The idea for this article came about gradually, almost without me realizing it. Two events crystallized this article.
First, my minister gave a sermon in which he had the congregation stand and introduce themselves to a person sitting close to them who they did not know. It may sound unimportant, but if you stop and think about it, how many people do that? How many people sit in the same pew every week, even the same spot? (You cannot see me but I have my hand raised.) The ushers have said it throws them off when they see someone "out of place." I do not write any of this as criticism rather as an observation.
My minister said at the outset there are two groups of people. Some people are eager to get to know others. Others have their arms firmly folded in front of them shunning social contact. This is most likely true in many congregations. I used to be in the latter group, although my arms were not literally folded in front of me.
Luckily there were people around me in church that day who did not possess my stubbornness. It was a good feeling when someone who did not know me introduced himself.
The second event occurred the next day and added to the good feeling. I had an appointment with my Parkinson's disease specialist. Usually I sit in the waiting room without making conversation with anyone. After all, I don't know them.
But this particular day my sister and I started speaking with a pleasant woman who seemed quite nervous. She told us her daughter was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at the age of 23. Now 10 years later, her daughter is blind. This woman was most concerned about her daughter. She worried how she would be able to take care of her as the woman herself was now exhibiting signs of weakness.
The woman lifted one hand off the other one. I immediately noticed a classic sign of Parkinson's disease—her hand was shaking out of control. She had already learned one of the tricks to hide PD; you cover one hand with the other.
I assured her she was in good hands—the best actually. I had been coming to this neurological center for more than 10 years. We continued to speak with and encourage each other. She worried about her employment and not being able to perform her job. The woman worried that her sister, who helped care for her daughter with MS, would now have to take care of her as well.
We readily agreed that we are all brothers and sisters. She noted how happy she was that people do not hide things as much anymore. They are more open.
I noted that medical research offers great promise. I felt so good when the woman said how happy she was that we had spoken. She said she had been nervous. I assured her the doctors at this center were realistic, but optimistic.
Not everyone realizes what people with chronic conditions go through, my new acquaintance continued. It was so nice to speak with someone who understood. She mentioned we have such strength. I noted we find strength we never realize we have.
Our conversation seemed to help her, and I hope I allayed some of her fears. She definitely made me feel better. I had been somewhat depressed when I arrived at the center because I hadn't taken my medicine, and it had been a struggle to walk, even with my cane.
I started going over in my mind yet again that people with PD and other diseases cope with more than just their conditions. They also try to raise awareness of PD and the need for a cure. Too many people are surprised when a young person discloses they have PD. All my anger and pontificating however fell by the wayside as I reached out that morning to the woman in despair. She in turn lifted my spirits.
As my doctor called me into her office I wished this woman, her daughter, and her family well. She was so appreciative.
"By the way, my name is Patti," I said. "What's yours?"