It’s world Parkinson’s awareness day. Who’d have thought, when I received my diagnosis, and believed my world had ended, that 18 months later we’d be fighting a worldwide pandemic?! Certainly puts a new perspective on everything… I even made it on to the government’s ‘vulnerable’ list but apparently I’m not vulnerable enough, so as a keyworker, I’m still working. As I am frequently reminded on social media, I chose to do this job. I get paid to do this job. I know that. And I’m doing it with little complaint at a very scary time. I wish the same people who choose to berate keyworkers for the gratitude and gifts they have received, would follow the guidelines to stay at home with the same vociferousness. So on this world Parkinson’s awareness day 2020, the situation in the world means I’m not sleeping and my stress and anxiety have exacerbated my Parkinson’s symptoms quite dramatically. My tremor is normally well-controlled by the medication I take but it is back with a vengeance… It’s OK, I’ve got another hand!

But it will take more than that to stop me! It’s a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, isn’t it?! And as I’m so often reminded , usually by people who have absolutely no idea, it could be worse!! I’m having that on my headstone… Happy World Parkinson’s Awareness Day!!

In an effort to raise a smile during these tense and trying times, the rest of this post will be a little bit more lighthearted. I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will for all the naysayers who think I’m making light of the situation, this in no way detracts from the seriousness of the situation we all find ourselves in. So I decided that when we come out the other side of all of this, I needed to have achieved something, to have something to show for the many, many hours spent at home. A new hobby of sorts! Hobbies do not come easily to me, having little creative skill and limited manual dexterity. So imagine my glee when I unearthed a 5D diamond painting kit which I had ordered months ago and not started?! For those of you who have no idea what this is, it’s a bit like painting by numbers, only you stick on tiny coloured gems instead of painting. No skill required! However, I hadn’t appreciated how tiny and light those little plastic gems are… and that when you tip them into the little tray in order to use them and blow on them to get rid of the inevitable cat hair, they scatter in a million different directions! So you pick up the ones you can see and now you have no idea whether you have enough to complete the bloody thing anyway!!

And you also didn’t anticipate how boring it would be!! Throw in my newly returned tremor and after a couple of hours I had only achieved this much… Just for clarification, as if you need any, the black bits are the bits I’ve done… Give me about 20 years and I might finish it…

So my life revolves around work, trying to sleep, sitting in the garden, consuming alcohol and walking the hound. Thanks to the lockdown and only being able to walk in the vicinity of your home, I have made a welcome discovery! There is actually a footpath which cuts across the golf course and takes you to the river. Who knew?! Imagine my glee at the prospect of a proper walk and not another lap of the housing estate?! It has taken a few walks to work out my favourite route and the best time of day to avoid groups of teenagers (yes, really!), joggers and other dog walkers. Dodgy looking blokes are somewhat inevitable it seems… Obi and I now have a 5km route along the river side and he loves it. The only downside is that now that the golf course is not in use for its intended purpose, geese, swans and herons have taken up permanent residence there. Generally they have the sense to get out of the way of people and dogs but on occasion they sit there, resolutely refusing to budge and emitting a warning honk or hiss if you get too near. They hadn’t reckoned with the dog of little brain… One minute we are enjoying a leisurely stroll along the river in the sunshine, the next, Obi spots a pair of geese in the distance, and in the time it takes for my tired brain to register what is about to happen, he’s off! Like a heat-seeking missile he heads for his target at ninety miles an hour, ears flapping and crazy maniacal look in his eyes. He continues on his course even after the geese take off and fly across the golf course honking madly. In a matter of minutes he has disappeared, the hillocks offering an occasional glimpse of his flapping ears as he flies over them unhindered. I utter a pathetic ‘Obi!!’, knowing nothing will distract him… I’m braless and nothing will persuade me to attempt to run after him. I spin round on my heels and shrug my shoulders wondering how long I should wait for him to come back, when out of nowhere he reappears as fast as he disappeared, panting and ecstatically happy. I grab him just as he spots an unsuspecting heron and we head home. I glance over my shoulder checking for onlookers and as I breathe a sigh of relief, I turn and notice the CCTV cameras… Marvellous!

Happy Easter!!

Life is simply a series of moments. Intricately intertwined and woven together, a delicate string of memories creating the threads of your story. We have the power to choreograph these moments into our own unique life story. Sometimes these moments are exactly as you predict and rehearse them in your mind’s eye. Other times they take on a life of their own and spiral uncontrollably down a path you hadn’t noticed before, or refused to acknowledge. These moments force you to address your fears and face your demons. They take your story in a direction you would never have chosen for yourself. But when you look back, these are the precise moments which made you the person you are today. These moments help you to define your strengths and acknowledge your weaknesses. If you choose to ignore the more difficult and challenging moments which make up your story, your fears have the power to suffocate you and dictate the path your story will take.

