Following my last visit to the neurologist, already some two months ago, I am now on a three-times-a-day dose of levodopa (tradename Madopar) in addition to my dopamine agonist (Pramipexole).
A simple thing like upgrading my medication wasn’t straightforward: firstly I had to chase the neurologist for the prescription letter, then my GP surgery cocked up the order to the pharmacy, and then there were the side effects of adjusting to the new drug: daytime sleepiness, irregular heartbeat, nausea, dizziness and so on. In the meantime, my Parkinson’s symptoms were getting worse. How do people less able bodied than me cope, I wonder?
Thankfully, things now
seem to have settled down.
To return to my chess
metaphor, after some opening sparring where I lost a couple of pieces, I am now
embarking on a long middlegame. For now, my defences are stable, but each
upgrade in my regimen is akin to a pawn swap with the Parkinson’s Grandmaster:
gradually eroding my front line until, eventually, he can exploit my underlying
weaknesses. It is a slow process of attrition, and I need to be careful with my
moves so as to prolong the middlegame as long as possible.
Indeed, I am now even
more reliant on my daily drugs. I read about NMLS – neuroleptic malignant-like
syndrome – in the leaflet that comes with my bottle of Madopar. This can occur
if I stop taking my medicine suddenly. “NMLS can be life threatening,” it warns.
“Signs include increased shaking, high temperature, sweating…” and so the list
goes on. A little research reveals that NMLS comes with about a 20% chance of death.
I carry on with my
daily life. But it feels like a precarious existence dependent on a global pharmaceutical
supply chain. A dependency that will continue for many years until, eventually,
I get to the endgame.
