Dr. Rasmussen, I Presume?

Dr Rasmussen, I Presume?

(This is a verey long entry that your browser may cut off near the end. Just look for a <read more> link near the bottom.)

Here at the  Parkinson's Wake we live for the truth,.And not just in our thoughtful prose - but in our actions.We are absolutely committed to stumbling the walk as well, In the offce here Bernie may need to use his walker, and Clyde may freeze up like a popsicle, and I may just look like I’m pissed but technically we'll be walking all the same. Occasionally readers ask if we are so reverent about the truth, how does so much rubbish find its way into the blog?

 How does that saying go? One man's rubbish is another mans “Bloggie Award?” Fear not glum readers with furrowed brows - This entry is about family , so1 you know what that means...The unadulterated truth. Blood is thicker than BS, I say. Even if this so-called brother did fashion a shank from some scrap metal from the prison shop, then when the warden was distracted,  cut me for 5 stitches on the finger.All for not passing him the butter fast enough. That was when I was 10. I still bear the scars - my only visible evidence of my 18 years in the “Big House.” But Rasmussen boys don’t hold grudges
Snap!! Did you hear that? That was the sound of me putting my kid gloves on :)

But shortly you will understand and appreciate why with the task at hand I may have no choice but to dredge up potentially embarrassing details of incidents early in life as they may testify as to how our subject may react under pressure. But I urge all readers that while I do bear scars from my youth, my brothers have for the most part grown into fine men - OK as long as you have a neurodegenerative disease that will likely dim your memory of these distant painful incidents.

When Brian first hatched" Paddle For Parkinson's", his Big Adventure to paddle to  Alaska up the Inside Passage, my mind raced to uncover his more nefarious motivations.  The possibilities were distilled down to two: 1) He sought to wrest the favourite Son crown from my head. 2) It was a depraved attempt replace me  as the families unofficial “ Shackleton”  given my 11,0000 km bicycle trek 16 years ago across the country.. Without means to prove those allegations, I had no choice and was forced to accept the third. That he was simply a <sound of blogger clearing his throat>nice guy(s) doing an awesome deed.


Someone asked me how much of a part his neurodegenerate brother plays in their motivations. To which I replied, “Well, I would think that unless your weiner dog looks more like a bratwurst, it would be unlikely for you to fund raise for the Society For Plus-Sized Weiner Dogs

Now the kerfuffle - there is a groundswell of potential supporters that might like to donate but are finding a dearth of background info on the boys. Brian seems to think he can remain Clark K0ent-like, replying, “Its not about me.”  As a favour to my brother, I have gone ahead and installed myself as his unofficial  totally unauthorized Press Secretary. Volunteer for now, we can talk compensation later if there are book deals or an appearance on Ellen. My job requires a rather delicate balancing act. As Brian's brother I am here to unveil his super-hero side, and protect him from the dark forces out there not fond of people who think big. On The other side of the coin are my responsibilities as a quasi-tabloid journalist to dig through his trash and get my readership up beyond my extended family.

Indeed there was a dearth of information about Brian and Spencer. My take was that whether the trek is a polar exploration, or you are paddling the Inside Passage -  investors or supporters simply seek some confirmation that they are backing a winner, that when they arrive at the track, they will be greeted by  a thoroughbred not a Clydesdale, ie. by Secretariat, not Mr. Ed.
 I am thinking the best format  maybe to answer my readers questions and allegations head-on..
Lets peel back a few of the layers of the onion that is Dr Rasmussen...The following are concerns that have come across my desk.

Many readers have been questioning Brian's occupation as suitable preparation for an adventure of this magnitude. I can understand their concern as historically expeditions of  this order have usually

been undertaken by individuals from the more  traditional and culturally  accepted occupations such as Cartographer, Trapper, and or Drunken White colonizer

I Said "Bring the Liquid -The Dryer Sheets will Be Useless up Here 

I will not dignify his one with an answer but will include t as it is indicative of much of the crap I have to wade through lately. This one comes from Dave in Langley: I don't know about you guys in the OK Valley but the Social Workers I know here on the Lower Mainland are all... well, let's just say they are he type of people that fabric softener was  invented for. Know what mean? A bunch of Palmolives. A bun...

This One Picks Up The Mauve In The Seat Cushions Better

Most of us would not consider the Ivory Tower world of academia to contain anything remotely resembling adventure, unless you are a Professor of Archaeology, for as we know they all look like Harrison Ford and race around the streets of Bangkok looking for lost cities, while the balance resign themselves to lives of quiet desperation, trying to make a mark in their chosen field, pursuing tenure and fretting over their choice of camper options for their sabbatical (Leather or  Naugahyde?