We are all experiencing an unprecedented moment. A worldwide pandemic fills us all with fear and anxiety and panic. We struggle to interpret our feelings and try to justify their positivity or negativity in the face of adversity. Neither is right or wrong. I have moments, albeit brief, where I am confident everything will be ok. My family will not be affected and we will come out of this relatively unscathed. We have to be positive! But is that realistic, really?? Then I have moments where reality hits and I am overwhelmed with grief for the loved ones I might lose. I can’t lose anyone. I can’t contemplate a version of this life which does not have all of my friends and loved ones in it. I have a recurring vivid nightmare that a demon is standing on my throat. I can’t fight him off and I can’t breathe or speak. It is about as real an experience that it is possible for a dream to be. I wake up gasping and petrified, sweating and crying. Every night. My amateur interpretation of this horrific nightmare is that I’m going to succumb to Coronavirus. And then that grief transforms into utter desperation as I consider that I might not survive. That is the unthinkable reality. I am planning to write letters to my boys, just in case I’m not around to see them grow up. I need to cement my feelings and hopes and dreams for them all. I need them to know how loved they are…

The other moments which occupy my mind relate to my usefulness in all of this. I have a condition which is negatively impacted by stress. This is an unusually stressful time. Consequently I am wobblier than normal. I promise I will not succumb to this decline and will continue to do my best, particularly at work, but also at home. I’m aware my best may not be enough but I can only assure you, I’m trying. I am also experiencing moments of anger. Anger that people can’t or won’t do what is asked of them. Anger at the sense of entitlement amongst certain sectors of society. Anger at the people who have no regard for the keyworkers who risk their lives every single day. Anger at the injustice of it all. But in all of this there have been moments of humour and laughter and pure joy. There have been moments of solidarity and support and care.

I am a member of a sisterhood, a band of amazing women, who bolster one another and create a framework of love and support so that we might rise up and face this challenge with our combined strength and determination. My NHS family. The PPE is hot and uncomfortable, dehydrating you and forming a physical barrier between you and the women you care for and each other. Communication is difficult as facial expression is lost behind a surgical mask and visor, creating misunderstanding and often misinterpretation of meaning and intent. The constant hand washing reddens and cracks your already painful skin. The women we care for are understandably anxious and rely on us more than ever to allay their fears, and simply, to care. The public displays of gratitude and gifts we receive are the moments I will choose to remember. The moments in a difficult shift when someone makes you laugh until your chest hurts are moments to be cherished and embraced. Live each moment, good and bad. Reflect on the moments which stay with you and return to your conscious thought, until you can address them or share them. These are the moments which will define you as a person. Keep fighting, keep talking, keep caring… We’ve got this!

I am a mum, a wife, a person with Parkinson’s, a midwife, a daughter, a friend… but I am not a hero. We’re all in this fight against Covid 19 together, and if everyone does their bit, whether that is as frontline keyworkers, parents homeschooling their kids, vulnerable people self isolating or everyone else following the guidance to stay at home to protect everyone and limit the spread, we can beat this!

I am a mum to 3 boys. The guilt I feel for continuing to go to work while the rest of my family remain safely at home, is immense. My eldest son is on immunosuppressant medication. If I bring the virus home he will not be able to fight it. My middle son has OCD. His hands are red raw from the constant washing. He won’t come near me in case I’m contaminated, and constantly questions whether the measures I have in place to protect them, to protect us all, are enough? My youngest son is autistic. He cannot deal with a worldwide pandemic. Self isolation is his norm, but the new restrictions have led to an increasing frustration and panic that he can’t go out. I can’t answer his questions. I can’t reassure him that things will get better and life will go back to something that resembles normal. His anxiety that someone he loves will die, is heartbreaking. I can’t make that better. And as for homeschooling…. my kids have a long-held belief that I am nothing short of an utter moron. Admittedly, Year 10 and year 11 work is beyond me… proving their point! So homeschooling basically involves me asking them once a day whether they have completed any schoolwork and them fabricating an answer while I self isolate with some alcohol and the dog… That, right there, is why my kids would tell you, I am not a hero.

I have been married to Mark for 20 years, together for much longer. We’ve had our ups and downs but our relationship is now stronger than it has ever been. He is my soulmate. He has various underlying health problems which mean it wouldn’t be ideal for him to get the virus. And yet, by still going to work, I continue to risk his health. I try to stay away from my family as much as possible and limit physical contact with Mark, but I know deep down, I shouldn’t even be coming home to the same house, let alone sharing a bed with him. I’m sure Mark believes I am rejecting him but nothing could be further from the truth. This is my clumsy attempt to try to protect him because I love him and would literally be lost without him. I don’t know what else I can do. He is of the mindset that it’s too late now… I am not a hero.

I am a midwife. I risk my own health, and that of my family, by continuing to go to work. I look after women who may be incubating the virus, or who have the virus with mild or no symptoms. But what is the alternative? A comment was made this week that midwives are not frontline staff… I don’t agree, for the very reasons I’ve stated above. We triage pregnant women in the same way as everyone else is triaged in A&E, potentially exposing us to the virus in exactly the same way as staff working on the frontline in A&E. Unlike the rest of the population who would be isolated on specific Covid 19 wards, we have to continue to care for symptomatic women and babies within the maternity department. Unlike other specialities which have cancelled all non-essential elective surgeries, babies will not wait and so our surgeries and inductions continue as normal, placing maternity staff at an increased risk that other frontline staff are shielded from. Where most community based face-to-face contact has been discontinued, our amazing community midwives continue to see pregnant women antenatally, and women and babies postnatally. The essential job they do cannot be withdrawn or carried out via a phone consultation. Don’t get me wrong, I am in no way belittling the fantastic work that is done by staff in A&E, on Covid wards and in ITU. They are true heroes in every sense. But equally, the misconception that midwives are not frontline feels a little bit unjust… I am simply trying to redress the balance and highlight the different but equally important roles we all play at this difficult time. And I would not be able to continue to get out of bed every morning and go to work without the support of an amazing team of women. Big shout out to my wonderful colleagues, the ones who are able to continue to come to work and do a great job under difficult and stressful circumstances, the ones who are self isolating and keeping themselves safe so they can come back and pick up the reins when we come out the other side of this crisis, and the ones who have succumbed to the virus and are fighting their best fight. I send you all my love and heartfelt thanks. I am not a hero.

