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Outskirts Press - Caryn Mears

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110 pages

English

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Parkinson's is becoming more and more prevalent as our society ages. If you are on the Parkinson's journey, join Caryn and her mother as they venture through this challenge together. Caryn offers a heart-warming look into her mother's life and the events they encountered. What does she need to do now that her mother has received the Parkinson's diagnosis? What does the family need to do? You'll be able to pack your suitcase with lots of information on where to go from here, how to meet life's immediate needs, and plan for the future. Whether you are dealing with Parkinson's or aging parents, this book will be your personal tour guide.

Sujets

Santé et bien-être

Santé du quotidien

Vie de famille

Santé familiale

Medical

Biography

Elderly care

Autobiography

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Publié par	Outskirts Press
Date de parution	30 juin 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781977266248
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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It’s Parkinson’s... A Daughter’s Journey Through Parkinson’s with Her Mother All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2023 Caryn Mears v3.0
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
Cover Photo © 2023 shutterstock.com. All rights reserved - used with permission.
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Dedicated to my mother, who allowed me to join her on her journey through Parkinson’s; and to my sisters, Cathy and Lann, and my step-brother, Bruce, who supported me as we muddled through these unnavigated waters together. There were times when our canoe felt like it was upside down; but we managed to bring it upright and stay the course. Thank you for being there with me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. THE DOCTOR’S VISIT
2. AFTER THE APPOINTMENT
3. CALLING HER CHILDREN
4. WHAT IS PARKINSON’S?
5. LIFE BEFORE PARKINSON’S
6. LIFE ON HER OWN
7. UNRECOGNIZED SYMPTOMS
8. MOM HAD A PROBLEM
9. THE FIRST DOWNSIZING
10. THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT
11. THE JOURNEY BEGINS
12. LIFE CHANGED IN AN INSTANT
13. RESEARCHING A REHAB FACILITY
14. WHO’S MANAGING YOUR MEDICARE?
15. MOVING TO ASSISTED LIVING
16. THE HOSPICE GAME
17. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR VOICE?
18. WHAT’S MY PROBLEM TODAY?
19. SLEEP PROBLEMS
20. CONSTIPATION CONSEQUENCES
21. EXERCISE IS PARAMOUNT
22. ANOTHER MASSAGE, ANOTHER VISITOR
23. THE TEST RESULTS
24. LOSING CONTROL
25. WHAT DO YOU NEED?
26. MEDICAL AIDS
27. FRIENDS OF PARKINSON’S
28. MEMORIES
29. PAPERWORK NECESSITIES
30. WHAT CAN WE DO NOW?
31. IT’S TIME
CHAPTER 1
THE DOCTOR’S VISIT
"IT’S PARKINSONS," SAID the doctor, his gentle hand holding my mother’s tiny wrinkled hand cupped in his. Mom and I sat rigidly perched on our chairs, like two old crows sitting frozen on a high wire in the middle of winter. It was as if we were suspended in time, not knowing what to say, or how to react. Mom’s eyes seemed to glaze over, as if she was staring into the unknown, and instinctively, I could tell without her saying a word, that her mind was somewhere else.
"You have Akinetic Rigid Parkinson’s, which means your body wants to freeze," the doctor was saying. His voice again was kind and soft, filled with compassion as he went on, "I’m afraid there is no medication that can help you with this kind of Parkinson’s." He stopped and then added, "Do you have any questions?"
"Questions?" Mom asked, still stunned with this new information. The silence swarming around us was deafening. Mom cleared her throat. In her weak voice she whispered, "What kind of Parkinson’s did you say I have?" Her voice, feeble with age, giving away her eighty-four years. Mom wanted to know exactly what she was dealing with so she could do research on this new disease.
"Akinetic Rigid Parkinson’s," the doctor repeated slowly. "Akinetic means you will have moments where your body won’t move, and of course, rigid means your body will freeze. It’s as if your brain forgets to tell your body what to do, and your muscles stop working."
"You could tell that just by watching me walk across the room?" Mom asked, motioning her hand across the room where she had just walked. Connie was a petite woman with meticulously quaffed white hair. She barely weighed ninety pounds and stood at just four feet ten inches tall, having shrunk significantly from her once five foot, two frame. She’d been a dancer, and as she shuffled across the exam room for Dr. German, there was no evidence of her once graceful ballroom moves. No tango steps entered her shuffle as Dr. German and his nurse watched her muddle her way along the side of the exam table crossing the five foot expanse of the tiny exam room. With her cane by her side, she strategically turned and managed her way back to her chair where she collapsed. In that small feat, Dr. German, the most sought after neurologist in Las Vegas, diagnosed her with her worst fear.
"Yes, I could tell from your walk," he nodded, adding, "it’s Parkinson’s, but I’d like you to come in for more testing next week."
