When Did It Happen? Right Before My Eyes....

Ok sit back  and grab a beverage, this might take a while.  And make no mistake, when i say "Crazy", i'm no longer talking about the eccentric  Mom who might be a little embarrassing to you because she listens to the Grateful Dead and has a pet ferret.  (i dated that mom, by the way) 
No.
i'm talking "pink-elephant-in-the-corner-of-the-room-riding-a-tricycle-crazy"
The past weekend was interesting to say the least. Punctuated by Sunday's visit by my Mom's cousin and his wife, yes.... the past 72 hours have been a topsy turvy affair. At times, i felt secure in the knowledge that everything was as it should be. Other instances were filled with bewilderment, and that unsettling feeling you get when:
one is in the eye of hurricane...
or right at the beginning of an earthquake...
if you haven't had either of those experiences, how about...
you know, like the moments before a traumatic accident where the brain seems to want to process everything in slow motion, as if it's trying to say: "maybe this ain't the way things are supposed to go down"  but by the time you finish that thought,  it is too late. And suddenly, all your thoughts turn to the analysis of what happened, how bad it was, and what do i do next to make it better, secretly wishing there was a somehow to just make it all go away -like it never happened.

But before i "go there", i gotta say that i remain in an exceptional mood despite physically feeling a bit beat up and.... well, you know how a car will get sent to the auto dismantlers? Some totaled in an accident and ready for the big crusher thing that makes short work of old and new cars alike without discretion.  Some are ******** for parts, the popular models that have common sized transmissions and engines, radiators and water pumps that will fit many makes and models, sometimes even multiple manufacturers - a Lexus bumper or side mirror that fits a Toyota or something.  

The dissection and recycling of these cars makes sense. The final destruction justified as part of some giant "go green" recycling program. It's PC. No one raises an eyebrow.

But then every once in a while, there is some poor dude's truck towed in. His ride to work that he parked illegally one too many times. Or was stolen and joy-rided for a couple hundred miles before being deposited on the side of the road, the passenger side smashed by a sign or tree. The thing is only worth 5 or 600 bucks but the repairs are more than that. Nobody seems to want that 86 Mazda B2000 that day, despite it having a perfect engine and new tires, and upholstery that is nicer than the guy's couches at home.  It's a busy day at the yard and they need to make room for the Accords and Impalas of the world, so without any real decision made by anyone, out comes the giant claw of death. It arches quickly with speed greater than one would think those things could have and with a big pinch, the truck is crumpled like an empty tissue box.  If dude, or somebody who knew the car were there, they would look on in astonishment and gasp in disbelief to see "ol' Betsy" ... only able to mutter to themselves "What a shame... waste of a perfectly good truck..."

i feel like the truck.

i still run great! Just a little banged up, ya know?

And that, my friends, is perhaps one of the longer ways i have gone for such a simple analogy. Hey what can i say? i fancy myself a writer on occasion. Not necessarily even a good one.  But pleeease! Keep me away from that giant claw (Or for you vaudeville fans out there... The Hook!

WTF was i writing about anyway?  
Oh yeah, the 72 hours that felt like i was in a barrel rolling down a hill in a Mountain Dew commercial...
and i had a pillow, pizza, and ice cream (chocolate) that made my tumble almost pleasantly adventurous at times, if it weren't for the rabid possum and bag of wrenches in there too.

By now, you might be saying to yourself, "This guy's the crazy one". To which i might reply,
"Touche', takes one to know one".
i got no problem with my.... eccentricities.  In fact, i embrace them.  Life's weird enough without having a complex about one's...complexes.....

This story is about my Mom, right?

Ok, ok.

i might have to make this a "to be continued", because, as i type this, my mom is calling me from downstairs.   See, i take care of my mom.  A bit of info that should be presented for those of you who may not have gotten around to reading some of my other stories where i go on about her.
She has "PD". Parkinson's.  They call it a disease, but my research indicates that it is more of a "disorder",  "a mobility disorder" to be precise.  In some circles, it might be considered akin to MS, or, multiple sclerosis, for those of you who aren't up to date on your two letter abbreviations of "things that really suck in life, especially when they are happening to a loved one".

i've been here... there... wherever it is you want to call the staging platform that is my life of being "on call" 24/7/365 for almost a decade. And don't see any real time off in the upcoming 10 years. 

That's one of the real insidious things about PD, it doesn't kill a person. It just makes the person's life miserable - as well as those who care to stick around long enough to see how "the treatment" of PD goes. 
i got to give a shout out to Dopamine Girl, here. She knows what i'm talking about.
i'm going to have to come back and finish this in a "part 2".  The part where i talk about my crazy mom.
i'll leave you all with a little look back in time to a hospital room in January of this year (By the way, if you or a loved one is a PWP (Person with Parkinson's) and you are considering a trip to the emergency room?  Uhhhh.....think real hard about before taking that plunge.) It is my opinion, and not, by any means, some sort of medical advice that should be heeded by all of those with PD, but in my personal experience...hospitals and PWP are not the best companions. Two words: "med schedule"

Ok back to going back in time:
Anyway, i'm at the hospital room, my mom laying in the bed with a tube down her throat, incoherent, and in an altered kind of consciousness, and i'm talking to this tall, regal looking gentleman who was one of  the top neurologist.  Very intelligent, well schooled i imagine and he....
ok in wasn't talking with him. i was sort of-kind of yelling (quietly) at him in a condescending manner.  As if Mr. oh excuse me DR. Fancy Shoes with the nice pressed labcoat had just - how does one say it.... Well, in the Central Valley of California...OR Oklahoma (i think they are the same place) we would refer to this guy as somebody who "just fell off the turnip truck". 
Yeah, i thought the top neurologist around didn't know which hand to wipe his tongue depresser on, after just having left the men's room. (that didn't happen, actually-see i'm using it as a colorful analogy to indicate that i didn't think this guy was real intelligent when it came to Parkinson's.)

And after all that, i am going to quote one sentence that dude said (The neurologist, not the guy with the pick up truck)
"Do you know what happens when people take too much dopamine? Do you? They get mania"

Okay i'll be back to finish this later. After a put a saddle on that pink elephant over there and ride that puppy!!
johnnybliss johnnybliss
41-45, M
1 Response May 8, 2012

That part in the beginning where you said you dated your mom, that was weird. I think you meant to say you dated a mom who was eccentric, but that's not how it sounds. <br />
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Yes ... I think you need to take an easy on those drugs YOU'VE been taking. You're right, this story is more about how your mother has driven YOU CRAZY rather than about how she's crazy. <br />
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Neurologists are one of the highest paid doctors. So this guy probably looks 'down' upon most of his patients. You know, the way the wealthy 'look down' upon the poor. Like you haven't worked as hard & smart as they, so you 'deserve' your plot in life. <br />
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I think parkinson's is considered a disease because it does kill the sufferer over time. My father has lost the ability to control almost every muscle in his body. I can barely understand what he says & I act as his translator lots of the times for other people because they have no idea. Because he was athletic in his life up until he was diagnosed, he can, amazingly, still hold a glass to take a drink and open packaged foods (snacks) and eat by himself. I'm not saying he won't aspirate, I'm just saying he's able to do it. He's stubborn & hates if I do anything for him. Its a good thing he now lives in assisted living, I would have already gone mad (like you) trying to exist as his only care giver 24/7/365. <br />
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This story is so funny. That whole part about the ragged, stolen, truck. LOL and there's gonna be a part 2 eeeeeeeek look out!!! ;~)