I am a person with Parkinson’s. My condition is deteriorating. I need more medication. I cannot get repeat prescriptions of the drugs I already take, the drugs which allow me to function with some semblance of normality. Can you imagine how difficult it is to get a new drug prescribed?! And yet, despite this, I’m in a pretty good place! Despite this, I continue to work, parent, live… I am doing things despite the Parkinson’s, not because of the Parkinson’s anymore. My life, my happiness, my everything, is my choice. There are other people with Parkinson’s achieving much greater things. I am not a hero.

My mum lives in a tiny remote village on the edge of the River Tyne, almost 200 miles away. There are no local amenities within walking distance. She is over 70 and has underlying health issues. She is self isolating but is reluctant to accept help. I cannot help her. I can’t shop for her, collect her prescriptions or simply see for myself that she is ok. If she became ill I wouldn’t be able to get to her. I lose sleep at the possibility of never seeing her again. I am not a hero.

I have a small select group of women I am honoured to call my friends. I literally would not be the person I am today without them and their unending support and love. We have faced some very difficult challenges simply because we are friends, but the bond we have now is unbreakable. The people who tried to break us have actually ensured those bonds are tied tighter than ever. if I was a cynic I’d probably say something about Karma round about now… In difficult times, everybody needs friends to bolster them and raise their spirits. Mutual support is very much needed at a time when we’re all in this together but so very far apart. Thank goodness for technology and FaceTime and similar apps. Imagine if this pandemic had hit when we were kids?? It would have had a much greater impact on our mental health and emotional wellbeing. Isolation would have been exactly that. My kids don’t know how lucky they are. I know how lucky I am and how grateful I am every single day to have these people in my life. I am not a hero.

I’ve laboured a point but it comes back to this…. I am not a hero. I go to work and I cope as best I can. I am scared and anxious. I have shed a tear. But at the end of the day, we can only do our best with the limited information and resources we have. I know I’m only doing my job, and I’m grateful to have it and happy to do it. I am hopeful that one day soon, Joe Public will all follow the guidance to stay at home, stop lying about symptoms to cheat the system and stop spreading conspiracy theories which only serve to increase the general panic and put additional pressure on the people who are actually out there working and putting themselves and their families at risk. I wish this virus targetted the stupid people and spared the lives of those who are just doing their job…

I should’ve been in Northumberland this week, enjoying peaceful strolls along the beautiful coastline with the hound, and quality time with my mum. Bliss. A few days of necessary rest and relaxation and ‘me’ time. Yeah… no! Instead I have a child who’s determined effort to break his ankle has rendered my plans for peace unworkable, as I am now at his beck and call as chief taxi driver to and from school. I also have another man-child whose medication leaves him immunosuppressed. He has a cold. But he can’t understand why uni hasn’t directed him to self-isolate… Because it’s a cold?! He’s driving me ever so slightly insane… So between the two of them, and Mark having his right to flexi-time and home-working rescinded because of a tosspot he works with, it became necessary for me to be here, to maintain some semblance of routine and normality.

So here we are. I am obviously, and understandably, avoiding all but the absolutely necessary housework, and instead, I’m devoting my time to walking the dog somewhere different everyday. I walk him along the canal or the river every day. We like it. It’s familiar. And generally, it’s quiet. I don’t have to rein the delinquent in too often and there generally aren’t any witnesses to any incidents which might befall us. Why change when it works well for us?! Well, I had this nagging doubt that we might be missing out on much better walks, and who am I to deny my furry friend these exciting new experiences?!

And with that in mind, I took him to Foremark Reservoir. A number of people had advised me that we’d have a ‘lovely walk’ there… I have vague recollections of taking the boys there when they were younger but nothing concrete. I wish I’d thought harder about it before I set off!! It was a windy day. A very windy day when you consider that we were visiting a large expanse of open water and the wind was literally howling across it. Undeterred and oblivious, I donned my big coat and shackled the hound and we set off. I casually glanced around the car park and noted a pleasingly small number of vehicles being buffeted by the now gale force wind. I might be able to let the hound off the lead! I glanced at the map detailing the different walks and decided to attempt the longest of them. We had no other plans for the day. I had a momentary sense of unease as I acknowledged my terrible sense of direction, but figured that as long as I could see the enormous expanse of water we were walking around, I couldn’t get too lost…

