Shake, Rattle and Roll

Dreaming

Dreaming

By Terri Reinhart

Copyright © 2008

 

Did you ever have one of those days when you just knew you could do anything?  You feel good and confident and if anyone asks if you’d be willing to help with something, you immediately reply, “Of course I will!!” and you mean it. 

 

I must have had one of those days a while back because now I find that I’m responsible for writing the names of all of our high school graduates on their diplomas in beautiful calligraphy.  And, that’s not all.  The person who writes the names on the high school diplomas also writes the names of the 8^th graders on the certificates that they are given at Continuation.  I will get them done and I will probably even enjoy it, but there is some humor in giving a calligraphy job to a person with Parkinson’s disease.  I’d better be fully medicated when I begin this!

 

From time to time, I am pretty realistic about what I should and shouldn’t take on.  I have learned not to volunteer in a classroom all day or I will be thinking murderous thoughts by the afternoon.  That’s not good.

 

I have learned that any heavy work has to be done in short increments, like a minute and a half.  Then it’s time to rest.  I don’t say that I CAN’T do something. I just find ways to do it little by little. 

 

Then there are other times when I just dream.  I get ideas all the time.  I suspect it drives my poor husband nuts, but I can’t help myself.  I know full well that 98 % of my ideas won’t fly and I don’t expect them to.  The fun is in coming up with the ideas to begin with.

 

When I left my job, I had all sorts of plans.  I looked into a number of job possibilities and then looked into going back to school to get a degree in special education.  I researched every angle, calling the advisor at the college and figuring out how I could work half the day and go to school the other half day and get my degree in four years – somehow, without having murderous thoughts by the afternoon.

 

I decided I would build a new chicken house and raise chickens, ducks, and geese again.  I also looked into putting a walkway in our garden, building up the vegetable beds and planting roses along the fence.  I plan on having our garage completely cleaned up and organized by the end of the summer, a bread oven built in back of the garage, a deck built by my studio, and my workroom cleaned.  I also want to do volunteer work, travel, pose nude for a life drawing class, and learn to play at least one musical instrument well.  I have a wide variety of interests.  And these are just the tip of the iceberg.  I haven’t even included anything about the long list of artistic projects that I simply must do someday soon.   

 

I did accomplish one goal.  We have semi finished our little “studio” building in our back yard and it is home to a few art workshops now.  I don’t hope to make a living with my art work, I just want to open up the space and invite people to come and work and learn with me.  I enjoy creating art with other people.

 

Now I also have all sorts of advisors coming up with ideas for me.  My former colleagues would like me make crafty things for their classrooms.  One friend has been trying to convince me (unsuccessfully) of how much I would LOVE skydiving.  I have a new exercise coach who has told me that I WILL start doing Tai Chi.  He’s a big guy, from Delaware, and he’s into Martial Arts.  He’s going to be calling me regularly to make sure I’m following through, so I think I will.  Another friend feels that I should be relaxing and watching lots of movies.  He also checks up on me regularly.  And my younger son says I should go back to college, but not yet.

 

When we drive down Federal Blvd. in Denver, there is a large billboard showing a photograph of a woman receiving her college diploma.  The ad announces “The World’s Oldest College Graduate: Nora Oaks, age 95.”  My son wants me to beat that record.  He wants me to go back to college, but not before age 92.  Then after four years, I’ll have my degree at age 96.  He’s also added another idea.  “But mom,” he says, “you really should live in the dorm.” 

 

I still keep my hatchery catalog.  Maybe someday I WILL have a nice chicken house again. I will also keep my gardening books, my wood working books, and my college catalogs handy.  I plan on coming up with lots more ideas, too.  If it happens that we do have more than one lifetime on this earth, I’ll be in good shape.  I’ll have enough to keep me busy for a long time!

 

But first, I’d better get those diplomas finished.

Choices, Choices

Choices, Choices…
By Terri Reinhart
Copyright © 2008

Years ago, while teaching kindergarten, I caught a couple of the boys eating iris blossoms on the playground. A frantic call was made to the Poison Control Center and I found out that iris blossoms were not on the list of dangerously poisonous plants. I was asked to watch them, however, as there really wasn’t much information listed about the effects of consuming this particular flower. Not many people would consider doing this. In fact, probably the only people who have ever experimented with the wild notion of eating irises would be five year old boys who wanted to make purple spit. I passed that bit of information on to Poison Control and for the next few minutes, I couldn’t make out anything they said. Maybe it was a bad connection.

