I Should Be Dead

I spent part of yesterday looking into going on a 70 mile bike/trike ride this summer.

Why?

I’m not dead.

I don’t know why.

When I was first diagnosed with Parkinson’s, not knowing anything about the disease, I asked the Neurologist what my prognosis was.  He responded, “In the old days, people usually died within 15 years.”  While his prefacing this with “in the old days” allowed for the possibility of more years, he did not give more years.   

His predictive words have proven true.  None of my family or friends diagnosed with Parkinson’s since my diagnosis, is alive.  They all died within the 15 years. 

I then asked how long I would be able to continue doing design and photography.  He said I should be good for the next 5 years.  Five years?  I was losing ground.  I asked how things would be after the 5 years.  He refused to say.  He said he doesn’t project Parkinson’s out beyond 5 years.  I was 47.  I needed more than 5.

That was almost 24 years ago …and counting.

Why am I not dead?

I don’t know. 

I just know this:

Earlier this week, I took the walker/wheelchair I hadn’t used for months and lifted it up onto the very top shelf of my closet.  I have hooks.  I don’t need a clothes rack.