As soon as we hit the main path I spotted an elderly couple ahead of us with an equally elderly Labrador. I knew I didn’t have it in me to go racing past them, so we sauntered along at a leisurely pace behind them, Obi Two-Shits decorating every tree he came across, while I struggled to open the many poo bags I required as a result. That old couple could’ve stopped for a flask of tea and a sandwich and we still wouldn’t have caught them up, so many shits I had to pick up in those impossible to open bags. Many, many minutes I will never get back, licking my fingers and screwing up plastic bags, muttering expletives under my breath, while the delinquent dog tried to fervently yank me off balance. After picking up shit no. 50 million, I glanced up and noticed the elderly couple disappearing arm-in-arm over the horizon, obedient dog trotting along beside them. So I grabbed my shit bags and strode off with a purpose, excited dog leaping and spinning beside me, spattering me with very wet mud and causing me to yell those things I only say when I don’t think anyone else can hear me…

So… picture the scene… me in my unnecessarily big coat and braless, having a wobbly day symptom wise but determined to get out with the crazy hound regardless. It was very windy but not cold so the big coat was doing me a disservice. The dog was jumping and spinning and yanking me unsteadily off my feet at every opportunity, and given the inclement conditions, it wasn’t difficult. We very quickly came to this point in the path…

I appreciate from the perspective in the photo, it doesn’t look that bad, but let me tell you, it was really steep, and covered in that thick, wet mud you can’t get a grip on. I stood at the bottom for a second, weighing up my options, and then stupidly followed the dog up the left hand pathway, reassured that the elderly couple had obviously successfully surmounted this obstacle.. Multiple shit bags in one hand and dog lead in the other (attached to said dog!) and I quickly realised that it didn’t leave me with a free hand to steady myself. A few steps in and my arms were waving everywhere, frantically grasping at grass and twigs, trying in vain to steady myself as my feet slid backwards in the wet mud and I shrieked uncontrollably, frightening the dog who attempted to ‘escape’ by running round the tree. This sudden burst of activity caused him to yank my right arm off the security of the tree trunk I was clinging to and send me backwards down the slope… a screaming mess of flailing limbs, and bags of dog excrement. After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to regain some control, grinned to myself and set off again, more determined than ever! A little bit of screeching and swearing later and a lot of mud and sliding and I made it to the top. I was elated. I mean that sort of achievement is akin to climbing Everest surely?! And then I turned round… just as a young, spritely couple and their lovely German Shepherd virtually skipped up the right hand pathway, smiling as they carried on with their ‘lovely’ walk. I don’t know how long they were there. I was listening to music so I certainly didn’t hear them approach above the cacophony of noise I myself had created… I don’t know how much of that spectacle they actually witnessed… Maybe they didn’t see it? They were walking at quite a pace ahead of me, so maybe they did?!

Onward and upward, happy dog now running free and me, hot, sweating and decorated ornately with mud and poo bags aplenty! But we had made it to a proper path. What could possibly go wrong now?! This, this precisely….

Note the happy dog skipping gleefully down the steps. There are two flights of these steps. The dog ran up and down them many times, in the time it took me to ascend them once. By the time I reached the top of the second set, I was purple, wheezing like an asthmatic pug, sweating despite my big coat now flapping freely in the breeze, my untethered breasts bouncing alarmingly in the freedom of my unzipped coat… I paused at the top to try to regain my composure. It wasn’t to be, so I gathered my poo bags and carried on. Quite the sight, I imagine…

I decided my best option was to head back to one of the deserted little beach areas to allow the dog to run around to his heart’s content while I just stand there bedecked in mud and dog shit… awesome!! However getting to these beach areas was not as easy as it sounds . It necessarily involved slithering down steep muddy pathways, or using the lethal looking rocks which had been conveniently positioned to create a step-like effect, for those more able-bodied members of the population…

Neither of these options appealed, so in the end I hurled myself over a sheer drop whilst clinging to a wire fence which was clearly not designed to support such activity. I landed with a sickly thud and emitted the kind of sound something would make when it has all the air knocked out of it… The dog was in his element, running backwards and forwards in a crazy zigzag pattern, ears flapping in the breeze. I was just grateful to be in one piece! We walked along the little beach and around the corner to the next cove and I spotted this…

Yes, that is in fact a set of steps leading down to the beach… Go to Foremark they said…. it’ll be fun they said…. pfttt!!!

On Friday I hit a wall. It didn’t exactly come out of nowhere, rather I’d felt this wall looming over me for a little while. It’s presence darkening my mood and crushing my spirit a little bit more as each day passed. And then on Friday I hit it. Full force. I came home from work and went to bed. I didn’t rejoin the world until 24 hours later. This is what happens when you pretend everything is OK for too long. Your body shuts down and you mind fogs, and all you can physically do is sleep. After 24 hours of literally just sleep, I felt vaguely human again. Battling Storm Dennis to walk the dog seems crazy when I look back now, but it was just what I needed. It took the extreme power of nature to make me realise that actually I’m ok, or at least I will be. I’m bearing some physical scars from hitting that wall with all the force that I did, but they will fade with time. I’m getting my money’s worth out of this mask I wear. Who knew the mess that was hiding behind it on Friday. Shocked myself…

