a race in my opinion is indicative of an athlete that lacks confidence in either themselves, the crew or the race plan. They are racing another crew's race without knowing it. How many times have you caught yourself playing  that short loop of film where you are  looking twenty years ahead? Keep your head in the game! Learn what parts of the Parkinson's sphere you can control,  which ones you can manage, and which ones you can only have a slight effect on

3)Have Fun - It’s The Stupid Stuff You Will Remember
Moe often than not, when I am recalling some memories of the "Golden Years" I am not telling tall tales of epic victories - but rather re-playing stories of idiotic debauchery - like downing 8 plates of spaghetti in our crew's pasta eat-off (I did NOT win), going to the three stooge Film Festivals at the New Yorker Cinema, or having a wrestling party in the back yard (every mattress in the house was outside on the grass). PD has a nasty habit of making doing anything just a little bit harder. Laughter and smiles are crucial for your PD wellbeing.


4) Row Your Own Race
As mentioned at the outset, there are so many different flavours of Parkinson's, that you need to become an expert on all things related to your specific variety. Only you and your crew know thoroughly your crew's strengths and weaknesses. In the same vein, YOU are are Master of Your PD Domain.  Be the architect of your own therapy, learn what works for you. Don’t let anyone tell your you that you have to be  on this or you have to be on that. Learn what works best for you.


5) Fake It Until You Make It! No one is always ready for primetime - but sometimes you have no choice, you must go on stage anyway. Just as in as race where you do not want your opponents to see you squirm - there are times  where you will, want others to see you as"OK" even if you are not.

6)  It Takes Only One Asshole To Ruin Aa Crew`
Apologies for the language but I couldn't find an acceptable substitute for the word. Rowers  that have spent any amount of time in a crew boat will immediately  relate to this one. Anyone, whether in rowing, life, or Parkinson's management would do well to surround themselves with quality people that don't necessarily agree with you but generally share  your positive outlook on life. And  immediately shed yourself of anyone who cannot make a decent cup of lemonade.

7) Remember, Life Isn’t Always Fair 
Occasionally the other crew may “jump the start, or your stroke (lead) rower may miss the big race due to injury.Whatever the scenario, it just does not seem right that your best 8 will not get to prove your superiority over their best. It’s just not the way it was meant to be! Sport certainly teaches you that much of life - especially as it relates to degenerative illness  - may as well be sitting at the craps table in Vegas.

8) Showing Up Is Half The Battle 
Not all of my rowing memories are fond. I have a very clear memory of spending quite a bit of early am time standing around in a circle in the boat bay,fuming, waiting for the last guy(s) debating the best way to take care of   a chronically late teammate and get away with it. Note that we did not have access to any shows like Miami CSI to teach us the proper way to dispose of a teammate.

Seriously Blair - you expect us to believe that you sit at home cnjurng up cartoon images of fictional degenerates do yo? Of course not, I come up with  my best fantasies from the prone position. . I think that in many ways, the lessons we learn from competitive sports are similar to the changes one undergoes from tavelling -or even better, living in a foreign culture I hav no doubt that after living in Japan for four years I returned fundamentally a different person. Pressed to  quantify how - I might likely regurgitate what would likely sounnd like some well-worn cliches. I ,think sport is similar. It has the capacity to change one's outlok in many subtle (often unrecognizable ways.


Ps… Before any readers out there start calling me the Preacher let me confess that I do not consistently do all of these things. One of the reasons to write a blog was precisely for this reason. I figured if I was public with these preachings I would be more likely to get them done myself!

Sunday, 18 October 2015

Blog Update

Almost ready to post.If you played a lot of sports in your youth, you should enjoy this one..Here is something to tide you over...






Sunday, 13 September 2015

Keepin’My Walker In The Fast Lane And My Babies on the Sidewalk

My friend, if you have Parkinson's, I can guarantee that you will  experience many more of life's oft-stated inevitables than simply death and taxes. For starters, I can assure you that someday your Neurologist will look you squarely in the eyes and say, “We’d like to do some seismic testing on your noggin -Game??”  I suggest you inquire if they offer the slightly more patient-friendly DBA (Deep Brain Agitation) option instead (or if you are into medical jargon-"DBS Lite"). In this bleeding-edge procedure, they mess around in the brain, but exit without leaving behind any pesky hardware.

