I guess I shouldn’t sleep on my left side. Woke up after a real hard sleep with my left arm over my head. For the moment, I could not roll over onto my back and then on to my right side so I could get up. Finally managed to get my arm down, used my right arm to push myself over on my back. Kicked and wriggled over onto my right side, trying not to imagine a group of Greenpeace activists trying to shove a beached whale back into the water. Used my right elbow to lift myself, then my right arm to push myself into an upright sitting position.
Sat there for a little while trying to get my head together and realized my left neck and shoulder were KILLING me. Grabbed my cane, rose to my feet. Stood there to make sure I wasn’t going to fall. Then hobbled out into the hallway.
It was just after 6 am. Gail was coming back in from taking out the dogs. I sent her back to bed with the promise that I’d keep an eye on the knuckleheads. Off she went.
Sat down at the computer and JEEZ did my neck and shoulder ache. I must have fallen asleep in that position and just laid there, unable to move, for hours. In fact, I recall waking up a few times wondering what I was doing on my left side (I usually wake up on my right side), giving a half-assed effort to roll over before giving up and falling asleep again.
Dawned on me that Gail had one of those “Hot Patches” that Shaq sells on the tee-vee. So I went to put it on. After my fumbly fingers got the film off the back, the rest of it was a cinch.
Took the ibuprofen down from the shelf, appropriated four of the little brown tablets, grabbed the little green glass next to the sink, popped the pills into the mouth, raised the glass to my lips, and…
Nothing. I forgot to put water into the glass. “See,” that sad and ever-shrinking working part of my intellect explained to the rest of my lumbering, stumbling brain,“you gotta PUT water in the glass before there can BE water in the glass. The water doesn’t magically APPEAR in the glass. If it DID, you’d be declared MESSIAH — and not some dumpy nearly 56-year old civil servant with Parkinson’s disease seeking early disability retirement.”
“Gawrsh, Mr. Brain,” the rest of my atrophied noodle replied, “Yew shure are smart about stuff.”
I filled the glass, swallowed the pills, staggered back out to my computer and launched into my duties for the day.
Sigh…
Parky Bill's Parkinson's Disease Place 