I am dreaming vividly - something involving snakes at a funfair - and I wake up feeling alert.
It is dark
outside and I lean over to look at the alarm clock. I am disappointed to discover that it is
still only 12:30 am so I have slept for a little under three hours.
Fortunately I get back to sleep quickly and next wake up at around 3 am. After that, getting back to sleep gets progressively harder and I doze in stretches of around 30 minutes until it is 6 am.
I get up, shower and prepare for the day whilst Clara sleeps.
Before 7, I pop my little white pill, feed the cat, make tea and have some breakfast - two slices of toast and some fruit. The fruit is important. My 1.57mg of pramipexole will release slowly throughout the day but it is not perfect and the chemicals in my brain will ebb and flow.
By now Clara is in the bathroom getting ready for work, so I shout goodbye as I leave for the station on a crisp autumnal morning.
I arrive at the station to find my train has been cancelled, so I jam onto a different train and prepare for a longer journey. I can still stand reasonably comfortably on a crowded commuter train but I ponder what it may be like in a few years' time - will I need to wear one of those attention-seeking "please give me a seat" badges?
By the time I arrive in the office just after 8, I have dealt with most of the emails in my inbox and I exchange pleasantries for five minutes with a few colleagues.
But I keep the chit-chat to a minimum as I need to prepare for a 9 am meeting I am leading about an industry event we are organising. After that I am in back-to-back meetings relating to various projects until about 1 pm, after which I pay a quick visit to the canteen. Throughout the morning I am alert and productive as my dopamine agonist kicks in.
I eat my veggie soup and sandwich at my desk - probably my neighbours are distracted by the smell, but I am oblivious to any odours.
The afternoon has fewer meetings but I am busy chatting to people on various topics, emailing clients, preparing plans and reacting to instant messages.
At around 4, I am feeling uncomfortable with constipation so I sneak off to the gents and spend 10 or 15 minutes squeezing in a cubicle whilst playing a few games of Candy Crush. I am moderately successful at both endeavours.
I emerge a little red and sweaty and I keep my head down, hoping that I don't bump into anyone I know...
I have a brief catch up with my boss and I notice him looking at my right hand which is tremoring slightly. I hold it close to my body and carry on as if nothing unusual is happening. I think he is as embarrassed as I am.
By 6, I still have items on my to do list - a document to finish writing and a client proposal to draft, but I am disciplined and prepare to head home and pick these things up in the morning. My attention span is very short now as I am pretty tired.
The journey home is uneventful but I notice a bit more mild tremor in the evening chill whilst waiting on the platform.
Clara is home before me, doing something on the PC. Once she is finished I decide to write this post whilst she prepares dinner.
We eat and catch up on the news of the day. I allow myself a glass of wine. Often we talk about any manner of malarkey related to my mother-in-law's Alzheimer's or my own Parkinson's but this evening we talk about some gossip in her office and the neighbours' neglected dogs.
By 9:30 pm, I am spent and ready for bed.
The good news is that I made it through another work day.
The bad news is it's still only Monday.
Before 7, I pop my little white pill, feed the cat, make tea and have some breakfast - two slices of toast and some fruit. The fruit is important. My 1.57mg of pramipexole will release slowly throughout the day but it is not perfect and the chemicals in my brain will ebb and flow.
By now Clara is in the bathroom getting ready for work, so I shout goodbye as I leave for the station on a crisp autumnal morning.
I arrive at the station to find my train has been cancelled, so I jam onto a different train and prepare for a longer journey. I can still stand reasonably comfortably on a crowded commuter train but I ponder what it may be like in a few years' time - will I need to wear one of those attention-seeking "please give me a seat" badges?
By the time I arrive in the office just after 8, I have dealt with most of the emails in my inbox and I exchange pleasantries for five minutes with a few colleagues.
But I keep the chit-chat to a minimum as I need to prepare for a 9 am meeting I am leading about an industry event we are organising. After that I am in back-to-back meetings relating to various projects until about 1 pm, after which I pay a quick visit to the canteen. Throughout the morning I am alert and productive as my dopamine agonist kicks in.
I eat my veggie soup and sandwich at my desk - probably my neighbours are distracted by the smell, but I am oblivious to any odours.
The afternoon has fewer meetings but I am busy chatting to people on various topics, emailing clients, preparing plans and reacting to instant messages.
At around 4, I am feeling uncomfortable with constipation so I sneak off to the gents and spend 10 or 15 minutes squeezing in a cubicle whilst playing a few games of Candy Crush. I am moderately successful at both endeavours.
I emerge a little red and sweaty and I keep my head down, hoping that I don't bump into anyone I know...
I have a brief catch up with my boss and I notice him looking at my right hand which is tremoring slightly. I hold it close to my body and carry on as if nothing unusual is happening. I think he is as embarrassed as I am.
By 6, I still have items on my to do list - a document to finish writing and a client proposal to draft, but I am disciplined and prepare to head home and pick these things up in the morning. My attention span is very short now as I am pretty tired.
The journey home is uneventful but I notice a bit more mild tremor in the evening chill whilst waiting on the platform.
Clara is home before me, doing something on the PC. Once she is finished I decide to write this post whilst she prepares dinner.
We eat and catch up on the news of the day. I allow myself a glass of wine. Often we talk about any manner of malarkey related to my mother-in-law's Alzheimer's or my own Parkinson's but this evening we talk about some gossip in her office and the neighbours' neglected dogs.
By 9:30 pm, I am spent and ready for bed.
The good news is that I made it through another work day.
The bad news is it's still only Monday.
