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At 08:41 AM 1/9/97 -0500, you wrote: >To all list members: > >After reading Tuesday's massive digest (80+ pages), I was inspired to bring >all of you up to date on a significant turn of events in my life. > >Yesterday, I became a statistic. > >I now proudly (what other way is there) wear the badge proclaiming me >DISABLED. Next Tuesday I begin receiving weekly disability checks from my >employer. I'm 53, so that means a very large, very profitable company will >fork over NEARLY HALF A MILLION DOLLARS in disability income and medical >insurance premiums until I reach age 65. > >How's that for a statistic to throw at President Clinton in my Udall Bill >letter? > >Funny, I don't feel disabled. Sure, sometimes I walk funny. Other times, it >takes ten or 12 jabs to disengage that pesky CAPS LOCK key on my computer. > Or my legs practice field goal kicking while I'm stretched out in my >recliner engrossed in another episode of "Wheel of Fortune." And today, as I >attempted to butter my roll at lunch, I flung soft margarine across the >cafeteria when my arm decided to wave the knife over my head. > >Yes, I am disabled. I can still dress myself, run up and down the spiral >staircase in our home, type about 80 wpm when the Sinemet is working, drive >(most of the time), make love, pay our bills, take care of my dog Garp, and >perform hundreds of other day-to-day tasks we all take for granted. > >But I can't work. > >Why? I hear you ask. > >Because Parkinson's apparently has robbed me of the ability to comprehend, >organize and coordinate complex projects. Unfortunately, I was blind to this >metamorphosis. But my boss wasn't. I found out yesterday during my annual >performance review how critical the situation had become. Luckily, my boss >left the decision about my future up to me. > >I chose "long-term disability." > >>From the tone of this letter, you probably believe it was an easy decision. >Believe me, it wasn't. Last night I had to face the gut-wrenching, >hair-ripping, wailing, fist-through-the-walls truth. After 30 years of >working, I was no longer considered productive. I couldn't cut it, mentally >or physically. Luckily, I'm married to a woman who understands emotional >crises and knows how to deal with them. We slept only about two hours last >night. But today --- with both of us facing the grief --- she drove me 60 >miles to my office, where I informed my boss of my decision. Then, my wife >and I celebrated the start of my new life with lunch at one of Houston's >finest cafeterias (see "flinging butter" incident earlier in letter). > >Now, I'm a PDP - Permanently Disabled Person. Or, as I perfer to consider >myself, a PPTSHDN: Person Paid To Stay Home and Do Nothing. > >Actually, I plan to do a lot. Parkinson's activism. Household duties (my wife >works). And write fiction. Novels. Short stories. Anything to exercise my >mind and hands. Anything to keep my creative brain cells from croaking. >Anything to prevent me from falling into that dark pit of depression. > >Here I go. Off into the world of the "paid to stay home." > >Wish me luck. > >Thanks for listening. > >Stan Houston (53/5) >Cat Spring, Texas 78933 > >[log in to unmask] Hello Stan I share your explanation of your disability as I am about to enter that world. The way you describe your feelings at home and at work is very similar to my situation - very ambivalent most of the time. I too have plans to do crafts, write, and read. I too feel like crying on the spot and wonder why... You don't mention medication - have you started? My School Board has been thoughtful as well as the Insurance Co. Till next time Fell