Blog7_21_2016
My Left Shaky Foot
My shaking left foot was annoying, but I didn’t think much of it. I was in my late sixties, and my body, like my 1998 Saturn , was wearing down. As Indiana Jones says in Raiders of the Lost Ark, “It’s not the years….it’s the mileage.” But the shaky left foot was annoying, especially when I was writing at my computer. If the ideas were rapidly flowing onto the cyber page or the subject matter was intense and emotionally draining, the left foot shook more. Crossing my leg created contact between my left foot and the table and things started hopping across the desktop—pens, paper clips, staplers, coffee mugs. If I put the shaky left foot on the hardwood floor, then my imitation of Thumper, the Bambi rabbit, initiated a mini-earthquake in my den. Still, it was only my left foot shaking.
My podiatrist was the first to notice it. “I would check that out…probably nothing, but check it out.” Those are really really scary words from a physician. My ancestors on both sides of my family were from Italy, and one of my legacies is a weak but present streak of Italian superstition. Someday, somewhere, the normal visit to a doctor will not be so normal. One way to deal with that is to anticipate all the worse afflictions that plague humanity, thus warding off those diseases. Another is to avoid the doctor.
I was encouraged by my family physician, a great doctor I had been seeing since my twenties. “Could be just age related tremors.” This was sort of good. My other specialists agreed. They asked a few questions, did a few peeks and pokes, and seemed to chalk it up to body sliding into decrepit disorder. So I continued writing and thumping. When the shaking shifted my fingers across the keyboard I would stop and command my foot to stop, like an adult chastising a wayward, mischievous child. Reprimanded, the left foot would assume an obedient stance and be still for about thirty seconds.
A second visit to my podiatrist evoked a stronger caution. “It’s probably nothing, but, if I were you, I would check it out.” Ah, but if I don’t check it out, then things will remain the same, won’t they? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The corollary to that is, “If you don’t know it ain’t broke, don’t investigate it.” Historically, however, my educational background taught me to know or try to know. One of my doctors recommended a neurologist. “It’s probably nothing.”
My neurologist was engaging, and he was shadowed by what we would call in education “a student teacher,” a young lady in a doctor’s garb. I listened intently to the things he pointed out to her as he examined me. “Notice his lack of blinking.” I did not notice that I was not blinking. I immediately blinked five or six times in rapid succession. There! “I would like to send you for some scans.” Oh oh.
The brain scan was painless, but I spent the next few weeks admonishing left foot for costing me time and causing me worry. Still, it was probably nothing. My wife Polley and I met my neurologist to get the results. It was probably nothing. As if knowing that it should be on best behavior in the doctor’s office, left foot barely shook as we sat in front of the massive mahogany desk. My neurologist took off his glasses, not a good sign. “Well, it is not brain cancer.’
Left foot started shaking violently. He showed me the brain scans. “This indicates you are losing dopamine….you have Parkinson’s.” The thumping increased exponentially. All kinds of instruments were hopping across my neurologist’s desk—pens, paper clips, staplers, stethoscopes.
On my first visit to my neurologist he said, “It will be a blip on your radar if you have Parkinson’s.” On the second visit having verifying I had Parkinson’s, I reminded him of that statement. “It’s just a blip on my radar, right?” He looked my eyes, I guess counting my blinks, “A pretty big blip. Things will start to slow down.”
So began the rest of my life accompanied by Parkinson’s. My left shaky foot is joined by a left shaky hand.