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? I mean really looked?! More than just a cursory glance to ensure your appearance is generally acceptable and isn’t going to offend anyone… I don’t spend a lot of time in front of the mirror, as evidenced by my minimalist level of personal care. The reason for that is twofold… 1. I have a tremor in my dominant hand. 2. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to be able to apply make up with any degree of accuracy. Oh and 3. I have extremely sensitive skin and am yet to find a product which doesn’t make it flare up. So I don’t bother. I know how defeatist that sounds but actually I don’t care. As I stood in front of that mirror and considered my socially unacceptable appearance, hair that needs cutting, eyebrows the way god intended, no make up etc, I wondered who exactly was bothered??? Was anybody??? Did I care if anyone was bothered??? Not really, no. It would be pretty tragic if people were losing sleep because I choose not to have artificial eyebrows, or because I don’t spend a small fortune on cosmetics or treatments. Tragic for them I mean. I know I could lose some weight. I know I could look better than I do most days, ok, every day. I know that, and yet I choose not to make it a priority. My priorities are more fundamental, more basic. That doesn’t make me right and everyone else wrong, we’re just different. And that’s ok, isn’t it? Well if it isn’t, it should be…

I’ve been started on a new medication. I say I’ve been started, and that’s technically correct, however, in order to say you have started something, you probably need to have done it at least once… maybe?! They expect me to swallow medication akin to mint flavoured PVA glue after every meal and before bed… and you know what, I can’t bloody do it!! I’ve reduced my meals to once a day just to avoid this vile gloop but even that is beyond me. Pathetic!! I sit looking at it for way too long, trying to convince myself that actually I’m ok… surely they got it wrong and a lifetime of ingesting disgusting goo is not in my future?? Every time I am faced with attempting to swallow this viscous nastiness, I feel my heart racing as my palms become clammy… 10 mls!! Or two teaspoons in old money! That’s all we’re talking about. Ridiculous isn’t it… The first sip welds your lips together and coats the inside of your mouth rendering it temporarily paralysed. You wonder whether it’s better to pause and let this moment pass, or battle on, pouring the remainder of this minty concoction directly down your throat, you gag regardless and with eyes watering, force yourself to swallow. Brilliant!! That’s approximately 2ml gone… do I really need the rest?!

We finally met our new neighbours. We knew we had new neighbours but the curtains never open and despite cars coming and going, we have never caught sight of the people who live there. Until yesterday. Courtesy of the dog. The dog who let himself out of a not quite latched door and wandered off down the street. By the time we realised he was missing, and I went out into the street screaming his name like a crazed banshee woman, he had introduced himself to the new neighbours and was having a very jolly time with Julie and Rob. Obi’s got an open invitation to go round any time, I notably, have not.

I’m on Annual Leave this week -yay!! I will probably spend it getting over my breakdown on Friday and attending many hospital appointments because that is my life now… but my mum is staying with me and the sun is shining today so that in itself makes today a good day 😊

I make no apologies for being ‘that woman’ who walked her dog in her pyjamas today. The logic behind that decision was sound and equalled only by the regret I felt afterwards…. A lazy Sunday is just that, braless and pyjama clad. What’s not to love about that?! Storm Ciara was doing her worst. Then after the hail and torrential rain and gale force winds, there was suddenly a break in the clouds and I could see a chink of blue sky and even sunshine! Seizing this opportunity to walk the hound unhindered by Ciara, I didn’t want to waste any time by actually getting dressed, so there I was, pyjamas with ‘born to sparkle’ emblazoned across the chest (how ironic, there is absolutely nothing sparkly about me!), gold (obviously!) fluffy bed socks, my big coat (fellow Geordies will relate to that terminology), and my walking boots, accompanied by the Tasmanian Devil/Zebedee on speed hybrid who was wearing a coat that was suddenly way too small for him… It was quite the look! We could easily have been mistaken for homeless… A fleeting thought of trees blowing over onto us and having to explain my attire to ambulance crews and/or dishy firemen did cross my mind for a moment, but the need to take advantage of the break in the weather won the day… and anyway, no one would ever know…. would they?! I completed the look with my health band to track my ‘workout’ and air pods to enable me to listen to one of my typically cringeworthy playlists to help me keep my momentum when I’m walking. And off we went!

We hadn’t gone far, the end of my street in fact, when my error of judgement became suddenly apparent. The road was flooded. Completely flooded. Cars were speeding through the flood waters creating a tidal wave akin to a tsunami which came crashing over the footpath, drenching everything in it’s wake… I did a quick calculation in my head having watched a few cars go through it. At my current level of physical ability, or should that be disability?!, I knew I couldn’t cover that distance quickly enough if a car came after we’d set off. I also had to factor in the only aquaphobic dog on the planet was currently spinning round on the end of his lead. We took our chance and set off, Obi throwing himself into bushes in a vain attempt to avoid making contact with anything slightly damp, slowing our progress as he lurched uncontrollably into the road. Then, just as I was celebrating the fact the we had almost reached dry land, it hit me, literally, a monsoon of filthy rainwater hit the side of my face first and then progressively soaked me all the way down my right hand side. The car had come from nowhere, at speeds greater than the legal limit and made no attempt to negotiate the flood waters in a way that might avoid drowning passing pedestrians and their crazy dogs. Neither did the driver acknowledge my subsequent gesticulating and blasphemous ranting… I stood with disgusting gutter grime dripping off the end of my nose, smearing my glasses and soaking into my clothes. Correction, soaking into my pyjamas. I briefly contemplated turning round and going home but then I considered how bad it was in the grand scheme of things… A soggy leg and a dripping nose… I’d had worse! As I strode off in the direction of the river, I gave the briefest attention to the now transparent nature of wet pyjamas, shrugged and carried on with my quest to walk the dog before Ciara unleashed her wrath again. The incessant tornado would soon dry my moist attire anyway!! There’s a rainbow!! What actually happened was, my big coat was surplus to requirements for the weather conditions and generated a lot of heat. Naturally, I couldn’t open the coat because I was braless and wearing pyjamas under it. So the combination of heat generation and moist attire created steam. I was literally steaming. Add in the unfortunate addition of underboob sweat and I made a decision there and then that no matter what accident befell us, there was no way I could call for help. That right there is why normal people wear clothes…

