It Could Be Worse

When I listen and learn about the experiences of others with complications of Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) surgery, I am humiliated that my own complications seem like a cakewalk in comparison. It could be worse.

I hear tales of neurologists and neurosurgeons disappearing in the night without warning, with rumors of midlife crises and travels to Mexico, living on houseboats in California, moving out of the country to take care of sick family. I appreciate my steadfast neurologist, Dr. Wiener, who diagnosed me with Parkinson’s disease (PD) ten years ago and continues to be my neurologist today.

When I hear voices quieted and speech ravaged by DBS, and I complain about my own whispery hoarse voice, I am embarrassed.

When I lament my two DBS surgeries and learn of a woman with four DBS surgeries because of mispositioned electrodes and damaged wires, I am humbled.

When I learn that one man had all of his DBS hardware yanked from his body because of infection, and I whine about my ugly scar, I am ashamed.

When I complain of being awarded long-term disability because I don’t want to be disabled, and others struggle to obtain it, well, what’s my problem?

When I learn that divorce destroys some families of DBS, I am grateful for my strong marriage to Tom for the past 32 years.

When everyone says that they would have DBS all over again, and I’m the only one who disagrees, I feel like a pessimist.

When I maintain hope and optimism, things will always be better when they could be worse.