I thought of this story not long ago when I was prescribed a new medication. Among the side effects was that it “turns all your bodily fluids orange”. COOL! If only I had that medicine all those years ago, I could have been the coolest kindergarten teacher on the planet – the one with orange spit.

My doctor is extremely good at explaining medications and their side effects. This is good because my body tends to be just sensitive enough that if there are side effects, I’ll have them. It’s nice to have at least a little bit of warning. And if they are not explained to me in a healthy way, I tend to freak out. That happened a while back with a (now former) nurse practitioner who prescribed a drug that, when I read the literature, I found had a possible side effect of “falling asleep without warning while doing routine daily activities, such as driving.” As I was then driving 17 miles on the freeway each way to work, I called and talked with the nurse practitioner. She tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry, if it happens once, we’ll take you off of it.” I told her that if it happened once, it probably wouldn’t be an issue. After that, I went through my neurologist whenever I needed to ask about medications.

My neurologist, by the way, is a lovely woman who listens to me and respects me as a person. She is obviously very intelligent, articulate, and I am sure she is one of the top doctors in her field and deserves a raise. If I have DBS brain surgery in the future, she’s the one I will trust. She also reads these articles. Did I mention how intelligent she is?

So, at my last visit, I was prescribed a couple of new medications and my doctor very carefully went over all the side effects with me. “Oh, and it can cause compulsive behaviors, so if you experience anything like that, please let me know and we’ll adjust your dose.” She went on to say that while it sounds humorous, she knew of patients who had spent all of their savings on shopping sprees while on this drug. The compulsive behaviors could include compulsive gambling, shopping, or even sexual behavior. She also said that some people try to direct this compulsiveness into a particular area, such as crafts. They might work on their crafts to the point where they forget to feed their family.

Oh boy.

Of course, if that last one is how this manifests with me, I’m okay. My family wouldn’t notice. I’ve been doing that for years. But it made me wonder. Could I possibly direct compulsive behavior in a way that it would be beneficial for me? What would I choose?

I’m afraid that gambling and shopping are out. We definitely can’t afford that. I will give all my credit cards to my husband and also have him change the passwords on my internet accounts so I cannot click and spend.

Compulsive sexual behavior is also out. That would be way too complicated and way too much work.

My kids would probably prefer that I become a compulsive baker and spend hours every day baking cookies and cakes. The only problem is that compulsive baking would lead to compulsive eating which would ultimately lead to the need for buying bigger clothes which would lead to compulsive shopping which is out already. Sorry kids.

My husband might suggest that I become compulsive about cleaning. This actually sounds good and if I could pull it off, that might be the way to go. I’m not sure that we can direct compulsive behaviors to something that is totally against our nature, but it’s worth a try. If nothing else, I would be busy for months. The thought that someday MY house could be sparkling clean and neat with no piles of papers anywhere and nothing out of place…? I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time even imagining that one.

Perhaps I’ll try compulsive gardening. It wouldn’t matter how many vegetables we eat and that would save us money in the long run. And I would love to see neat rows of plants with no weeds growing in the pathways. I would also have our lawn and flower beds perfectly manicured. This sounds good. I’ll have to let you know how it goes.

Oh, and we have a large bed of iris that desperately needs attention, too.

Miracle Cures

Miracle Cures
By Terri Reinhart
Copyright © 2008

I was shopping the other day at my favorite natural foods store. We do our best to eat good healthy natural food, of course, all the time. And with the exception of the occasional burger from the fast food restaurant, milkshakes, anything that is chocolate and mmmmm… those jalapeno bites from Arby’s with the red sauce that looks like transmission fluid, I do pretty well. As with everything in life, it is nice to have a balance.

I meandered down one aisle, looking closely at everything and feeling pretty good. I was doing the good mom thing and buying natural organic food. Then I went around a corner and was immediately accosted by an older woman (okay, she was maybe a little bit older than me) offering me samples. Would I like a sample? I asked what the samples were but before she answered, she looked at me closely and asked, “Are you in pain?”

“Uh, no, I’m just moving slowly.”

“But are you in pain?”

Okay, now I figure it’s easier to just explain it right out than to risk any more inquiries. “No, I’m not in pain. I have Parkinson’s disease. I just move slowly.” How could I have known what would happen next?