Secondly, one day I can assure you that your partner will catch you “faking” (exaggerating) your Parkinsons symptoms likely to avoid an unpleasant event - like attending your partner’s staff Xmas party. “Rather spend an evening at Abu Ghraib,” you say to yourself. If the following sounds like a lecture - that’s because it is. Your credibility as a neurodegenerate is like your reputation -  it is everything. Are you willing to trade it for yet  another evening behind the keyboard?

Thirdly, either you, your insurance plan, or your health spending account will put out an absurd amount of money for a few   4” wheels and a metal frame -- yes, you will get a walker. For many, the walker represents one of the most powerful symbols of weakness that we have. Yes, your life (at least how others view it) will never be the same. Again.

There is nothing inherently wrong with the walker, as it is a rather simple device with four wheels and a frame. However the walker is in need of a significant image overhaul.   My dream walker would look nothing like your Dad’s walker. Mine would look like it belonged more on a construction site and there might be signs everywhere saying:“Protect your subthathalamic nucleus - WEAR A HARDHAT when using your walker”. Mine would be handcrafted by a big burly fellow like Mike Holmes, the construction guy on TV. It would ooze stainless steel,  carbon fibre , and as much tech as we could fit on board.

My team's marketing ads would be of  Super Bowl-quality, containing pickup truck commercial-levels  of testosterone. We’d hire a Malboro-looking kind of guy to be our poster boy. Clint must be close to needing a walker by now. And by golly we’d get the walkers  out of the funny-smelling home-medical supply stores. Nothing dulls  a Manly-man’s spendy wendiness more than seeing the product of his dreams displayed in  between bed-wetting sheets and toilet risers . We’d sell them at Home Depot, placing them between the 24-volt drills and the Milwaukee  nail guns.

And yes, while "Nexen" would seem to be an adequate name, for my steed, we would like to give the boys choices. The fellas that have accepted their condition would likely be content with our bread and butter intro model, the "Neurodegenerator". Others might want to have a name that reflects the trials and tribulations they have gone through - maybe the "Sub-Thalaminator"; Our more sensitive brethren might be interested in a walker name that reflects how it makes them feel  - the "Invalidator",  or the top of the line "Marginalizor".

 From a practical standpoint, despite its name, the walker cannot help me walk. You  see, if I am sans-dopamine - nothing will make those legs move. Then what - praytell - does my walker do? It gets me attention -- sometimes unwanted. I will explain by sharing a few tales  from my recent trip east to visit family.
This was to be the maiden voyage of NEXUS my new walker. I hopped from the car, leaving my wife to park at some distant lot. I continued towards the WestJet check-in noting that there was a substantial line up. What happened next left me surprised, confused, and unsure of what I really wanted.

 The WestJet clerk waved me forward, creating a new line  with me at the front. She had, in essence, jumped the queue for me. I subtlely scanned the others to see whether anyone else had noticed. For the first time, I mentally arm-wrestled with the -quandary of whether I wanted to be treated differently -  notably at a time that I didn’t need it.

I was checked in quickly and rounded the corner to towards security . I noted a very long line for the general public on the left,  and a  much shorter line on the right for "Nexus" (business and frequent travellers). As I approached the  security officer, I pointed to my walker,  branded "Nexus", then pointed to the  priority line-up, then to my chest and smiled. I received the maximum allowable smirk under their current security working agreement. Then surprisingly she motioned me towards the priority “Nexus" side. It was far less busy. 