We continued without further incident, my health band announcing each km as they passed, along with pace and calories burnt, temporarily silencing the music I am loudly ‘singing’ random lyrics to. I’ve had my health band since December. I wear it obsessively when I’m not at work, analysing my heart rate, SATs, sleep pattern and ‘workouts’. There is nothing more deflating than walking the dog for 74 minutes and discovering only 3 minutes of that was ‘fat burning exercise’… Seriously??!! So my obsessive and competitive nature kicks in. Every walk must be better than the last in some way, pace, distance, heart rate, calories burnt, fat burning exercise or even aerobic exercise… So today we walked for 55 minutes and achieved our best pace ever (ignoring possible wind assistance), with 40 minutes fat burning exercise and two whole minutes of aerobic exercise! I’ll take that as a win! The remaining 13 minutes will likely be necessary delinquent dog teaching moments or more accurately shouting expletives in a vain attempt to exert some sort of control…

I have focussed a lot of time and attention on attempting to train Obi recently, trialling different methods, techniques and interventions with variable success. To cut down on the amount of time I spend in public places, screaming like a crazed banshee woman, at an apparently deaf dog, I introduced a whistle. He responded quite well to it at home, if a disdainful whimper can be described as ‘responding well’?! However, on a recent walk along the river, it’s success was particularly limited. It was a beautiful sunny day. Beautiful sunny days invariably bring with them every dog walker within a 10 mile radius. We picked our route carefully, keeping obvious distractions to a minimum and avoiding the more heavily trafficked pathways. Obi was in a particularly boisterous mood as he shot past me, his mouth full of rabbit droppings he’d elicited from a clump of grass while I’d been distracted by a noisy pheasant, his eyes wild as he bowled into me at full speed, all 15kg slamming to a halt as he knocked me unsteady from such unexpected force. Undeterred, I steadied myself as Obi disappeared into the distance, the brilliant winter sunshine obscuring my view. I raised the whistle to my lips and gave two short, sharp blasts. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I whistled again, this time also calling Obi in the annoying, cheerful, high-pitched voice I use for recall. Still nothing. So I set off in the direction in which he had disappeared, all the time blasting the whistle and fiddling with it to adjust the pitch in case I might stumble upon one he might actually respond to… As I was marching towards him and repeatedly blasting the silent whistle, I happened to glance around me. Several dogs were standing poised, looking in my direction. Others were heading determinedly towards me. Frustrated owners were yelling at apparently disobedient dogs, unable themselves to hear my frantic whistling. Oh shit! None of the dogs whose attention I’d attracted was Obi. He was nowhere to be seen. Of course he wasn’t.

I don’t have a life at the moment. Work and dog and a couple of hour’s sleep ad infinitum. My hallucinations have ramped up a notch. I now believe someone/something has run out in front of my car when I’m driving. It’s absolutely terrifying and messes with your head. You don’t want to slam your brakes on because really you know there’s nothing there but equally, you can’t ignore it in case it’s not your brain playing tricks on you… I’m almost wishing it reverts back to decapitated cats or mutilated kids. To all those people who believe Parkinson’s is just the shakes, I invite you to try it. Please spend a day being me! My compulsive shopping is also increasing again with many unexpected things from China I don’t remember ordering. I give you exhibit A… What even are they???

I asked my GP’s receptionist why he hadn’t actioned the prescription one of my consultants had requested. Apparently they just scan the letter, they don’t read it… I am supposed to psychically know they have received said letter and ask them to action it. Brilliant system. Not! Especially as I didn’t receive a copy of the letter on this occasion. It’s OK, it’s not like I rely on my medication to allow me to function with a modicum of normality, or anything like that??!!!

4 shifts stand between me and 9 days annual leave. Bring it on… Even the 3 days of hospital appointments. I mean what else do you do with annual leave?!

I appreciate that all of my recent posts have been dog and/or poo related… I suspect this one won’t be any different, so if that bothers you, look away now. Let’s face it, this is my life now…

Tuesday is Dog Training night. It used to be Wednesday and Mark used to go with me, but we miraculously graduated that class, so now we go on Tuesday and Mark doesn’t feel the need to go any more. So Obi and I go together for our weekly humiliation. I trialled taking Joe so that he could do all the running and getting down on the floor parts, but that didn’t end well. He told anyone who would listen that I’m a member of a weird dog cult where everyone has been brainwashed to walk round in circles and do the same thing at the same time… the concept of Obedience Training is clearly lost on him!

