If you had little to no knowledge of the condition, and you were asked to imagine someone with Parkinson’s I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t think of me. I don’t fit the typical mould of someone who has this disease. Yet I don’t think anyone who hears those words “you have Parkinson’s” thinks “oh sure, that’s great.” None of us are typical. It’s our response that’s important. At first there comes denial. Simple. “it’s not happening, it can’t be me. It’s so unfair.” Well. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that’s life, sweetie, you gotta take the rough with the smooth. Parkinson’s is pretty damn rough mind. Yet on we go, and we persevere.

I’ve found exercise invaluable. I don’t like it, but without I know I’d be much much worse. 12 months ago I had a sedentary job. I struggled to put on my own socks and shoes. Now it’s a doddle. OK, it could be more of a doddle, but it is what it is.

I bitterly resent that early part of the morning. It’s when I used to skip out of the house merrily to catch an early start on whatever it was I’d been working on. I don’t get to do that any more. It’s something that has been taken from me. Walking is increasingly terrifyingly hard. I force myself to go walking. I’ve learned running is easier than walking. Well… such a glib statement, running is not easy at all, but perhaps it’s my answer. One year ago I tried the couch to 5 k and thought I was going to die after half a session. I think I might give it another go.

It would be so easy to give in. Everything feels a bit harder, and people are sympathetic. But that way lies apathy, inaction and the only victor of that path is this disease. It’s only by constantly picking yourself back up and refusing to give in that we’ll push through. I know it’s hard. I cry most mornings as I struggle to move. But it’s vital to survive and still be me.

Until next time.