Bradykinesia is a common symptom of Parkinson’s Disease. It translates literally from the Greek – Bradys: delayed, slow or tardy; and Kinesis: movement or motion.
Not quite the stereotypical shaking…it feels like moving through a viscous liquid.
As if by magical incantation, those words of pre-emptive diagnosis, (“I think you have Parkinson’s Disease”) lingering like the smell of dog excrement on a shoe; conjured Parkinsonism symptoms instantaneously.
The following moments could have easily taken place in the deepest depths of the ocean, where the increased pressure and aqueous solution slow our human movements down to an embarrassing, amateur-like attempt, to proceed through the foreign underwater landscape. All the while fish dart, dancing through the coral and weed, perfectly designed to be unencumbered with grace and speed in this terrain.
The invisible fluid wrapped around my legs trying desperately to hold me back, whilst it seeped into my skull and violated my thoughts, as I struggled onward to the reception desk. My left paw clung to the desk as though I could easily be swept away; whilst my right littered papers of instructions and procedures, that were well beyond my clouded mind’s capacity for cognition.
Thankfully the attending receptionist recognised what was, for me – a new and disturbing state of mind. A head full of information and questions fighting for attention, with all the manners of a parliamentary session; constructing around my common sense, an impenetrable barrier of befuddlement – and yet for her, what must likely be, an everyday opportunity for kindness. As though gifted with pentecostal abilities, she effortlessly translated my garbled, nonsensical response to “How can I help you?”
Gently Reshuffling my paperwork along the desk with meticulous precision; her calm demeanour acted to melt away my surrounding and intruding fog, bringing me back to the world that more closely resembled the one I understood.
‘I’ll look after these, Todd. But you best take this one straight to Medical Imaging. They are already booking for 6 months time so do that straight away…Todd, there’s a water dispenser at the end of the corridor. Have some water and follow the signage.”
I took the referral back from the receptionist, headed down the corridor and filled her wise prescription into a small, delicate and scrunchy white plastic cup. Not quite a full mouthful, I re-filled, took a breath, poured the second cup of cooled water down my throat and allowed my vision to sharpen on the sign that would direct me to Medical Imaging.
“We’re currently booking for August.” The new receptionist greeted me and collected the referral simultaneously. The gentle lift of her brow indicated that her attention had shifted to Professor Wilcox’s scrawled note at the top of the page.
Please book this in as soon as possible.
Her kind eyes looked back to what I can imagine to have been a pasty ghostlike shell of a man, stooped with a burden of fear and confusion. Time would certainly have appeared critically important, and the receptionist swooped into action. ‘Well look at that, your lucky day…’ – her eyes fluttered back down as the squeak of an awkward chuckle prematurely escaped from the back of her mouth; betraying her silent wish to retract those ironic words – ‘…we’ve had a cancellation at 5pm, do you think you could come back today?’
Whatever action my shell indicated as a response, must have been understood as affirmative. The appointment was made and I absentmindedly navigated my way back to the symbolically safe and familiar bubble of my car. My initial and full of bravado self-talk piped up, directing me back to work; before being muffled into submission, by the single, involuntary, cool drop of salted water, sliding through eyelashes; creating a glistening trail across the open plains of my cheek before disappearing into the ginger jungle of my beard.
The car obediently switched on and took me home.
