Yesterday was not a normal day for me. Yes, I did the regular ol’ stuff the regular ol’ way, but the end result was irregular.
I woke up the same way I always did — staring at the ceiling. I sat up as usual and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Then things took a different turn. Usually, when I get out of bed in the morning, I stand and then slightly shuffle my feet into the bathroom. This morning, however, was different.
I didn’t do my regular slight shuffle or take my regular step up in the middle of the bathroom floor. I did a new, full-on running shuffle into the bathroom and, unable to slow down or stop, tripped over the step and ended up flat on the floor. I lay there, thankful that this was not a regular ol’ part of my morning routine.
However, my day wasn’t over.
I had my regular morning medicinal cocktail, followed by a small, ice-cold glass of milk and a hot shower. Everything seemed to be going as usual. After getting dressed and drying my hair, I did the dishes and picked up a little bit around the house.
Eventually, it was time to pick up my grandson from preschool. Upon arriving home, I gladly agreed to go for a walk with him and his friend who lives next door.
Empty gravel yards adorn the lots near our residence in a mobile home park. There are no structures on two-thirds of the property since the past summer’s wildfires let loose their flames to lick the area nearly bare of any life or structures. Ours was one of a handful that remained standing.
Because of the devastation that wreaked havoc through our park on that blustery day last October, there are plenty of empty places to walk, especially areas that are thickly covered with big chunks of gravel. It was in one of these areas that my grandson and his friend decided to look for treasures amid the chunky gravel.
While I listened to them chatter, excited about the valuables they were unearthing — screws, pieces of broken clay pots — I turned to walk, and that’s when it happened.
However, there was no step, like in the bathroom, that was going to lessen the impact. The first stage of my landing took the brunt of my fall, leaving me sprawled out as if I had been defeated in the midst of a pushup. This undoubtedly explains why my shoulders are so sore today.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t finished. As my grandson yelled, “Oh no! Grammy!” my face finished up the fall with a big thud onto the gravel.
That’s when I needed a hero. That’s when my hero stepped up and stepped in.
I heard him say, “I’m getting Boppa [his grandpa].” My grandson laid his treasures down and started running. I picked myself up, and with my little neighbor beside me, I walked as fast as my broken body would take me to maintain sight of my grandson. I watched him run with fervor the entire way back to the house, never once slowing down.
After what seemed like forever, he reappeared from around the corner of the house with Boppa. I was cleaned up and ready to go back and gather my grandson’s treasures, braving the gravel once more. After all, my hero was walking right beside me. What could go wrong?
Note: Parkinson’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Parkinson’s News Today or its parent company, BioNews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Parkinson’s disease.
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