We passed our trays onwards towards a Second officer whose specialized skill set likely landed her the coveted title of "distributor of the trays...and dispenser of miscellaneous rude gestures and offensive comments. However, her normally razor-sharp ability  to quickly discern full-grown, competent adults who are capable of answering independently from young children, teens who say “whatever”, and small fish, was about to falter. She gave me a look like I was the last available selection for dodgeball and  - then  turned to my wife and asked if "He" (ME)   would be able to walk through without my walker. I was puzzled. While my mini-stroke-induced  speech  impediment might delay my MENSA entry a bit, I had not said anything that she might have heard. Those that are regular readers and are aware that I publish at the prolific rate of about once /month would be none too surprised to learn that I could not come up with a smart-ass answer in adequate time. "Yes, I will be fine, but I would rather smack you over the head with my walker and ride the conveyor belt through…"

 Finally, in order to tiein the latter half of the title to the story, I need to tell you one more fish tale. This story starts in the inky black of my back lane, garbage night. Blogger, an avid recycler and amateur back lane garbage spelunker is excitedly unearthing a major find - a -nearly-whole, well-reserved ”Chariot”,(child carrier, trailer) )estimated to be from the late 90s time period. Blogger nearly wets his pants in excitement as he carries find back to camp. 

 With a little TLC, “Harriet the chariot”  has hauled a myriad of loads, from two rolls of sod, to a 12-pack of beer, to a dozen roses. I was on a run the other day when two cars passed in quick succession  both yelling indecipherables. I finally understood the driver of the third car who shouted,  “Get your baby on the sidewalk!” A phrase which has now becone part of our household lexicon.

 I hear you..."Come on,Blair, wrap this baby up like you usually do - pulling together a bunch of seemingly pointless and rambling threads into one tightly woven conclusion that rivals those god-forsaken Christmas sweaters your Nana used to give you..."


"Hariet the Chariot"


 Of course I could file most of this away in a folder tabbed: “Don’t judge a book by its cover”. The problem is that being a typical blogger, I don't necessarily  walk the walk - but what is worse -  I write the walk. Example: We had just finished a recent  speech therapy session where I had been videoed. I watched it again in the car and my heart sank as looked at it - slurred syllables and a rolling head, I looked like a cross between Stevie  Wonder and Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. I remarked to my wife of how dumb I looked - adding that if MENSA ever saw the video, my entry would surely be delayed.. How could I justify the piling on I had done with the security officer when I myself deep down maybe wasn’t a whole lot different. Could I be excused for my faux pas because I was both the offender and the victim? Was the only difference between her and myself that I knew what was acceptable to say - irrespective of what I was thinking?

All question to which I do not have answers to. As often seems to be the case with me I have managed to slog through a rather lengthy blog entry, not starting out knowing what I had to say - but rather ending asking what  did I say??

Feedback, comment? You've been hiding for quite a while.. Unmask yourself!!

 Email Blair

Monday, 3 August 2015

"Third Times the Charm?"


Yet again I  managed to defy the odds as I was rebuffed in my second try at DBS.

We were ¾ of the way through; the Brain surgeon had mapped more  than Samuel de Champlain when Blair started to talk funny everyone knew the jig was up. I had experienced a mini-stroke (4% chance) and the proceedings were halted at that point. I will need to try again in six months. The effects of the surgery and/or stroke (we are not sure which effects come from which event) have been substantial, and not all negative.

My sleep habits have been transformed back to that of a teenager’s. It is really remarkable to experience. My balance has been the main negative, but has already improved dramatically and is already close to normal. The primary difficulty has been my speech, with me occasionally sounding like a drunken sailor or a former Canadian Prime Minister from Shawinigan. My main frustration has been that my computer speech program does not understand me anymore. I’ve tried creating a new profile; They have profiles such as British accent, southern US, and even teens (lol, whatever). They even offer  'other accents not specified," but I doubt they were referring to DBS induced stroke speech illegibility.

With   regards to Part II to Roller Boy, I will not be publishing that immediately, but will morph its contents into some future entry. Instead, I will be publishing a blog entry that refers specifically to recent events in the surgery milieu.tentatively titled "Viva Las Vegas".hat will chronicle my uncanny ability to routinely surmount seemingly insurmountable medical odds

Cheers,
Blair

Monday, 20 July 2015

Envoy rollerboy

I’ve never been terribly fond of unexpected visitors at my door. Possibly King of the castle syndrome, I'm not sure.With Parkinson's, that sentiment has only intensified. I also seem to have a diminished ability to fake it, i.e., the doorbells equivalent of a phone call’s “no, you didn’t wake me up” demeanour. It’s just that often the timing is not right - meaning that with the effort required to get downstairs, I might as well have been asked to go down and raise the drawbridge.
I shuffled to the door. The impatient second ring came quickly. With that info I pegged our dirty rascal as mid to late high school. I opened the door and there he was - “Roller Boy”. A landscaping busker, an entrepreneurial huckster, ultimately, 100% pure bluster.

