Former Mayor Undergoes New Parkinson's Treatment (Deep Brain Stimulation)
By JEFF HORSEMAN Staff Writer

Published November 30, 2003

Challenge to Pip Moyer once meant a full-court press or a close election.

Eleven years into his fight with Parkinson's disease, it meant buttoning a shirt or reaching for a coffee cup.

The involuntary jerks, stilted movement and strained speech drove the former mayor to consider a nursing home.

Then came word of a new surgical procedure involving brain implants and tiny electric shocks to counteract the
neurological disorder.

Two surgeries later, the 69-year-old Eastport native and one-time basketball phenom can shadowbox, shoot hoops, chop
wood and do simple tasks that had become impossible.

The results "were as close to miraculous as anything I've witnessed," said Mr. Moyer's daughter, Loni.

Mr. Moyer, ex-husband of current Mayor Ellen O. Moyer, isn't cured of his mysterious affliction.

But he wants other Parkinson's sufferers to see the benefits of deep brain stimulation, one of the most advanced
weapons against a disease affecting an estimated 500,000 to 1.5 million Americans.

"I'd go straight to DBS if it were me," said Judy Rosner of the Parkinson's Disease Foundation.

Mr. Moyer's battle with the disease started when he kept stubbing his toe while exercising.

Walking up the ramp to the Annapolis Housing Authority offices one day, he fell flat on his face.

"It was like somebody pushed me down," Mr. Moyer said.

He went to the doctor and was diagnosed with Parkinson's, which kills cells producing the neurotransmitter dopamine.

Mr. Moyer said he was actually relieved when he heard the diagnosis. At least he knew what was wrong with him.

There is no known cause for Parkinson's, which can inhibit victims' movement, speech and memory.

"You're totally aware of everything that's going on," Mr. Moyer said. "But it's like somebody poured plaster of Paris
over you and it's hardened. You can't move. And you think your body's moving, but it's not."

'Sad to watch'

Mr. Moyer, who served as mayor from 1965 until 1973, had faced crisis before.

His rapport with the African-American community - he once was the only white on a 10-member basketball team in the city
- helped him following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968. He urged calm as other cities burned during
riots.

He became deputy director of the housing authority in 1988. He ended up running the authority amid a corruption scandal
that sent executive director Arthur G. Strissel Jr. to federal prison.

He went on medication soon after his diagnosis. At first, "I didn't even realize I had the disease," he said.

His daughter also didn't notice any symptoms.

"Dad's a pretty stoic character," said Ms. Moyer, 35. "He's not one to whine."

He did his best to stay in shape early on. Fitness has always been a priority for Mr. Moyer, who led Annapolis High
School to the state basketball quarterfinals twice and his Fort Dix team to an All-Army championship in 1958.

But Parkinson's is a progressive disorder, and about six years after Mr. Moyer's diagnosis, the drugs weren't working.

His dosage went up, but it wasn't enough. Soon Mr. Moyer was reeling from the medications' side effects, such as
uncontrollable shaking and the dropping of his head.

"It got worse and worse as the years went by," said longtime friend and former city recreation and parks director Dick
Callahan. "It was very, very sad to watch for me."

One of the most difficult things for Ms. Moyer to watch was the decline in her father's talking ability.

"He's a very good public speaker," she said.

Ms. Rosner, of the Parkinson's Disease Foundation, said medicated patients often enter an "on-off time," where the
drugs don't work for extended stretches.

"Not all patients are willing to cut back (on the medications) because they fear losing the benefits they already
have," she said.

It got to the point where Mr. Moyer's children had to help him dress. He resigned himself to spending his remaining
years in an assisted living facility.

A probing solution

Earlier this year, a neurologist told Mr. Moyer about deep brain stimulation, which was approved by the Food and Drug
Administration last year.

The operation starts with holes bored into a patient's skull. With the aid of computer mapping, electrodes are planted
in the brain.

Wires are run down from the brain under the skin to tiny pacemakers implanted in the patient's chest. The pacemakers
send electric pulses to the brain to quell tremors.

Mr. Moyer underwent two surgeries - one for each side of his body - at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore under
renowned neurosurgeon Dr. Frederick Lenz. The last one was in September.

Wearing a harness on his head, Mr. Moyer was awake as doctors bored into his skull, counting the millimeters as they
went along. He watched the procedure painlessly on an overhead TV.

"I was so fascinated by the medicine part of it," Mr. Moyer said. "In my next lifetime, I'm going to be either a
Redemptorist priest or a Hopkins doctor."

He was put to sleep for the pacemaker installation. Each operation lasted between 6 and 7 hours.

He went home after three days in recovery.

The benefits of deep brain stimulation for Parkinson's sufferers are, in most instances, almost immediate.

In Mr. Moyer's case, he's regained his active lifestyle. To prove his point, he shot up from his easy chair and trotted
across his living room.

"When he left for the doctor, he was shuffling," Ms. Moyer said. "He came back and skipped up the front door ... It
took him back 10 years."

Mr. Moyer said there's been no negative effects and he only needs an eighth of the medicine he required before.

A cure-all?

Doctors warn that deep brain stimulation isn't a panacea and does have risks.

There's a miniscule chance of complications such as brain bleeding. Those wanting the surgery must be cleared by a
neurologist.

Tom Mislan of Severna Park heads the county chapter of the American Parkinson's Disease Association. He said a couple
of patients he knew went under the knife with high hopes.

"It helped, but it wasn't as helpful as they thought," said Mr. Mislan, whose chapter has a mailing list of 250.

The operation can only be done at Hopkins or a handful of hospitals nationwide.

It costs between $40,000 and $50,000, and while insurance usually picks up most of that, Mr. Moyer had to pay $2,500
out of his own pocket for the part Medicare didn't cover.

The pacemakers' batteries have to be replaced every few years, and the electric shocks need adjustment to keep up with
the disease.

Even Mr. Moyer admits he's not sure how long the operation will help. But he's grateful to have another shot at a
normal life.

"It was spiritual as well as medical. It was like God came in and put his hand on my shoulder and washed it away," he
said.

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JEFF HORSEMAN Staff Writer
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SOURCE: The Capital-Gazette Newspapers, Annapolis, Md
http://www.hometownannapolis.com/cgi-bin/read/2003/11_30-30/TOP

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