Since moving into a more advanced class, it has become apparent that my dog of little brain, is indeed the class dunce. While all of the other dogs sit patiently by their owner’s sides, Obi is jumping up at my face, spinning around and barking. You get the idea… So, on Tuesday night he maintained his position at the bottom of the class by refusing to ‘stay’ at all. Standard. But then, when we moved on to recall with distractions, he did really well, and for a brief moment I mistakenly believed things were looking up! It was the briefest of moments until I realised I could smell dog poo. Parkinson’s has robbed me of my sense of smell so I can generally only smell strong smells which are literally under my nose. Alarm bells started ringing. If I could smell it, it must be pretty close by… I glanced around the floor nearby in case Obi had ‘performed’ without me realising. Nothing. I checked my boots. Again, nothing. Just as I decided my defective brain must be tricking me, and reached into my coat pocket to get a treat for Obi, ready to attempt to bribe him to do the next activity, I spotted it… A large smear of dog faeces on my wrist. I recoiled in horror as my brain attempted to process what I was seeing. I had another dog’s excrement on my actual skin! I searched frantically in my pockets for a tissue or anything to wipe it off, but typically I didn’t have one. All I could find was a poo bag. Oh the irony! So I wiped as much of the poo off my wrist as I could with a plastic bag, acutely aware that the disgusting germiness was still there, infiltrating my pores and permeating my skin… As I was instituting this necessary clean-up operation, I happened to glance down at my front and the missing pieces of the puzzle immediately slotted into place… There, like go faster stripes on a racing car, was a perfect stripe of freshly produced dog shit, all the way down the front of my coat and jeans. I mean, one item of soiled clothing isn’t enough?? I deduced that Obi had walked in another dog’s steaming pile which had gone unnoticed by it’s owner, and then jumped up at me in his usual ‘Zebedee on speed’ performance that he reserves for training… thus allowing the excrement to transfer onto my clothes and subsequently, my actual skin. I was done. I didn’t even attempt to remove the shit. What would be the point? Our reputation goes before us now.

But sadly, it didn’t end there. The humiliation, I mean. The next activity was to swap dogs with someone else. I looked around the class, hoping for Brian the French Bulldog, or Coco the cute Cockapoo. Of course not. Why would I even imagine I could be that lucky?! No, I was given Kaiser, a great big Rottweiler. The idea was to greet these ‘strange’ dogs, befriend them, and then do a lap of the arena. Easy?! As soon as I took hold of Kaiser’s lead, I could feel the massive strength of this beast of a dog. He was so lovely but I knew I was going to struggle to control him. We set off on our lap with an air of misplaced confidence… after only a couple of paces, I was struggling to keep hold of him, and he’d already almost pulled me off my feet. We continued on our haphazard course around the arena, Kaiser literally dragging me behind him as I emitted hysterical involuntary screaming noises every few paces… As we got approximately half way round, it occurred to me that my shit-covered jeans were falling down. Of course they were! It was taking both hands and all of my strength to maintain the tiniest amount of control so there was no way I could release a hand to hoik my jeans back up. By the time I handed Kaiser back to his owners, the crotch of my jeans was round my knees… I reached for the waistband and began to yank my soiled clothing back into place, at the same time as Kaiser jumped up at my face, spraying the disgusting floor detritus all over my face and into my open mouth… So there I was, covered in shit, and now chewing on shit, my jeans around my knees, and they decide to choose that moment to give out the certificates and rosettes to the dogs who graduated recently…

Get a dog they said. It’ll be fun they said.

If I had one wish, I would wish for one day without Parkinson’s. A whole 24 hours to appreciate the little things that most people take for granted so I can truly remember what it’s like, for those dark and difficult days when my brain isn’t able to control my body. The opportunity to remember was snatched away from me during the whirlwind of tests and assessments and diagnosis and not knowing. I’d give anything to have that back. To know what it feels like not to have pain and stiffness and tremors. To not be reliant on drugs to control virtually every aspect of my life. To not have to remember to take those drugs every few hours. To not have to take more drugs to combat the side effects of the other drugs which allow you to function with some semblance of normality. To not have insomnia and restless legs. To not have LPR and dyskinesia and dystonia and falls and constipation and drooling and fatigue and abnormal compulsions. To be able to walk when I get out of bed in the morning, and balance on one leg and put on my socks. To not have every waking moment consumed by the fact that there is always something I can’t do because I have PD – walking, running, swimming, driving, writing, speaking, swallowing, sleeping… Yep, just one day would be amazing! I could wish for a cure but one day would be enough…

My symptoms are getting worse again. Little things creeping back in, making me wonder whether my drugs are effective at their current levels. One symptom returning is bearable but I have a few. The vivid dreams are back. Always unusual and unlikely scenarios, a colleague dying in my arms, a lesbian relationship, the horrific mutilation of one of my cats or abduction of one of my kids. Always so, so real. The Parkinson’s brain is so cruel in that respect – dulling so many functions but sharpening others to such a degree that fantasy blurs with reality and you wake up terrified and panicked until you slowly realise it was just a dream. Hallucinations so real you have check that other people can’t see what you see. Never a dull moment, eh?! I have a week of appointments with various specialists coming up in February, so I’m holding out for then, making mental lists of my current levels of dysfunction. I probably won’t remember any of the things on those lists by the time I get there, mind you…