 A young man of linguistic economy, his approach was pure, unadulterated, and wholly unrehearsed. "Want your lawn Rolled?" was both his opener and closer. I thought it my duty to suggest that in my neighbourhood of lilliputian lots, perhaps he might make more money as a chimney sweep. I refrained. His facial expression turned quizzical. He looked at me, cocked his head (like my Collie/Husky Cross does when she can’t find her squeaky toy), then tossed me a grenade. 

Are you using?" Before I could utter anything more than unintelligibles, he pulled the pin and lobbed the second, “Are you on heroin?” I was stunned. Stunned that this kid was allowed to leave the factory without a filter installed - and stunned that I could be mistaken for a heroin user. Did I really look that bad?
I quickly marshalled all available brain cells with dopamine reserves and explored my options. I could 1) Thump him upside of his subthalamic nucleus. 2) Accuse him of being a member of the Flat Earth Society, and disappear inside.  3) Consider It a teachable moment. I threw back my head and let out a hearty laugh. And with that, Parkinson's 101 in the reeducation of “Roller Boy” began.

While some may be surprised with my reaction (or lack of) Why did I not take offence? It took me a while to figure it out but I think underneath it all, I was simply pleased that I didn’t give a shit. Not in the disrespectful “I don’t care what you think” way, the “this is not something I need be concerned with” way. But is it all that simple?

Part 2 Coming Up...

Sunday, 21 June 2015

No Brain Cells Were Stimulated in the Writing of This Blog Entry


It was a sordid affair. Another of my surgically unconsummated flings. Left at the Deep Brain Stimulation altar for reasons which I cannot share without jeopardizing a pending book deal, I now look forward to a mid-July sequel. But not before leaving you with...

The Top 10 Explanations Why Blair's DBS Surgery Was Halted With Nary a Tickle...


10 The "procedure", was just a sampler - part of the hospital's “All Surgeries – One Day” promotion that gives ambitious patients the opportunity to non-invasively sample any surgery or procedure that they might like to pursue.

9 His team was operating on a strict "Didn't call - Won't Drill" policy.
8 He was flagged for a psych assessment and put on the “no-drill” list after his name was discovered on a list of patients with blogs "who make us look silly".
7 A security breach. Dr. Zeus from his “DBS dream” blog entry stormed into the operating room shouting “Blair said I could dig the first hole!” 6 Someone forgot to make the “Call Before you Drill” phone call. 5 Once the Frankenesque mask had been fitted, Blair,only had to croon a few bars before a serious earworm infestation took hold and brought the clinic to a standstill. It caught on in a flash, especially with the graveyard staff, he did the Mash... 4 Unbeknownst to Blair he had booked himself for the new DIY DBS plan where the hospital provides full gear rental and installation - as well a Cranial guidebook based on their own personal MRI imaging and local guides (Top Places To Explore While In the Subthalamic Nucleus, etc.)
3 The drill bit chosen was no match for my steely will - they had to retool. 2 Noting that the patient has had six surgeries (both consummated and not) within the last 5 years, the hospital gave him a four week suspension, pleading with his wife to "Please find the man a different hobby".. 
1  Blair was lanced from the surgery queue due to the detection of high levels of the performance-enhancing drug amoxicillin.

Sunday, 14 June 2015

Now For a Short DBS Break...

Tomorrow's the big day. My Deep Brain Stimulation surgery. I'm not sure when the next post will be - hopefully in the next week or two. I did come close to finishing my last post but not quite. I assume when I do post you'll want to hear about the surgery first so I will put the other one on the back burner. Talk to you soon,
Blair