I sit in the
conservatory with the sliding doors open gazing at our small but quintessential
suburban garden.
I write a piece of
pretentious prose about what I see*.
There are few places
more beautiful on the planet than an English garden in May with all its colour
and exuberance. It would be a bonus if
I could smell it too, though my loss of olfaction is a minor inconvenience.
Staring at the garden
is therapeutic and helps me reflect on my Parkinson’s journey to date and put
things into perspective.
After getting correctly diagnosed, I started off with a
certain amount of bravado that I could simply manage my way through it like a
work project.
Then came the realisation
of how difficult life was without medical attention.
Once medicated there
were a series of highs and lows as my brain adjusted to the influx of
chemicals. And there were a similar set
of highs and lows as I oscillated between hope and frustration amidst wider
concerns about work and family. Through
all of this I am pleased that I have managed to avoid any significant
depression and know I must stay positive.
A third of a year
since I was diagnosed I now feel like I am entering into a period of
normalisation. For the most part I am
able to manage my symptoms and lead a relatively normal life as long as I am
careful. I make a five-point plan of
things I need to do each week to keep healthy.
- Plenty of sleep: in bed between 9:30 and 10pm
- Work from home one day a week when possible
- No more than one dinner out per week and a curfew of 8pm for after work drinks
- Maximum two units of alcohol per day
- Regular exercise: at least three times per week, and always use the stairs
I still have the problems
with my eyes and some days I get tremors, stiffness, insomnia and fatigue but
they are bearable. Over time my symptoms will worsen and my medication will
need to be adjusted but for now things have stabilised.
My attention turns to
the future. Despite the beauty of spring
in front of me I realise that am now into the autumn of my life, possibly with
a harsh winter ahead. I still have a decent
chunk of time left but I need to use it well, perhaps starting by spending less
time brooding over my disease.
Now that I struggle to
run even 5K, Clara says I need a new hobby to avoid slipping into a state of
ennui.
She is right. She is one
of the smartest people I know and she is always right. I love her for it.
Perhaps I should take
up some serious gardening….
* The forget-me-nots
that flowered for the first time this year form a sea of blue at the back of
the neatly trimmed lawn. The tulips I
brought back from a work trip to Amsterdam rise handsomely from their pots:
amber, purple, pink and crimson. On
either side of the lawn, the shrubs are bursting with the vitality of spring
adding different hues of green and yellow along with white and mauve flowers.
The jasmine on the trellis is similarly prolific. The rose stalks rise high and the buds are
swelling but they have yet to flower.
Surveying all of this
is Tolstoy sitting proudly on his shed, under the shade of the sycamore tree
which rustles softly in the gentle breeze.
