I remember lying in bed, tossing, turning, and gazing out the mesh windows of the screened sleeping porch. My explorations of the heavens would seldom stop at the clusters of stars. Frequently those jaunts into the outer limits would begin and end in my own consciousness. An imagination frequently interrupted by the faint flashes of heat lightning lost somewhere in the distance of the clear summer night.
A vast majority of my most memorable childhood experiences revolve around my grandparents. Waking up early in the summer of ‘54 to the relentless crowing of dueling roosters and the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen meant another exciting day was upon us. As the pecan trees filtered the Sun’s newborn light onto the sleeping porch, I would hurriedly get dressed and traverse the old farm house to the kitchen. There I would find my grandfather busily frying bacon, scrambling eggs, cooking grits, and making toast. The percolating coffee pot seemed to keep time with the music of the roosters while its smell joined the myriad of scents permeating the house.
All this was in preparation for a new day, which I knew included going fishing, twice!
My grandfather was a gentleman farmer. Each summer, I was allowed the privilege of staying with him while my aunt, uncle, and two cousins went on vacation. In this symbiotic relationship I was to be his ears, his side kick, his shadow, his best friend forever. What more could a five-year-old boy want?
Following breakfast, we would load the wooden boat in the back of the truck with a menagerie of cane poles, tackle boxes, cans of worms, cricket boxes, and enough other stuff to choke a horse.
Pa would fish twice a day, six days a week. He wouldn’t fish on Sunday but he would gladly paddle the boat for you if you wanted to fish after church. I knew in my heart that he loved to fish with me as much as I loved to fish with him. He never complained about my curiosity which constantly needed satisfying. My endless inquisitions into the world around me never seemed to wear him out.
I never questioned where I got my love for the outdoors. Never had to. I recall fishing for bream, bass, catfish, and eels in the old Stapleton mill pond near the family farm in Georgia. I vividly remember catching my first bass with a yellow and black Devil’s Horse. I used a casting rod with Pa paddling the boat on a Sunday afternoon, more than 50 years ago.
My love for the outdoors has most definitely carried over into my adult life. I prefer a shooting stand or a mill pond over a Saturday afternoon football game. I find being outdoors much more relaxing than watching a movie.
Virtually everything I really want to do is very difficult physically. However difficult the task may be and whether or not I’m 100 percent successful doesn’t really matter as much anymore. What really matters is I go out and try. And, just by trying, the quality of my life reaches a higher level.
It’s like the saying: It doesn’t matter whether you win or lose it’s how you play the game. I don’t advocate losing. I go fishing expecting to catch fish. Whether I do or don’t I still thank God for sharing his wonderful and amazing universe with us. This keeps me happy and makes it much easier to cope with this two-ton gorilla, Parkinson's disease.
The first symptoms of Parkinson’s crept up on me in an unprovoked attack in 1991. As I reflect upon those uncertain days, I have named time after 1991 “AP” (after Parkinson’s) and, of course before 1991 “BP." Little did I know that the slight tremor that shook my cup of coffee and milk, in 1991, was just the first of many undesirable indicators I was to experience.
Symptoms continued to increase and in 1997 I was officially diagnosed with Parkinson’s. It devastated my family and my life. I have often wondered what I could do with a broken body and a clear mind. It’s still me, the same person I have always been in this body. I still have dreams, desires, wishes, needs, feelings, knowledge, and insight. I still need compassion, understanding, support, tolerance, kindness, harmony, and a feeling of belonging.
I can do just about anything I did before Parkinson’s if I allow more time to do it and maybe accept a slightly broader margin of error. I have discovered the meaning of the word perseverance! In my situation, perseverance means calloused knees; scraped fabric at the knees of almost all my jeans and trousers; a few bruises here and there; a few little cuts; a bead head hare’s ear fly buried past the barb through my ear; a bead head hare’s ear fly buried past the barb into my scalp; (safety point, I always wear protective glasses when fly fishing); crawling when I really want to get there but can’t walk.
It means I'm not ashamed to be out in public even though I may be having a bout of dyskinesia forcing my head to rock and roll to silent mystical music. Perseverance means fighting this beast with a smile because I read somewhere that with every smile your immune system gets stronger. Perseverance means aggressively fighting to maintain a better quality of life even when the cards are stacked against you. Perseverance means getting it done.
I persevere because I hope someday there will be a cure. And while I patiently wait for that cure, life goes on.
In life After Parkinson’s, I still have a little bit of trouble getting to sleep the night before a fishing trip. But the secret of a good nights sleep is 75 mg of Elavil (Amitriptyline). This drug was prescribed by my neurologist after I complained of insomnia, seemingly brought on by other Parkinson’s medications.
I have only recently discovered that Elavil is classified as a mood enhancing drug. Take note! I have always been a very positive and upbeat type of person. But this may be the secret of why my glass is still almost always half full! I’m certain this is the secret that keeps me searching for accommodations that allow and assist me to continue participation in my most passionate pursuits.
After starting on Elavil I began sleeping again. I had renewed energy and a much more cheerful outlook.
With this renewed and positive outlook on life I was ready to start anew. As you already know, fishing is one of those activities for which I have a passion. How I go fishing may seem bizarre to some, but, I go fishing. My formula for going fishing is:
- A friend (Preferably one who can carry me using the fireman’s carry.)
- Rods & reels
- A personal flotation device
- A fishing Vest equipped with all sorts of trinkets.
- A comfortable, sturdy seat
- Parkinson’s pills
- Water for the pills
- Snacks (to eat when I take pills)
- A cell phone in a zip lock bag
- A camera
When everything is loaded, I drive my electric wheelchair to the truck or have myself loaded up like the rest of the gear. Then I drive to one of the two ponds less than 500 yards away.
Once at the pond, I don my PFD and fishing vest to have myself delivered a la fireman’s carry to one of the permanent fishing seats we have built on the docks. Or, if I am in a hurry, I may just crawl and start fishing while the rest of my gear is being delivered. Should I want to fish around the pond, away from the docks, I travel on a 4-wheeler. That way I can easily move around the edge of the pond and stop to fish wherever I wish.
With Parkinson’s it takes about 5 times longer for me to get ready (including getting dressed) to go fishing. The night before, I always pre-tie several components of my fly-fishing rigs. It isn’t shameful to ask for help with fishing knots. This is another great reason to have a friend along on your adventure.
I have found supportive friends and family are my most valuable asset for any activity. Without them, many tasks are seemingly unreachable. My friends and family have helped me get dressed without any embarrassment to either of us. I often get a helping hand when I try to walk.
Reflecting on my childhood again, I remember lying in bed, tossing and turning with restless anticipation of tomorrow.
Whether or not you are an outdoors enthusiast, I hope that you can remember the fond moments of your life. I also hope, with some effort, you can still do some of those pastimes that have always made your life so flavorful.