Resistance is Futile

I like early mornings. Which is lucky, because I get a lot of them, being woken up with an aching leg. That I’m not so keen on. I also like late nights, I’ve always been a night owl,  but a steady mix of work, early mornings and child-care is slowly putting paid to the later nights. Not really a bad thing when you’re waking at 5.30am each day.  

My medication was tweaked a week ago. That’s OK. It was in need of a review. It had been wearing off too quickly, so I thought. In actual fact it appears I just needed to move my last dose back an hour. I also now need to remember to actually take that ‘optional’ last sinemet at around 7.00pm. Turns out it’s not as optional as I hoped.  

More more more! How do you eat yours?

I always feel weird when this happens. Thankfully I’ve not needed many ‘tweaks’ up to now, but I’m sure many more lie ahead. I almost cried when I had finished talking to the neurologist. Almost. Later I did cry. Quite a bit. One of those horrible moments we all get sometimes when you realise without a constant supply of medication you don’t work so well. It pours over me, like a blanket. I closed my eyes and tried not to feel desperate. I blinked back my tears.  

Because sometimes it feels as though Parkinson’s is like a scary Doctor Who baddie. “Resistance is futile. Surrender immediately.” I don’t want to surrender. I want to fight back. Yet, fighting endlessly with no end does become terrifically hard.  

He’ll do anything for a bit of attention.

There’s a reason I often write how much I hate my exercises. Those constant reminders. I’m not someone good at remembering them, making time and doing them. I should be. Time and again I promise myself I will do them. Time and again I fail. Yet it’s my choice. I can sit and watch TV, indolent and tell myself I deserve it, or I can hit back at this creeping disease. Sometimes one wonders what the point of it all is, yet the natural counter argument is, where would I be WITHOUT all the hideous stretching, moving and balance? How much worse would I have been? I shudder to think. I don’t want to find out.  

So here I am, drinking tea and writing. I guess I should go do some exercise instead. Strength of body has got to be a good thing, and nobody got fitter sitting on the sofa.  

Physio, anyone?  

Until next time, Kitty.  


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