Diagnosis.

You have Parkinsons I heard the Doctor say,

Was he talking to me as he looked the other way.

Of course I did not believe him, who would,

So I went to another Doctor as I thought I should.

I tried not to shake or nod my weary head,

I tried not to think of what the other Doctor said.

He told me to cross the floor to the other side of the room,

Turn round and come back, this really sealed my doom.

With hesitating steps I toppled on the way,

I re-crossed the room to hear what he had to say.

Lay yourself down on the couch and close your eyes,

Now move your index finger to your nose, I had another surprise.

My hand did not obey me at least not straight away,

Why the heck I hesitated, I really cannot say.

He told me to pull some faces but my face muscles had no power,

I was shaking all over in the space of one short hour.

Now shake both hands held out at arms length,

I shook my right hand my left had no strength.

He asked me many questions, I answered as best I could,

My soft voice betrayed me, as I knew it would.

You have Parkinsons, I am sorry to have to say,

I still did not believe this but he eventually had his way.

He sent me into hospital just for observation,

I now fell apart much to my consternation.

I fought against this monster, I as stubborn as a mule,

Until I learned to accept then I felt really cool.

But I was a fool for feeling so cocky bold,

As I was quickly shown that Parkinson has its hold.

Spell after spell in the hospital of my choice,

With logopaedy training to strengthen up my voice.

Depressions came a long it was a bitter blow,

Thinking thoughts that no-one ought to know.

Years passed, hospitals were becoming part of my life.

Pain came and went after cutting like a knife.

A new drug, SINAMET is its name,

Life is much better after taking of the same.

In all my sixteen years of living with this thing,

I truly had some one that made my heart to sing.

A care giver my lovely lady wife,

Always cheerful, caring, she has saved my life.

When I am down in the dumps, depressed,

Who’s loving hands help me to get dressed.

She bathes me, she feeds me, sees to my every need,

Shaving me, caressing me, a Care-Giver indeed.

If there is ever a cure, I am sure that it will come,

I will ever praise her for all of the work she has done.

Now to finish off my tale of my Parkinson shakes,

Let the cure come quickly for all our Parky sakes.

                                      Bernard Shaw