“Diagnosis is not the end, but the beginning of practice.” Martin Fisher

May 5, 2017: Diagnosis Day.

I had an appointment with my neurologist before heading to work. I had been seeing her for just over two years because I was having some weird things going on in my body and I needed answers. At that time, my symptoms included; tremors in my left hand, stiffness, rigidity, shoulder/arm pain, swallowing difficulty, mild speech issues, trouble sleeping, small illegible handwriting, and loss of smell. And if you google Parkinson’s symptoms…like I did…this is what comes up; Ten Early Warning Signs of Parkinson’s Disease

I scored a solid 7/10 on a test that I would have preferred to fail.

At my first appointment in 2015, she said,

“I can tell by looking at you that you don’t have Parkinson’s.”

Phew! Everything that I had read and researched pointed a very straight arrow at Parkinson’s but she was the neurologist…she would know for sure right? Regardless, we still needed to figure out what was going on with me.

And so began a number of other tests, MRIs, X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, and nerve conduction tests. We ruled out MS, brain tumors, and spinal tumors. And we confirmed arthritis in my neck and a small tear in my rotator cuff.

Two years later, on that beautiful sunny May morning, I sat in her office listening to her change her mind, “Well, I think I can say that you have Parkinson’s Disease. You are 49 so technically you have Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease or YOPD.”

She talked about starting me on the lowest dose of Sinemet (carbidopa/levodopa).

I said, “okay.”

She said, “You won’t die from it. You’ll die with it.”

I said, “okay.”

She said she would see me in 3 months.

I said, “okay.”

I left and called my husband Garth.

We said, “okay.”

Neither one of us was truly surprised, maybe even somewhat relieved to finally be able to put a name to these problems. However, it still hit hard when I heard those confirming words. If I went home I would have cried the day away, so I went to work.

I put on a pretend happy face, and I didn’t tell anyone else for over two weeks. 

I couldn’t.

I dreaded the thought of people feeling sorry for me.

I still do.