“Did you know that this is the number one diet supplement for Parkinson’s?” She began. And she went on and on about her product, about which she was obviously very passionate. I learned an awful lot! And after several minutes I was quite ready to believe that it stops pain, cures the common cold, helps hair to grow, makes our bones strong, stops the moodiness of menopause, and helps prevent global warming. She had me hooked. It is fun to listen to anyone who is enthusiastic but a fanatic can be irresistible! It’s very possible that I would have even bought some of her miracle supplement, except for one thing. She was just a little too confident and suggested that I try the sample, walk around the store for ten minutes and then come back to let her know how much better I felt. I had the picture in my mind of the crippled child throwing away his crutches and wondered if I’d rip off my leg braces and dance through the aisles of the store. But no, ten minutes after taking the supplement, I felt no different than I had before. Well, that’s not entirely true. My legs were aching and my speed was approaching that of a geriatric turtle. I was too embarrassed to go back.

Once home, the more reasonable parts of my brain kicked in. How many miracle supplements, remedies, and therapies had I been presented with in the last ten years? I’m actually not knocking them at all. I believe very strongly in natural, wholistic medicine and have often consulted with doctors who practice wholistic medicine. There are so many different products out there that I am more than happy to allow my doctor do the recommending for me. He’s also an M.D. so I know he’ll understand my prescription medicines and how things might interact, too. Letting him be the expert makes less work for me and is ultimately less expensive. As with any medicines, what works for one person doesn’t always work for others. Even at best, it can take time to find what’s right. When we do find something that works well for us, it’s tempting for us to become the fanatical salesperson telling about our wonderful miracle cure-all.

Here are my magic remedies:

1. Hot baths. I am a firm believer that there is nothing that isn’t helped by a hot bath. If need be, you can even take three or four in a day. The only side effect is wrinkly fingers and toes.

2. Naps. I’m up to two a day. When my body says go to sleep, I say “Sure, why not.”

3. P.G. Wodehouse. Having my husband read passages out of Wodehouse’s novels can be nearly as good as the meds. But it has to be my husband reading them! It’s not just the words, you see. It’s his presentation. As I said before, an enthusiast is fun to listen to, a fanatic is irresistible!

4. Chocolate. This is best when shared with my 14 year old daughter.

5. Late conversations with my son. And it doesn’t matter what we are talking about.

6. Going out to the coffee shop with my good friend. I’m not going to divulge his name. I don’t want him to be suddenly deluged with invitations for coffee. He’s hyper enough as it is. But he makes me laugh and even if I forget to take my meds, I will be symptom free for another couple of hours.

7. Diet pop. I know, those who promote natural healthy foods will say that diet pop is poison. But in reasonable doses and shared with a dear friend, there is therapeutic value.

8. And last but not least, those jalapeno bites from Arby’s. Don't forget the transmisson fluid.

I’ll tell you what. Try one of these remedies. Walk around for ten minutes and then come back and let me know how much better you feel.

Late Bloomer

Late Bloomer
By Terri Reinhart
Copyright © 2008

I had a disturbing wake-up call today. I went out to do my gardening. I was determined to get the potatoes planted earlier this year to take as much advantage of our growing season as possible. Over the last two years, gardening has been a wonderful therapy for me. I would go out and pick weeds for an hour or more. Granted, if I did heavier work, like shoveling, raking, cutting up the old branches with the saw and bundling them up, or something like that, I knew that I would be worthless later in the day. But, I figured, I could either do the work and feel useless later in the day or not do the work and feel useless all day. I wasn’t going to stop.

I’m still not going to stop gardening, however, it was disturbing to find that I could only turn over about five shovelfuls of soil before having to sit down and rest. After a few minutes, I forced myself to continue on with the work, leaning on my shovel as I walked over to the potatoes. I finished my work between rest stops and, though it took much more time and effort than it ever had before, I was still pleased that I could do it myself. I’m not so useless after all.

It did make me think of the future, though, something I try not to do too much. If gardening is this much harder today, what will it be like next spring? Damn.

At least I can swear about it now!

Through no fault of my own, I didn’t learn how to swear until much later in life. It’s not that I have anything against swearing, it was just not something I was exposed to while I was growing up and when I was, it was like being exposed to a foreign language. I just didn’t get it.

