A Little Relief and a Lot of Profanity

Please note that, before I write this, I am knocking on wood so hard that my knuckles are bleeding. 

In fact, I feel like I shouldn't even say this, but I need a little bit of good news out there in the universe. 

Doc has really been struggling with walking lately. We had been toying with sending him to physical therapy to try and figure out what we're missing, and he is going to a new neurologist for the Parkinson's on Friday. The diabetic neuropathy will always be a thing, but there had to be something we could do to help him with this. He was struggling so much. He has this shuffle when he walks where his feet just weren't moving much, and he would get so tired while walking that he would have to take breaks. We had really good days in there, sometimes. We had a lot of not good days and some truly terrifying falls. Things are better, but the walking was just so stressful to all of us. His brain is working. His body is lagging.

Being the idiot that I am, I never really brought any of this up with my mother-in-law. She's an occupational therapist, and finding solutions for this stuff is like, you know, WHAT SHE DOES. I finally called her and asked what treatments are available for neuropathy in the feet because the lack of feeling makes him scared of falling. The only option that she really had was a no go because of his pacemaker. 

I postulated that the feet are probably more important than the heart, but apparently that's unkind.

Anyway, it really looked like we were going to have to get him physical therapy so he can finally figure out how to use the cane that he has been resisting for so long. He can't keep struggling like this and work full time. Better yet, struggling blows, and he shouldn't have to at all. While my super-amazing-mother-in-law and I were talking, she said that a physical therapist will work with him on using other senses to walk and how to get a rhythm with the cane. She said that they use mantras to develop a rhythm. 

Mantras? Why can't I do that?

So, I stood the old dude up and I told him to come up with something that he can repeat to himself while he's walking that will get him on a rhythm. While he was thinking, I remembered something that seemed to always work to get a crowd riled up at a football game. It was energizing and totally profane.

One side yells, "EAT SHIT!"

And the other side responds with "FUCK YOU!"

"EAT SHIT!" "FUCK YOU!" "EAT SHIT!" "FUCK YOU!"

I knew that he wouldn't forget that. 

So, we tried it. 

You know, once we stopped laughing from the ridiculousness of a psychiatrist walking around muttering profanities to himself.

And sonofabitch, it worked. I haven't seen him walk like this in 5 years. He's upright. He's confident. He's quick. 

I feel like I just breathed for the first time in like my entire life. This obviously isn't about me but OH HOLY SHIT THANK SWEET BABY UNIVERSE AND TOM CRUISE AND THE FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER AND LAWWWWDDDDDD!

We're just in the beginning, and I suppose it could stop working at any point because that's kind of how Parkinson's works, but still. 

This is just so good. 

So so good.

Eat shit. Fuck you.

As always, it's hip to be square (and totally profane!), kids.