Shaken

In some ways an anti-climax.  I'd read about and observed the symptoms. There wasn't really any hesitation as the consultant concluded that I did indeed have Parkinson's - lots of chatter about maintaining quality of life, and no change in life expectancy, some discussion about which pills to start popping. Was I relieved? No, not really. Was I pissed off? You bet - this wasn't what I signed on for. This wasn't how I'd pictured my retirement. Two years of pandemic followed by however many years of Parkinson's. Yes, where was that in the small print.  So who do I tell?  Instinct is to tell no one, I don't want to be put in the Parkinson's box. I also don't want people to feel sorry for me.  I guess there are a few people I should tell, but the instinct it to send them a link to this blog. Later. Much Later. The picture? The v iew from Neurology Department, John Radcliffe Hospital, Oxford. The outlook, a bit bleak. And 'Shaken'? I do confes...