That aside, life is pretty good! Embarrassing myself with the delinquent dog is almost a daily occurrence but I can look back and laugh at that… eventually!! I have invented dog walking karaoke… I’m sure one day it will be a thing. In the meantime, if you see a strange woman wandering along the canal near Branston, with a dog with with a crazed look in his eyes and remnants of fecal matter encrusted plastic bag hanging from his jaws, hurling himself at the woman’s already unsteady legs, covering her in mud and excrement and who knows what else, ducks scattering fearfully in their wake, while she emits a strange unearthly sound, that’ll be me, singing! I defy anyone to guess the song… even better, to join in! I get some looks from passing canal boats but it doesn’t deter me… in fact, I probably sing louder!! Dog walking karaoke right there! And perversely, its moments like these that make me happy… I’m alive! I think I know a song about that…

Get a dog they said. It’ll be fun they said. Dogs are such good company and will motivate you to exercise more. And we all know how important exercise is for people like you. OK, so let’s back up a little bit… I got a dog. My little rescue pup from Cyprus. We’ve had him for almost 4 months now, and he has proven to be everything I hoped for and more. It’s the ‘more’ I have a bit of a problem with. Obi is a cross breed or Heinz 57 or mongrel. That term isn’t used any more because unscrupulous ‘breeders’ can charge so much more for a Jack Shit or a Shit Poo rather than calling it what it really is, a mongrel! Anyway, I’m straying from my point… Obi is a beagle cross. No idea what he is crossed with but he is definitely a dog of little brain and a total and utter delinquent. At dog training last night (just to labour my point further!) the idea was to walk your dog into the middle of the arena, greet the person opposite you, then drop your dog’s lead and run back to where you came from with your dog trotting obediently beside you. What actually happened was, having made it into the middle of the arena, we had to greet a woman and a savage poodle. The poodle would not stop barking and as soon as their leads were dropped, ran straight after Obi, who instead of trotting obediently by my side, was now running frantically round and round my legs with a snarling poodle in hot pursuit. The consequence of this was Obi’s lead was now wrapped several times around my legs and I was running. OK so not running exactly, but moving more quickly than I usually do. It wasn’t pretty!! In fact it was total carnage. That probably wasn’t Obi’s fault. But the rest of the night where he acted like Zebedee on speed, bouncing to reach the treats I had hidden, defined him as ‘that dog’ and me as ‘that woman who has absolutely no control of that dog’…

But I still haven’t got to the point I originally wanted to make. Today I took Obi for a walk along the canal. I like to walk him along the canal because you don’t see many people and there is usually an opportunity to let him off the lead. What I don’t like is the more irresponsible dog owners among us. Those dog owners who walk their dogs along the canal, pick up their poo and then leave the bags at the side of the path or hanging on fences or trees and bushes. Why???? Why would you do that??? In what sort of parallel universe is that OK?? What is the point in bagging up the poo if you’re then going to leave the neatly tied bag of decaying fecal matter on the path??? I know there are no rubbish bins along the canal. It’s mildly irritating to have to find a bin. I take the poo home and discard it there. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility to do this! So why am I so irate about dog poo?! Well picture the scene… this scene in fact…

Just out of view is an offending bag of poo.

My lovely dog of little brain views these bags as gifts with his name on! He’s like a heat-seeking missile when he spots one. Today he got to it before me and shot off at 90 miles an hour, his disgusting prize dangling from his mouth. My dilemma was to grab or not to grab?! I really did not want to wrestle a bag of another dog’s poo from him, but equally, I didn’t want him to have it! While I pondered my options, Obi had decided that his best course of action was to rip the offending bag to shreds. I felt completely nauseated as I realised what he was doing… screaming and yelling as I lumbered awkwardly towards him not really having given much thought to what I planned to do if I actually reached him, my now apparently deaf dog came hurtling directly at me, shredded shitty plastic bag streaming behind him as he ran, his eyes full of glee and determination. I screamed. The kind of scream you would expect to hear when someone was being attacked or had cut off a limb or something. Panic hit me at the same moment as my delinquent dog crashed into my legs, his shitty prize still hanging defiantly from his tightly clenched jaws. My authoritative shouts of ‘leave!!’ soon dissipated into pathetic, desperate cries of , ‘For f£&@’s sake Obi, drop the shitty bag!’ as he had circled round me and was heading for me at full pelt again. He was having the time of his life! I was purple and sweating and desperate when I happened to glance across to the field next to the canal where three workmen were standing watching the whole ugly scene, and when our eyes met they visibly smirked and gave me the thumbs up sign. Yes of course they did. Fortunately, by this point, Obi only had a tiny shred of his prized bag of excrement left and my bribe of treats finally won him over. I grabbed his collar and dragged him unceremoniously away from the discarded shreds of shitty plastic bag trying not to make further eye contact with the amused workmen or the man I subsequently spotted having a cup of tea on the approaching canal boat. What were the chances of him not having witnessed that??!! Yup, I am definitely ‘that woman’!! But people need to take responsibility for their own shit! So I don’t lose mine…

I do have other, possibly more interesting, news but I think it can wait for another day. It doesn’t sit right in this post so I’ll just leave this here…