I am sure that at some point my parents knew how to swear. My father was in the Navy during WWII on a small ship in the North Pacific. Swearing certainly must have been a requirement. My mother grew up on a farm. The youngest of ten children, she had five older brothers. What would the chances be of her NOT hearing the more colorful words in our language? But regardless of this, I don’t think I ever heard a swear word uttered in our house. I certainly didn’t learn to swear at St. Anthony’s Catholic school, where I spent my first five years of elementary school.

This can be a bit of a handicap if you find yourself in a sticky situation. Granted, if you are around small children, corporate business associates, clergy (including Catholic school nuns), your grandmother, or anyone else who might be mortally offended by the slightest off color language, you would be prudent to stick with gosh darn golly gee whiz fiddlesticks, and such. But I am alone in my garden, leaning on my shovel, not a young child in sight. Considering how young we were when we married and started our family, and that I worked in early childhood education for most of my adult life, this is the first time I’ve actually had the freedom to not worry about what I say. And I can tell you, gosh darn golly gee whiz fiddlesticks just doesn’t cut it when I allow myself to look too far into my future.

I let loose with a string of obscenities that would have made my male friends proud.

It is interesting to note that, while being an early childhood education teacher prevented me from using certain language, it’s not as if I didn’t hear it. I think I even learned a few new words from the children. Most of them are very innocent, however, and when a young child came to me on the play yard and tattled that another child had said the “F” word to him, I was suddenly wary. I turned to the child and said, “Which F word did he say?” The child looked at me cautiously and whispered in his quietest voice, “He said shut up.” Mr. Baker, who teaches woodwork to the grade school children, lets the students know that he doesn’t tolerate foul language. And the foulest words, in his opinion, are the words, “I can’t”.

Back in the garden, it was strangely uplifting to be able to get angry and yell, not worrying what I said or who might hear me. The earthworms didn’t seem to mind at all and our rabbits didn’t even blush. One of the foxes turned and looked at me suspiciously but I’m used to that. He does it all the time whether I am swearing or singing. Come to think of it, he really looks at me suspiciously when I sing. I’m not that bad, am I?

I don’t know how things will be for me in a year. The only certainty is that it won’t become easier with time. But I still plan to garden. I’m not going to PLAN on what I will NOT be able to do. It’s inevitable that I will look into the future from time to time. It’s not the wisest thing to do but I know that it’s only natural. At those times, I will need to arm myself with all my life coping skills. Swearing is required.

The only foul words I don’t want to ever use are, “I can’t.”

Terri Reinhart is a Denver, Colorado writer. This essay is from her book “I Meant To Do That” and Other Life Coping Skills.

“I Meant To Do That” and Other Life Coping Skills

“I Meant To Do That” and Other Life Coping Skills
By Terri Reinhart
Copyright © 2008

I’ve been quite proud of myself lately. I’m pleased with how I’m handling life and all its ups and downs. I have a good attitude, I tell myself. I don’t wallow in self pity, I try to look at the positives, and I laugh a lot. With family and friends like mine, I truly have no excuse for doing anything else. When life hands me a lemon, I make lemonade and all that stuff. So if I am so good at handling life and all its bumps and bruises, it stands to reason that others might be interested in how I accomplish this monumental task. “How do you stay so positive?” one might ask.

I think the answer is that I love life and everything in it! I try to enjoy every day and accept the bad with the good with grace and good humor. I always have good days. I love everything about this world -except lima beans. And waiting in line at the bank, or… or DRIVING 12 MILES TO THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE TO FIND OUT THAT THEY HAD CANCELLED MY APPOINTMENT! Geez, I hate that! Man…and then having to drive straight to school and hang out till my daughter was ready to come home because there really wasn’t enough time to drive back across town to our house, and not wanting to see anyone on the way because I was just so pissed off that I knew I’d burst into tears if I even looked at anyone.

I just had an awful day. Horrible and nasty from start to finish. Okay, well, nobody died and nothing caught on fire. The kids are safe and the sun still rose this morning. AND I DON’T EVEN CARE!! MY DAY WAS AWFUL, DAMMIT!

I handled everything in my usual calm, cheerful way.

