My beautiful and vibrant mom on my wedding day, 1981
The article on Israeli economist Rafi Eldor fascinated me. When, at the age of 55 he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, his reaction was as though the sky had fallen on him. After a couple of years of denial, he decided he would actively fight the debilitating physical conditions the disease brings on: difficulty moving, stiff muscles, and imbalance.
He tried swimming and Tai-Chi, but then settled on dance. I’m not talking about bouncing around to old Richard Simmons DVDs. Mr. Eldor decided to take up ballroom dancing. Here’s a link to his inspiring message via a TEDx talk. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cBYGh2E6t4&t=308s
Parkinson’s disease holds meaning for me as my mother LaVerda (nicknamed Bertie) suffered from it. Her first symptoms (sluggishness, difficulty rising from a seated position, trouble walking) appeared in the early 80s.
It was a different time then. My parents, living in the same small town all their married life, had a bizarre relationship with the family doctor. Dr. X was NOT to be questioned; whatever advice he dispensed was taken as sacred. He had my mother on nearly a DOZEN different medications, even though it was obvious they were not providing any relief to her condition.
My sister Beverly (the daughter who lived near our parents while my other sister and I lived a couple hundred miles away) saw a television commercial for a new neurological clinic located in Pittsburgh, about 90 minutes away.
Beverly arranged for an evaluation at the new clinic. Our father refused to go along to the appointment and was furious that my sister would “act against” Dr. X.
Dr. Oscar Reinmuth was a Godsend. Our mom was hospitalized immediately. It took her body ten days to detox from all the wrong medications she had been prescribed. She was like a zombie for the first week.
The diagnosis of Parkinson’s was not what we wanted to hear, of course, but at least once identified and with Mom on the correct medication, she resumed a more normal life.
Back then, medication was the primary “aid” for Parkinson’s. And there were no physical therapy places available for our mom in that small town. There was no internet for families to pull up online information on how to help adjust to life with Parkinson’s.
As is typical, our mom’s symptoms worsened as time went on. She either exhibited excessive spastic movements or froze up and couldn’t move at all.
During the spastic times, it was as though she was doing an aerobic workout while seated. When her muscles froze, she called it “having a tizzy.” She would sit like a statue, lose her voice, and have a hard time swallowing.
Our mom lived about fifteen years after her diagnosis. She died in 1996 when she was almost 76 years old.
But you know, I thank God every day for my sisters. They are the best.
At the beginning of our mom’s fifteen year ordeal, I was newly married and then had my own two babies. My sister Barbara enabled our mom to receive the needed daily care in her own home which is where she wanted to be.
My sister Beverly handled the emotional support as well as the ongoing overseeing of appointments, caregiver schedules, medications, housekeeping, bill paying, etc.
I try NOT to focus on regrets as I live my life, because, really, it’s futile. But as Mother’s Day approaches, I do regret not having been there to help my mom get through the everyday moments. And maybe I could have helped her dance her way through the disease.
LaVerda, my guess is that you would have been a beautiful ballroom dancer.
To my readers: Value your family like the treasure it is.
