My uncle went in as a Parkinson’s patient, but ‘Mr. Dynasty’ came, too
Having the freedom to be himself made a big difference at appointments
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“Mr. Dynasty. Why do we have the pleasure of seeing you?”
Uncle Brandon’s doctor already knew something wasn’t right. His next appointment wasn’t for another two weeks, but we’d called to ask if he could see him that day. Still, that didn’t stop him from greeting Uncle Brandon the way he normally did.
“Mr. Dynasty” was the nickname he’d given my uncle after the two discovered a shared interest in hunting. “Duck Dynasty” was popular at the time, and somewhere along the way, the nickname stuck. Uncle Brandon never made a big production out of liking it, but considering that he answered whenever his doctor called him that, I considered that a win. Their relationship had become one of the bright spots in the medical side of his life with Parkinson’s disease.
He’d previously worked with another practitioner, but the two never quite saw eye to eye. Eventually, Uncle Brandon found a neurologist who seemed to understand how he wanted to be treated. His doctor didn’t sugarcoat difficult information about Parkinson’s, which Uncle Brandon appreciated. But he also didn’t talk down to him or make every conversation feel hopeless.
Most importantly, he let Uncle Brandon be Uncle Brandon.
Their appointments could occasionally sound like comedy roast sessions. Uncle Brandon would make some off-center remark, his doctor would fire something equally snarky back, and that familiar cackle would travel through the practice. The rest of the staff got to know him, too.
Going to the doctor began to feel a little less like entering a stoic medical environment and a little more like going to see the crew.
That familiarity mattered on this particular visit.
Having room to just be Uncle Brandon
For several days, I’d noticed that Uncle Brandon wasn’t himself. Even with his Parkinson’s symptoms, he usually found some way to radiate energy. This time, getting up and around seemed more difficult. A cough became increasingly persistent, and eventually, I noticed his breathing seemed more labored.
Naturally, Uncle Brandon insisted he was fine. And naturally, we disagreed.
Despite the hand waves telling us to leave him alone, we practically dragged him to a walk-in clinic. He received medication, but by the next day, things hadn’t improved enough for us to feel comfortable. He wasn’t willing to go to the hospital, so we arranged an urgent visit with his regular doctor.
There sat Mr. Dynasty, feeling lousy but apparently still able to discuss the latest episode of “Duck Dynasty” while his doctor examined him.
Then his familiar medical staff began stopping by.
They joked that Uncle Brandon apparently couldn’t stand waiting another two weeks to see them, so he’d gotten sick just to come in early.
Even feeling poorly, Uncle Brandon didn’t miss his opportunity. “If seeing y’all’s bright faces can make me feel better, then I’m already winning,” he said flirtatiously. There he was.
After testing, we learned that Uncle Brandon had a strain of influenza. Thankfully, his doctor determined that he didn’t need to be admitted, and we were able to take him home with instructions for his care. But I noticed something afterward.
Once Uncle Brandon was home, settled, and medicated, he seemed calmer than he’d been before the appointment. That amused me, considering how hard we’d had to work to get him there in the first place.
Looking back, however, I understand it differently.
Uncle Brandon once told me that jovial conversation in medical settings helped things feel more ordinary. It gave him moments when he didn’t have to focus entirely on where he was or everything Parkinson’s had brought into his life. His doctor and staff gave him room for that.
They could take his health seriously without making every interaction solemn. They could discuss Parkinson’s honestly and still talk about hunting. They could examine him while debating “Duck Dynasty.” They knew his medical needs, but they also knew him.
I can’t say that laughter made Uncle Brandon’s symptoms disappear. It didn’t. And humor couldn’t change the reason he needed medical care. But familiar faces, a running joke, and the freedom to be himself could change how those moments felt.
Sometimes Uncle Brandon walked into that practice as a man living with Parkinson’s who needed medical care.
But Mr. Dynasty got to walk in, too.
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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