I confess: I have a really sick sense of humor. If this had happened to anybody else, I would have laughed hysterically.
I was in Oak Ridge visiting my mother, who was in a nursing home. I stayed at the Hampton Inn, which had a breakfast buffet in the lobby. For some unknown reason, I decided to carry a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other from the drink stand to my table. Between point A and point B was a table of men in suits, and they were discussing paperwork that they had spread all over their table. Why I thought I could clear that obstacle I will never know--and I didn't. With dramatic flourish, my right hand's tremors went out of control, and the orange juice in a large cup turned into a tsunami that roared over the rim of the cup, down one man's neck, and all over their paperwork. Then my left hand started, and the coffee did the same thing all over the floor, making it nice and slippery. Mortified, I started to run out the door, hop into my car, and never go there again. Alas, my car keys were back in my room.
But, you know, some people are just plain nice, compassionate, and understanding. The man I had accidentally assaulted jumped up to see if I was OK, and the other men and the woman who kept the buffet going rushed to grab towels to soak the juice off the table and their papers. But the spotlight was on me--a situation I usually rise to. "I have Parkinson's," I stammered, adding how sorry I was. Really. The hotel employee, a wonderful woman with a motherly streak, plopped me down at another table, brought me more coffee and juice, and told me she would do that every morning for me in the future.
The next morning I slithered unseen from the elevator to the lobby. If those men were there again, I was going to return to my room and call room service. They weren't, but my new friend from the staff intercepted me and took care of me. To this day, even with unwanted tremors more controlled, I never carry a full container of any liquid.
This particular blog is dedicated to my friend Su and her Dachshund, Beanie Su, of blessed memory. We have laughed and cried together over our PD, shared detailed summaries of doctors visits, agonized over meds, and shared exercise programs. Yet we have both lived isolated from the PD community. Our schedules and responsibilities make that difficult. So I am motivated to write now and to breathe life into all the PD "solitaries" out there who are like Su and me. If you have PD or know someone who does, please join us here so we can learn from one another and brighten our lives with laughter--even if I have to swallow my pride and reveal another klutz story.
|Beanie Su (1994-2010)|