Last Thursday, because of a mistake I had made in mixing my Liquid Sinemet I suffered eight hours of dyskinesia. After the dyskinesia ended, to say the least, I was as weak as ten-day-old dishwater. I could not find a comfortable position to sit. I could not find a comfortable position to lay down. I was in so much pain that I was sure that I would lose my mind before morning dawned.

At 3:00 in the morning I found myself in a bathtub filled with as hot water as I could stand. I had so many emotions going through me. You would think after 20 years of this disease called Pd I would be more careful in mixing my Sinemet. Future Hint: Do not mix medicines without proper lighting. It was not enough to be battered and bruised from the dyskinesia; I had to add misery by berating myself for the mistake I had made.

Before I knew it I had my arms literally wrapped around my legs in a crunched up sitting position. I had begun to weep and to cry out from the pain. I actually felt if I could just crawl inside myself, inside under the skin, deep within, maybe, just maybe I could search out and destroy the Charlie Horses that had taken up residence in every muscle of my body. I came to a realization that there is no way possible to turn myself wrong side out. I sat in the hot water and actually imagined turning myself wrong side out. By turning wrong side out I would not be able to see the many bruises that the dyskinesia caused. If the bruises were hidden, no stranger would see them. No one would ask where the bruises came from.

Dyskinesia does not have the manners to first ask your permission to dance. It will rudely sweep you off your feet and commence to force you into a jitter-bug from hell. All the while, you are praying that a polite entity would tap you on the shoulder and gently take you in its arms and whisk you away to a calmer place, a place of healing, a place of rest. Is there such a place where there is no PD?

Until that heavenly call, Naproxen and Flexeril will have to heal the hurts.

Sandra Norris