After my missed appointment, I drove to the school, determined that I would make the most of the day by working on my wooden spoon in the woodwork room. The teacher is gracious enough to allow me the time and materials to do some simple projects. I think he wants the students to see just how much THEY know in comparison. I think it works. On my way, I did see one friend. I wasn’t really in shape to be seen by normal human beings, but this being a good friend, he didn’t take one look at me and run in the other direction. He calmly listened to my rant about my day and then looked at me suspiciously, “You’re pissed off at someone so you’re going to make a wooden spoon. Not something I’d think of, myself.”

My woodworking was cut short as I realized that I had forgotten to bring my medication and I began to have a Parkinson's moment. My left hand was now curling into my chest, my right side was collapsing on me over and over, and my right arm (with carving knife in hand) thought it would be best to fly upwards each time I collapsed, in a feeble attempt to help me maintain my balance. Knowing that this "moment" would last till I got home and took my meds, I felt it would be safer to put the knife down and quietly back out of the room.

We arrived home finally, and I listened to my phone messages. Our phone doesn’t beep or blink or do any of those annoying things that tell you that there’s a message waiting. And there it was: the message from my doctor that my appointment had been cancelled. They had called promptly at 8:30 am, while I was taking my daughter to school. Now, the only one I could be pissed off with was me. It didn’t help me regain my humor.

I made it through the evening. We had leftovers for dinner and I decided that my daughter would have to deal with her homework on her own. I secluded myself in my workroom and began to sew my books together. After I finished the third book, I started to feel better. At least I had accomplished something in my day. And when the green thread broke before I was finished sewing and I couldn’t find any color besides pink to finish, I told myself, “I meant to do that.”

That’s what the 6 year old boys always say. After spending 18 years teaching kindergarten, I know it’s always the same. They do something totally insane, like climb to the top of the swing set and then jump down. No matter how they land SOMETHING is going to hurt. With eyes watering and jaw set, they rub their knees, get up slowly, cradle their broken arm, look me in the eye and say, “I meant to do that.” There was something magical about this. Somehow, it made everything okay. This is what they WANTED to do and if something got a little hurt in the process, well, those things happened. Rub the knees, get up, sniffle a bit and run to play. (Unless their arm is really broken.)

Tomorrow I will go back to the doctor for my appointment. And I will remember to check my messages. I will stay away from lima beans and I won’t go to the bank. And if by chance, they cancel my doctor’s appointment and I don’t get the message, I will drive out there anyway, give everyone my greetings and visit the new thrift store that opened up across the street. And if anyone asks, I’ll just look them in the eye and say, “I meant to do that."

See Terri's other story, Bumping into Life.

Coping Tips from the Front Lines

Coping Tips from the Front Lines
By Joel Davis
Copyright © 2007

“Enjoy Every Sandwich”
—Warren Zevon (1947-2003)

Some coping tips from a PDer who had made about every mistake you can make with this disease – and lived to tell about it.

1. Be your own best advocate.
The neurologists are slammed; the few area movement-disorder specialists who specialize in Parkinson’s are especially busy. Help them by helping yourself.

Bring your list of medications (or the bottles they come in), your questions, your caregiver/significant other or friend to your appointments. Most doctors are agreeable with tape-recording appointments, which can be invaluable for both sides. I like to record my appointments, then listen to them before my next appointment to bring myself and my medical provider up to speed. It also helps those with memory issues to have something to fall back on, so you don’t keep asking your neurologists the same questions over and over.

Also, pay close attention to the warnings to the drugs you are taking. These are high-powered brain drugs that can have high-powered side effects. The 16th century Swiss chemist Paracelsus was onto something, perhaps prescient about certain dopamine agonists, when he said famously, “The dose makes the poison.” Read the warning labels, then read them again.

2. Exercise your body.
Even if you have mobility issues, doing ANY sort of exercise – even if it is simply squeezing a rubber ball or moving your toes or neck – is perhaps the best thing you can do for yourself. I have found walking around my neighborhood – taking different routes for variety – for about 30 minutes to be the safest, best way to get exercise. I also enjoy league bowling as it is fairly easy on the body, inexpensive and provides social interaction in a setting that is very accommodating and comfortable (bowling alleys are especially nice on the hot days that are so rough on PDers) for folks with disabilities. There are also PD-specific yoga and Tai Chi classes.

By contrast, be careful not to overdo it. If you have doubts about your ability to do an activity – skiing, roller skating, riding a bike, mowing the lawn, cleaning roof gutters, when your balance is wobbly, for instance – it probably is best to avoid.