_____

If Your Paddling Partner Doesn’t Find You Handy...

I once saw a Social Worker wielding a chain saw - and it scared the dickens outta me. Brian is no Tim “The Toolman” Taylor - he would be the first to admit that. However the latest rumour making the rounds is sure to send a chill up the spine of`every self-respecting handyman out there. The word out of the garage is that Brian's toiletry kit is bigger than his toolbox. I would like to categorically deny that this is a rumour.as we confirmed it this morning with a  measurement. Does this mean that Brian places a priority of smelling nice over having the ability to fix his kayak? Possibly.

Fear not, we have support systems in place We have set up Brian with a direct satellite line line to his brother John (the craftiest SOB west of the Rockies) Macguyver rules apply. We have  are strict rules in place describing an acceptable event: No feelings, just the facts. The following example may help you understand our criteria: The zipper on toiletry kit stuck (OK) 2) How he feels about his son rolling his eyes at him (Not OK) 3)  Requests confirmation whether Righty tighty, lefty Goosy is correct (OK).  Brian will be given one lifeline. emergency call to John per day.

Many are questioning the unabashed nepotism with this expedition. Shackleton arrived in London to a stampede of 4000 applicants for his 22 positions on his famous expedition to the South Pole. Was there  an interview process at all for Paddle For Parkinson's? Think about it, with a little more transparency your kid  might have been Shackled to an aging Social Worker for 5 weeks. A little transparency can go a long way.
Did Brian interview Spencer, or did Spencer interview Brian?

Artists rendering of Rasmussen family meeting just prior to the troops shipping out for their epic trip west with Mom. I looks As if the boys are pretty pumped for a road trip.Brian seems to be preparing for  one of his amateur therapy sessions. Linda, seems to be using up one of her lifelines, pleading to either her maker, or children's services for an emergency intervention

"Mr Rasmussen, tell me about your most memorable expedition to date, its challenges, and how you overcame them. Well Mr Rasmussen,  I would have to say that our family's trans Canada trek to Alberta in 68 has been the most transformative. One intrepid Mother, one Polaris 500 station wagon,  a troop of six hellions, and 2000 miles, and a pint size nascent blogger in the rear seat reciting his ABC's. This trip gave mom the stage to show mental strength, positivity, and  fabulous opportunity to demonstrate what an absolute pillar of strength she was for our family.
She sounds amazing!
Indeed, she was and still is amazing

Only His Hairdresser Knows

 There are several rumours swirling around regarding the  use of appearance enhancing hair products Currently banned under the  rules enforced by the governing body, the WEEOMLLCAPGG  World Epic Expedition and Other Mid/Late Life Crises Absurd Plans Governing Group. Brian has managed to elude post-trip drug testing every time previously but is his luck running out He refuses to speak to  these  non issues stating that he simply likes to remain eligible for the ginger class  in masters rowing regattas

THe Man, The Myth, The Advil


I have never spent any time in jail. But I ave often found and borrowed metaphors from life in the “Big House”. whether its prison, the Rasmussen minimum security, or nature, the same rules govern,. Its Fight or Flight - and as a rule , Brian chose the latter. Hence Brian possesses an excellent aerobic system which should stand him in good stead for the trek. However there is a reason Brian tended to run. Sadly Brian's genetic “lump of coal"  left him poorly armed. He lacked the heavy artillery that his brothers received. This  left him ill-prepared for major hostilities.  Meaning, he was well suited for minor skirmishes from a distance, (names, spitballs, idle threats) but it became clear he was going to need to develop some alternate skills.

“Hmmm…. Bear spray? or the one about the Pope and  the Protestant psychotherapist?

Fortunately for the helping professions, Brian shrewdly decided that a razor sharp sense of humour would help him survive his formative years, and would also serve him well professionally. This well-honed ability to make others laugh may come in handy In the event they come across  any Bruins.  I'm not making this up! Bears have a basic understanding of humour. Search for yourself if you don't believe me We’ve been working on Brian's routine on facetime. He’s actually quite humorous.


As Brian's unofficial and totally unauthorized publicist I often need to shield him from the worst. Last week I received an email questioning whether Brian had the “spherical units to complete an expedition of this magnitude - given that he was a Lightweight rower in University. The gall!. I replied that as far as I knew, Brian had adequate spherical units and he could no longer make weight so it was a null issue,

Posting Regret + Solitude and Finding Your Pocket Bliss

New posting coming up very soon...