"Will I be able to use my walker?" Mom asked, looking up at the doctor. The sparkle had faded from her usual laughing eyes as she reached for her walker, the one piece of medical equipment she relied on the most.
"Yes, you can still use your walker, but you’ll need to put some tennis balls on the back of this one," he said. "Having tennis balls on the back will help keep you from falling backwards," he told her. "That’s a serious problem for people with Parkinson’s," he went on. "We don’t want you to fall backwards." Mom seemed to soak that information in as her gaze went towards the window.
I wondered, "What was she thinking?"
"I’ll let you sit here for a moment," said the doctor, "and when you’re ready, you can go out to the front desk and make another appointment for further testing." He stood up, followed by his nurse, who had been sitting next to him in the small exam room. They both stepped sideways to maneuver around Mom’s walker, inching their way to the door. They appeared eager to make their exit, having just delivered disastrous news to yet another patient. Looking back over her shoulder, the nurse’s eyes were filled with compassion for the fragile women left sitting with her daughter in the exam room. Delivering this diagnosis was never easy.
Mom sighed. Reaching for her walker, she struggled to place her purse into the pocket of the walker. A red cardinal applique had been glued onto the pocket of the walker. My youngest sister had gotten Mom the red walker for Christmas, and my other sister had added the cardinal as a loving touch. It helped distinguish Mom’s walker from the myriad of others in the dining hall at her retirement facility. With great effort, Mom pressed her hands against the walker and raised her body out of the chair. Her arms were still strong, and they strained as she lifted her body with amazing determination. I moved over to the door, opening it wide. Once standing erect, Mom started her shuffle out of the exam room and down the long corridor to the appointment desk. With her eyes staring straight ahead, she refused to let the tears fall. She was a strong stoic woman and had faced many trials and tribulations in her life. She would bear this one, too, whatever it was going to bring her way.
Quickly getting in front of Mom, I said, "This way," motioning her towards a different hallway from the one we had entered.
"But didn’t we come in this way?" she asked, looking confused.
"You’re right." I said. "We came in down that hall, but this is the way they want us to leave. We have to go make another appointment. I guess it’s like Chaparral Pet Clinic," I told her. "They have one way in and another way out," I explained. She and my step-father, a veterinarian, had built their own clinic in Las Vegas many years earlier, and I hoped the analogy would help her understand the going into and going out of the neurologists clinic.The look of confusion on her face as she pursed her lips told me she truly wasn’t understanding, but she was complying to my wishes.
Once we reached the appointment desk, the lady behind the counter looked at me and said, "We can get you in next week at the same time, will that be okay?"
"That will be fine," I said, as I reached across the counter to take the reminder card.
As we shuffled slowly around the corner, Mom discovered we were back at the main lobby where we had entered the clinic. "Now this is where we came in," she said, with a slight smile starting to spread across her face as a sense of familiarity eased her mind.
"You’re right," I said, "and now we just have to get to the car!" I led Mom through the large doors of the building. Her slow shuffle seemed to take longer than when we first transitioned into the building. Mom needed help getting the walker over the threshold of the door and even the cracks in the sidewalk appeared to be challenges. Stepping down the curb presented a new obstacle as we approached the car. I took Mom’s arm and guided her closer to the car. I lifted her walker down the curb. Mom followed. First one foot and then the other. Opening the passenger door, I eased Mom around the open door and helped her, backside first, into the passenger seat. "I wonder if anyone has invented a swivel seat," I said to myself. Lifting her legs up over the threshold of the car door, I swung them around to the front of the passenger seat. Leaning over Mom, I buckled her seatbelt. Grabbing the large walker, I took it to the back of the car, where I opened the rear door of her Rav 4, folded the walker, and laid it inside. As I walked around to the driver’s door and slid behind the steering wheel, I was exhausted. Letting out a huge sigh, I thought to myself, "It’s almost like having a toddler again."
I turned the key in the ignition, and it felt odd driving Mom’s car. She had always been the one to drive me around when I visited Las Vegas. She knew all of the shortcuts, but now our roles were reversed.
"I’m going to take the freeway home," I told her, adding, "It’s faster for me, avoiding all the stop lights on Eastern." Mom was too exhausted to argue. She had gotten up at her usual 4:30 in the morning to have a cup of coffee; and watch the sunrise over the mountains. She had done her morning crossword puzzle; and had gotten ready for her doctor’s appointment. These days, just getting dressed