I wear a stylish (at least to me) baseball batting helmet with real protection – not one of those cheap ballpark freebies – any time I do something that is even remotely dangerous, such as pretending to listen to my wife share her day while trying to watch TV. (The helmet I wear is available at: http://bplowestprices.com).

3. Exercise your mind.
Even if you are stuck at home most of the time, have some varied activities. I have what I call “Joel University” in my home: everything from books (even before being diagnosed, reading was my favorite pastime, a PD bonus!), to DVDs to video games to music to computing to volunteering. Volunteering is its own reward. I learned relatively late in my life that the saying “You get real happiness when making others happy” is mostly true.

If an activity is not working, keeping me engaged, I simply move on to another, even if it means curling up with the newspaper or a favorite book. Try to avoid getting hung up on one activity and having it turn your mind into mush faster than it needs to or doing something so much it becomes a compulsive behavior.

4. Use but don’t abuse the Internet.
Sites such as Parkinson Association of Northern California, the National Institutes of Health, and the National Parkinson Foundation provide useful, practical information. National Parkinson Foundation’s “Ask the Doctor” feature (http://forum.parkinson.org/forum/), for instance, is interactive and can be tremendously helpful.

You can get just about anything on the Internet now, which can be a huge convenience compared to having to go to a store, find parking, deal with funny looks from pinheads, etc.

But be careful of spending too much time online. PD chatrooms, which can be comforting, but can also be rife with misinformation and conflict. And if you find yourself gambling or looking at sex sites all day, or going on spending sprees, you should probably get outside help from a behavioral specialist.

5. Be prepared for psychological changes.
The meds, the disease or a combination of both, can jump you before you know it. Both you and your caregiver(s) should have a plan in place in the event of hallucinations, dementia or any other behavior changes. This is perhaps the most underreported part of the disease, yet is often the most damaging and life-threatening. I personally feel the newly diagnosed should immediately be referred for a psych evaluation; the medical and psych worlds are often disconnected with PD. Again, do your homework.

6. Beware of quick “cures” and unverified medicines and supplements, i.e. unethical scumbags who only want your money. If what is being proffered sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Check with your neurologist and other doctors before wasting time and money on quick-cure charlatans.

7. If you are on the fence about deep brain stimulation surgery (DBS) but think it could help and if you qualify for it physically and mentally, get on the waiting list. It is to date the most effective surgical treatment for PD and, while not for everyone or without risk, DBS can lead to significant improvement in tremor, rigidity and dystonia. If something better comes along or you decide you don’t want this reversible surgery, you can always get off the list, which can be long and impacted by things well beyond your control.

8. Volunteer for PD research study groups, but be wise about it. If something is going into or being injected into your body that has not effectively treated rats, monkeys, let alone humans, it is probably best not to be the first human guinea pig. I routinely volunteer for a local teaching hospital as a PD patient from whom the med students can learn. No pills, needles or other invasive elements. Just poking and prodding – diagnostic volunteering that ideally will help accelerate PD treatments for the better and help both sides. Plus I usually get a small stipend.

9. Cut your caregiver some slack.
This is huge. Make sure they get some “me time” away from you and the disease. My wife does not attend many PD seminars (“I get enough PD at home”), and I don’t blame her. Help where you can. I try to live by my own “two for one” rule: If I get up and get ONE thing out to wear/play with/work on, I try to put TWO things away, though sometimes the reverse is true.

10. Do things mindfully.
Almost everybody has a lot on his/her proverbial plate, and given what PD can do to the short-term memory, it can be downright confusing to navigate the modern world. The key is to focus on the matter at hand, and not move on to something else until the matter at hand is resolved/finished. This is especially true if you drive.

11. Finally, it can’t be stated enough. Be your own best advocate!
The more you and your caregiver can do for your medical providers, the more they can and will do for you. It’s very reciprocal. Parkinson’s is a clinical disease – no blood test or X-ray detects it – and most of us with it are misdiagnosed when symptoms first appear. So don’t be afraid to make some well-educated, polite noise to get answers.

And…don’t forget to enjoy every sandwich.

Parkinson Association of Northern California Board-Member/Newsletter Editor Joel Davis is a Sacramento writer whose work – including articles on PD – is at www.justicewaits.com.

Any suggestions in this column are for general information only.