Parkinson's – Maintaining Momentum

Borrowing from my last post, once you know you have Parkinson’s, you start seeing it everywhere.

Parkinson’s disease shapes how you think and colors how you see the world. Before my diagnosis, I probably spent a few minutes—total—thinking about my own mortality. (That line’s stolen from a movie, by the way. More on that in a second.)

Now, Parkinson’s is always there, tapping me on the shoulder.

Let me be clear: I don’t think PD is somehow worse than other diseases. I’m guessing a cancer patient wakes up each day with a similar sense of dread. Maybe more. But Parkinson’s has become my lens.

I’ve always been pretty transparent. If you look around my office, you’ll learn a lot—books, artwork, even what’s not on display, considering my past roles. The books on my shelves and stacked on my end table can be very telling. The copy of Joe Biden’s memoir is only there to make my son-in-law, Darrin, squirm. (That’s since been replaced by Jake Tapper’s Original Sin—I like to keep things spicy.)

These days, you’re more likely to find Lucky Man by Michael J. Fox or Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom nearby. If that’s not a clue to where my head’s at, check my browsing history. I’ve been scouring the internet for some kind of wisdom.

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Russell Crowe, Newton, and Parkinson’s

Oddly enough, some of that wisdom came from a mediocre Russell Crowe movie called Poker Face, about a billionaire with a terminal illness. In the middle of the film, his character drops a line from Newton’s First Law:

“An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”

Boom. It hit me. Parkinson’s is that force. Not a wrecking ball. More like friction—subtle, steady resistance. Slowing me down in ways I hadn’t noticed at first. Newton might’ve appreciated it, but I could’ve done without the demonstration.

Motion used to be automatic. Now it’s a conscious decision—a commitment. Every step, every task takes intention. Effort. Therapy. Medication. Grit.

The good news? I’m still in motion. The physics have just changed.

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Laundry, Rehab, and a Dose of Humility

Years ago, I helped my mom through rehab. I watched as therapists made her fold laundry and organize fake kitchen cabinets. I thought it was pointless. She was proud of her homemaking skills—until one day she realized she couldn’t do it anymore. She cried.

Fast forward to today: I’m in therapy, folding washcloths at a table with a woman 20 years my senior, who’s clearly enjoying watching me struggle. Mom would be proud—and probably laughing.

It reminds me of the On Golden Pond scene where Norman struggles with a child-proof bottle of heart meds and mutters that the packaging is designed to kill old people. He hands it to the mailman and says, “Here—bite this.”

Funny. And not.

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So… What Am I Doing About It?

Parkinson’s means I can’t move like I used to. But I’m still moving. That’s the trick.

First rule: If you don’t use it, you lose it.
Second rule: Maintaining what you have isn’t easy. It’s a full-time job.

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Medications: My New Reality

Author’s Image: My nighttime medications stash is in my nightstand. Christine will soon have to find a new home for her socks.

I’ve never liked medications. Still don’t. But I’m learning they’re not optional. Some people can tough it out drug-free. I’m not one of them.

Back in my twenties, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure while working as an air traffic controller. I didn’t want pills, so I exercised and cleaned up my diet. It worked—until it didn’t. A few years later, working at the Pentagon and skipping the gym, I was back on meds.

Now? I carry pills in both pockets and keep backups in my truck, gym bag, and nightstand. It’s not ideal. And I’m just getting started.

Here’s the current lineup:

• Hydrochlorothiazide – blood pressure

• Telmisartan – blood pressure

• Cialis – yep, that too

• Flomax – for... the other issue

• Gabapentin – nerve pain

• Baclofen – muscle relaxer

• Ropinirole – for tremors and restless leg (when it works)

• Ibuprofen – Vitamin M, for pain

• Tylenol – backup dancer to ibuprofen

And if you’re tempted to ask about doses—don’t. I probably won’t know the answer anyway.

Nope, these aren’t organic. But neither were the whiskeys I drank, the pesticides I inhaled as a kid chasing crop dusters, or the burn pit fumes and dry-cleaning chemicals I absorbed in the military. So I’m not too worried about my meds.

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Exercise: The Real Wonder Drug

Even the best meds can’t replace movement. Exercise is my real lifeline.

Here’s my routine:

• Therapy: I’m doing about seven hours a week, split between physical, occupational, and speech therapy. That’s just the structured part.

• Walking: One mile a day, when possible. My gait’s off thanks to Parkinson’s, a bad knee, and a compressed disc—but I do what I can. Christine is my walking coach, unless the no-see-ums are out. Then I walk solo.

• Spinning: Yes, the stationary bike thing with disco lights and a coach yelling encouragement. It's my favorite—and most effective—workout. Intense cardio helps reduce tremors. Plus, our instructor humors me with the occasional Bob Seger track. You haven’t lived until you’ve sprinted to Hollywood Nights on a bike going nowhere.

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Still Moving

That’s the theme. Life with Parkinson’s isn’t about returning to who I was. It’s about showing up as who I am—meds, therapy, tremors and all. Every day I move is a win.

Still spinning. Still folding laundry. Still in motion.
For now, Newton and I are on the same page.

Next time: I’ll introduce you to Phil—my Parkinson’s alter ego. He’s unpredictable, a bit of a nuisance, and always keeps me guessing. More on him soon. There’s no escaping a few sports analogies here.