When you are so fortunate to learn, as I did, that you have Parkinson's disease, then you'll get to hear (from your friends) horror tales about late-in-life-Parkinson's.
You hear about the gal whose hands shake so badly she can't get food to her mouth.
You hear about the chap who can no longer speak, not even a whisper.
About the lady whose esophagus closed so tightly she choked to death.
About the guy who drooled so constantly he kept a little waste-basket on his lap to catch it all.
About the babe who couldn't stop tapping her fingers.
About the dude so rigid he fell down at least once a week
About handwriting that gets smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller..
Even Wikipedia gets in on it, telling me my Parkinson's life expectancy is between 7 and 15 years. I'll die when I'm 88 to 96 years old. Look at that. And I planned all along to live to be 104. Oh, well.
Here I've added my own little horror story, about early-in-Parkinson's-life drooling. It goes like this:
Saliva
The thing
I hate most
about Parkinson's
is dro-o-o-o-ling
the way saliva balls
in a corner
of my mouth
POPS
thru my smile
skitters down
my chin
Oh my God
did anyone SEE?
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