The appointment that could not be put off any longer. Flaming ball of hope? or ginger mopped head in hands?
The well-worn leather sole of his slip-on dunlop volley, shuffled forward determined to make contact with each square-inch of linoleum tile that lay in its path. The elderly gentleman at the helm, was being lovingly and patiently steered along the hallway, by whom I assumed, was his angelic wife. A little sad, but very touching, I thought as my eyes shifted to another patient; whose vacant face tilted backward, dominated by an oxygen tube and gauze strips that clung haphazardly, too hastily taped to his face. I’m sure I caught a glimpse of shame or embarrassment as the fluorescent light momentarily flickered and reflected off his otherwise tranquil, sapphire irises. His wheelchair rolled by; faint, sinister squeals emitting from the aged rubber tyres, propelled by a carer for whom it seemed dignity and hope were beyond reach.
A familiar shiver coursed up my spine, as I settled into the waiting room chair. I was dishevelled, having rushed from work, through hectic traffic, knowing that I had left tasks half finished, and staff politely filling my roles – no doubt eagerly awaiting my return. On the noticeboard in front of me I saw that the neurologist I had been allocated had been replaced by a Professor Wilcox, but I could see little need to concern myself with who was going to see me; as I was sure that they would quickly agree that this visit was precautionary only, and I would walk out with a gentle slap on the back, tickling my buoyant sense of contentment and relief.
”Todd Murfitt” – Great timing I thought as things were already going my way – I had not even reached for my phone to check emails yet, indicating a wait of less than 5 minutes for sure! I pounced to my feet and turned to see my Neurologist standing behind me, to my left. Instead of reaching for my outstretched hand as is usually custom; Professor Wilcox raised his brow a fraction and instructed me to sit back down. Ever the good student, there was no hesitation, as my suit creased back into the seated position, my gaze set awaiting my next instruction.
“Stand back up.”
I complied.
“Take a walk down that corridor, turn, and walk back to me.” – This is going to be quick I thought, he’s not even wasting time bringing me into the consulting room. I took off down the hall knowing smugly that he could already see I was -not perfect – but average or above in terms of physical fitness and I would shortly be on my way, embarrassed to have taken time away from the patients around me. I spun around and paced back to where my Professor was this time initiating the customary handshake.
”Hi Todd, I’m Robert Wilcox. Just through here, thanks.” The hand that had just clasped mine, now motioned to the consulting room, which all of a sudden took on a slightly more ominous feel. As we sat down in our respective places, Dr Wilcox reached for a folder, sliding out a neat stack of ‘black line masters’ – that, had he been one of my teachers, I would have asked him to politely burn and never allow into this century again. Unlike the ever evolving landscape of primary education, diagnostic neurology worksheets don’t seem to date so quickly.
He explained, as he nonchalantly fanned the corners of his small paper ream, that we needed to go through some standard tests – routine of course, “piece of cake, for a school principal.” Amusing now, but Marty McFly, responding to being taunted – “Chicken?” flickered briefly in and then just as quickly out of my vision.
I shook my head gently, a dorky wry smile tickling the corners of my mouth, there is no doubt that my entire lifetime spent in school, had left its mark…I do love a test. Powering through the paper work my confidence rose again; nailed it. Anything less than full marks and this appointment will need to stretch longer; so that I can help Dr Wilcox understand where he marked the score incorrectly.
“Up you get, Todd.”
My chair groaned noisily as it slid back, Dr Wilcox motioned me into position and proceeded to test me out with a range of balance, rythym and coordination actions. As sharply as my confidence had grown, it plummeted to new lows, and like caustic bile, my excuses clawed out abrasively from somewhere near the back of my throat.
“I used to be very fit…Haven’t been working out lately…It’s been a very busy morning…I’m a bit tired from racing up the stairs…This should be easy for me… I am co-ordinated…I am stronger than I look…”
Now feeling defeated I slumped back into the patient chair. Dr Wilcox nestled back behind the desk and turned my perfect test, so that I could see my work. Clearly he is trying to cheer me up. Everything will still be fine. Phew!
”Todd, what do you notice about the square you drew?”
Like a David Copperfield extravaganza, my square was unveiled, and I looked on in dazed amazement as it had been squashed into a rectangle. The house I had drawn – suffered the same effect. My handwriting had progressively shrunk. My flawless tracking between lines, was not at all – it bounced from edge to edge breaking through the intended barrier a number of times. What is this wizardry? What happened to my work?
“Todd, I think you have Parkinson’s Disease.”