 This may seem a tad anti-climatic for some given all the delays for the latest posting, but I will not be posting the sequel to my last entry on happiness - at least for now. Early on , one of my jokes was related to the complexity of the subject which in the end sent me off on so many tangents, my head was spinning. Have you ever written a piece one day, loved it, only to return the next morning wondering who the hell wrote that piece of crap the night before.To be clear, I have no doubt have plenty of good content, I just have not been able to tie it in to one complete whole.  What’s worse, much of my nonsense was not even validating as such when run through my Seusian validator. I will let this one ferment and post it when it is ready

In its place I will post one of my all time favourites that nibbles around the edges of happiness.


Summer of Love, 1967
Vineland, Ontario

 I sat up, rubbing the nightmares from my eyes. One, two, three, shazam! I squinted them open a  crack - damn! Still double bunked with three other brothers. I pledged to re-commit to my letter campaign to Children's  Services.

 I leaped  to the edge of the bed, put on my "sneaky slippers", and  played hopscotch in slo-mo to the door. I knew the floor like a musical instrument. Each piece of hardwood a key with its own pitch - its ability to creak, annoy, and wake up, or its silence - its ability to whisper, embrace stealth, and to keep a secret.

 The Mission? To make it downstairs to the TV unencumbered by Big Brother (any version). I grabbed Orr and the Bruins from the hockey card collection and locked the door to our second-floor bathroom. The door was secured shut by pulling out the drawer in front of it. It provided, I calculated, about 14 seconds of secured access until a scissors-armed sibling could  scratch and pry it open. With an active defense, one could keep the viking at bay for an unlimited period of blasphemy, threats, and well, pure juvenile entertainment. I have learned since however, that there is no such thing as an "idle" threat. It may be a week later, a year, or decades, but eventually, you will catch them pouring Red Bull in your IV line, or some such shenanigans.

At baseboard level behind the door was the heating register - that glorious provider of toe-warming, navel-gazing comfort. I settled in, back against the cupboard door, feet up against the register - And thought about, absolutely… Nothing.  I wondered, would I have time to do this when I grew up?

The furnace shut off; I got up. I always got up  slightly confused - was the brief period of bliss nullified by the more intense disappointment when the furnace turns off? I recognized these experiences many years later as what I called “coin massage regret”. In brief, the experience that the ending of the coin massage often brought more disappointment - enough to seemingly cancel out the joy experienced during the short massage.

I walked over to the stairs and perched myself on the top step. I could recognize my Mom’s perfume anywhere - I call it “Ode de Cafe”. It seemed like such an easy conclusion. For years as an early riser, the coffee smell - the smell of fresh ground coffee meant "mom was up". The absence of that gorgeous smell meant that mom was either on strike, working to rule, was testing our independence - or all three :-)

She proceeded to sit down in her easy chair and gaze out the window. Her fingers wrapped around the cup like it was Aladdin’s magic lamp.What was she wishing? One can only speculate: "If only all the boys were like Blair" (I repeat, just speculating).

She took the smallest of sips of the brown nectar, her head rose, looking towards the heavens as if to give thanks - then squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds as if to lock in the sensation. I resisted the urge to check on her to see if she was okay, content that I had witnessed her in this altered state many times before and she had always come out of it okay, in time to make us pancakes.

As expected, Mom did "come out" of her caffeine induced elevated state and made us the most delicious batch of pancakes you can imagine.  I don't recall any specific instructives passed on to me  about "smelling the roses" , or anything relating to solitude by  Mom but there has been clear recognition on my part that I appreciate many of the same things that my mother does - and that many of these involve an inward looking approach that works well with many activities I enjoy.

Don't underestimate the power of the coffee ritual. In  mom's peak moments, she not just enjoys the equivalent of my dopamine moments, I have no doubt that in those moments of bliss in the early mornings, she was planning her battle strategy for the day, whilst enjoying the solitude as much as someone at the cabin lakeside.

Is that what this has been about? The coffee high? Not necessarily. Maybe it is more about the discovery and continual cultivation of those things in life that give us great pleasure and that we can call upon virtually anytime, anyplace. I want to  call this cultivating "pocket bliss". No, we didn't develop any skills nor provide you with any tools to do that, that is beyond the scope of this blog. What is within its scope,  is a reminder to discover those activities that give you great pleasure when you are by yourself, focusing on the activities that require little overhead. I.e., you can take with you when you go :-)

We like to ignore its  instructive reality, but having a neurodegenerative disease like Parkinson's is no different than the aging process on steroids. You are gradually going to have things taken away from you one by one. Your task now as a "pocket bliss" seeker is to seek out and cultivate activities that you can take with you wherever the Parkinson's adventure (or any other adventure for that matter) takes you.

