141 So near …

This is a special post for you patient Parkinality subscribers. I thought you should be the third to know (after the Surgeon and me)

 So near …

For me May 2022 turned into an A to Y of emotions (no zebras yet).   From agitated to anxious, hovering over hysterical, through to yikes.  I was finally given a date for my brain operation.  Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS); electrodes implanted into my brain during a seven hour operation.  It is not a cure and Parkinson’s Disease (PD) will continue to degenerate, but one of the things it should do is allow me to reduce my medications, thus reducing their associated side effects..

Prose has escaped me at this stressful time, forgive me whilst I turn to rhyme.

The theatre is booked, the hats are packed.

Musical or who dun-nit? No, nothing like that.

In the theatre I plan to sleep throughout the ‘show’.

Don’t tell me the plot, I really don’t want to know.

After surgery I don’t intend painting the town plain red.

I hope it’ll be multicoloured with polka dots instead.

I’d love to eat what I want and then give a cheeky wink.

I’d like to walk without looking the worse for drink.

Periodically paranoid.

Occasionally optimistic.

I’m impatient to live my life.

I just want to get on with it.

The Parkinality Poet

Spiralling emotions combined with a whirlwind of organisation made the perfect storm.   During May I attempted to plan for every eventuality from the depressing to the essential, from the sensible to the ridiculous.  In rare moments of calm clarity the operation is a no brainer (punny).  I am being offered an incredibly specialised procedure which could improve my quality of life for a short while.  

There are no guarantees that the operation will happen until it’s happened.  As there are no guarantees how the surgery will affect my symptoms.  So many unknowns which are out of anyones control.  

The day of the surgery has finally arrived.  I will cut the waffle and get to the point.

10pm – packed my hospital bag.

11pm – repacked my hospital bag.

Midnight – last morsel of food consumed prior to fasting before operation.

3am – transferred my repacked bag into another bag.

5am – took first Parkinsons’s medication of the day.

6am – depart for hospital.

7am – arrive at hospital.

Mid morning – operating theatres reprioritised for immediate emergency surgery.

12.30pm – my DBS operation postponed.                                 

Deep breath … I think we need an intermission, in the form of a random retro ode.

White sliced loaf.

Warm processed ham.

Pink blancmange.

Semolina with jam.

Peddle pushers.


Riding on your Chopper.

Delighting the Angels with an orange space hopper.

Have I lost the plot?  Maybe I have.

Or has it slipped down the back of one of the rads?

In the good ole days we listened to Jam and ate loads of jelly.

In the good ole days there was always something decent on the telly.

I’m thinking back to a time in the past.

When the world didn’t move so fast.

A time when we put a man on the moon.

But to change tv channels we had to cross the room.

Today everything is on a cloud in the sky,

Intangible and virtual, we’re really not sure why.

I’m finding it difficult keeping up with this pace.

I promise I’ll pack light when we move to outer space.

The Parkinality Poet

… and exhale.

The chain of events which led to the postponement of my surgery could never be planned for and was totally outside everyones control.  At the end of the day my operation was planned and elective, and not an emergency.

The NHS is an amazing place, always ready to greet people with a smile, often in impossible circumstances.  Hospital staff are unflappably flexible, their days spent repairing humans and releasing them back into society. 

Time for another ode …

Thank you

Always a smile hardly a frown.

Even though some days must get them down.

Never fussing just efficiently here.

Pulping up pillows whilst lending an ear.

Press the button the bell calls them in.

Bed pan, blood pressure could be anything.

Constantly here for you always on call.

Day or night it doesn’t matter at all.

Caring for every single person here.

Each day helping to alleviate fear.

Mopping your brow, feeling your pain.

The next day returning again.

The Parkinality Poet

My bag will remain packed and I am ready and waiting for the new date. 

Onwards and upwards