I’m still standing

Today I mark five years since my GP first mentioned Parkinson’s. I’ve come a long way since then, and it’s time for an update.

Have you ever had that awkward moment when you bump into someone you know outside your doctor’s surgery? You go through the usual greeting:

“Hello John, how are you?”

“All right, you?”

“Yeah fine, well – er – obviously not that fine but, yeah, fine, thanks.”

On this occasion, I was about as far from feeling ‘fine’ as the North Pole is from the South. My doctor had just dropped a bombshell and I was struggling to take it in. Hence the white lie – the truth would have been far more complicated.

Two weeks earlier, I’d seen my sports physio Anna about a nagging pain in my hip. As with all sports injuries I’ve sustained over the years, I’d assumed a bit of deep tissue massage and a printout of exercises would do the trick. Anna wasn’t so sure. As I struggled to turn over on the couch, she asked if it would be all right for her to write to my doctor. Suspecting little, I said this was fine.

The doctor prodded my forehead, made me do little tappie tests with my fingers, and hit my knee with a hammer.  She watched me walk up and down the corridor. Then she said:

‘Yep, I think it’s Parkinson’s’.

GULP.

Parkinson’s. Images flashed up of shaky, dribbly old men shuffling along on Zimmer frames. And Dame Thora Hird grinning from a stairlift. Suddenly I was old. Suddenly I was disabled.

All sorts of questions came into my head. The first one that came out of my mouth was:

Will I still be able to go on safari?

We’d booked a bucket list holiday-of-a-lifetime to Zambia, and I was darned if I was going to cancel it. “Of course you can!” my doctor said. You must stay active, keep moving.” That was music to my ears. We did go on safari – it was opportunity for quiet reflection miles from anywhere.  Well, as quiet as it can be with lions roaring, and hippos laughing in the river.

We did a couple of days in noisy, bumpy jeeps looking for photo-ops of big animals, but the real thrill was the gentle walking safari, tracking down much smaller flora and fauna. Everyone – staff, guides, other guests – was kind and supportive. Sometimes I struggled to clamber out of the dried river beds, but a guide would always offer a hand to pull me up. On a sunset walk on our last night, I said to the team leader “Oh well, back to the real world tomorrow.” To which he replied, emphatically, “No, Ali, this is the real world!”

Five years on

Back home in my new world I started to ponder my future and ask more questions. What’s this going to look like in five years’ time? Will I be old? Disabled? Dead? Will I still be able to:

• stand up without falling over?
• walk?
• run?
• drive?
• communicate?
• remember stuff?
• look after myself?

Apart from driving, the answer is mostly ‘Yes!’ One by one, day by day, I’ve sought out answers to these questions, and shared those answers with you here. Today, 18 July, is the fifth anniversary of that dreadful day at the doctor’s, and I’m pretty happy with the result.

My brain’s software may be a bit flaky, but the hardware is still working perfectly. My arms and legs are fine, my heart and lungs are fine – for a woman in her early seventies. The best thing to keep me sharp and fit is exercise – big powerful movement, high intensity intervals, strength training, balance and co-ordination.

The COVID break was kind to me. It brought Zoom into my life and a marvellous bunch of professionals to keep me motivated and provide live feedback.  The message is that even if our brains are failing, we mustn’t give up on our bodies.

In coming weeks I’m going to revisit some of those ‘Will I still…?’ questions and tell you about the people, activities and kit that have helped me along the way. For now, I’ll leave you with the words of Bernie Taupin and Elton John.

I’m still standing, better than I ever did

Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid

I’m still standing

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Play > I’m still standing > Elton John