Bon voyage,
Blair

The Perils of Gluttony At The Trough Of Contentedness

My sincere apologies or the delay. To many factors keeping me from getting he sequel to The Perils of Gluttony At The Trough Of Contentedness.Please  return later tomorrow (Sunday) when it will be posted.

Happiness is nothing but good health and a bad memory ―― Albert Schweitzer

To those manly men that could not sit through Marley and Me, or those burly buds  who shed a tear when the Seahawks coach elected to pass on 2nd down in the big game, I suggest you exit , pronto stage left,  as very shortly readers will be blindsided by details of an emotionally graphic scene - a head-on collision of family bonding feeal-good vibes, a return of decent health, with a general sense of being blessed. It is the spector of a man purchasing a water dish for his dog, just because it said “Life Is Good”.

Returning from a family visit, the closer I got to the baggage area the more the feeling grew.  My wife has said that at the top of my game, (prior to my DBS Light surgery)  my best waterworks show rivaled anything the Bellagio in Vegas put on. Post surgery things are back to normal, seeing me cry at much more socially acceptable occasions, such as when Michael Buble  butchers   Sinatra’s classic “Nice work if you can get it”; someone puts on Van Morrison’s Brand New Day (Honey do you mind checking if the downspouts are down?); or when my Mom confesses that it really is true - I have always been the favorite son. For those psychotherapy and social work students   here to satisfy the required reading for their coursework - the technical term in our house is  the
“good cry”. The meaning and use of this phrase is very similar to ”it's a good sick”   to describe how one feels following a  family meal on the holidays and other competitive eating events. It seems generally to function as a pressure valve to let off steam. In the end, the show was a no show,  I managed to hold things together.

Nearing the end of the long walk through the terminal, I was looking for a spot to pull over and collect myself before heading to the curb to meet my wife. Unfortunately, I turned my attention to the left and her eyes locked with mine.  The “Life Is Good” clerk had found her prey. I swear she was in cahoots with  WestJet as she seemed to have intelligence on me. She just seemed to know that I had yet to purchase anything for  my wife. Like the gator at the watering hole who knows the gazelles will have to come down for a drink sometime, She just decided to bide her time. Running out of shopping options, I crossed the hall and entered the store.

She was smooth, rehearsed, and knew how to upsell - and then how to up-sell her up-sell. As it often does, my imagination ran wild - Was WestJet in cahoots with Life Is Good and I had been gatitudinally profiled?:

<Blair’s Imagination>

As heard on the Life Is Good PA system: Clerks, Airline staff confirm arrival of a passenger whose gratitude levels are right off the charts. Mr. Rasmussen is now deplaning at Gate 68. Life is good profile:  Current gratitude level -  off the charts;  Marital status - as happily married as a game show  contestant; Wife’s style of dress - campfire casual; Dependents -no kids, just one daughter - a temperamental border collie husky cross.

All kiddie crap hidden, Doggie ware., squeaky toys and all Mens large sweatshirts on dsplay, front and center!!  How was I to explain all the"Life Is Good crap I had bought? There was no line item to be found in our recent family budget for "Life Is Good" crap. As it turns out there as no explanation needed as it would seem that on can get away with quite a few transgressions when one displays a genuine gratitude for anything an everyone involved in their life. 

An epiphany came with the realization that despite how well things had improved since my  DBS Light surgery, I wondered why I did not feel any  happpier. Since surgery, things had improved in most ways. I was sleeping unbelievably well, while my mobility was at times a visual trainwreck. Functionally, I was moving right through from one med cycle to the next. We were now able to go skiing, snowshoeing - things we hadn’t done in a few years. It seemed a reasonable  assumption that my outloook might be a little sunnier..

As well, I recognized,  and  reflected on   the fact that post diagnosis, I could not detect any level of change in my happiness either. Was I in denial?  I did I simply not recognize the crappy neurological hand I had been dealt? Don't get me wrong, I was content with my level of contentedness - Just curious of the way my happiness seem to be locked in a narrow range.

Stay tuned for Par 2: "Blair's Synthetic Happiness Factory goes Work To Rule" o.'

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!

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...

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

"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