Unpredictable arrives with no reservations reminding me that life, like food, is not always made to order.
I brag to my friends that I’ve gotten rid of Unpredictable as though she is a pesky mosquito and if I spray enough insect repellent, she will banish. The next day I wake up with an itchy red mosquito bite.
A neighbor with MS limps up the steps to our front door with her cane. She asks if my PD is in remission because I look so well. I tell her that there is no remission with PD. It is chronic and progressive. There is no cure.
I ponder the concept of remission. Wouldn’t it be great if PD would remit?
The boy down the street wonders if my PD is contagious.
A friend with PD phones, recently having the same surgery as me, attempting to get rid of his PD. I don’t know what to say, feel as though I’ve been a fraud by giving him false hope.
The only thing predictable about PD is her unpredictability.