Is anyone here familiar with the medication Carb/Levodopamine for Parkinson's? I have been on it for the last 6 months and had to get on a reduced dosage, because it affected my heart. I have tremors when I type these messages, but I just can't see going into a little shell and holding a pity-party instead of a peachy-party where life is lived laughing along with jujube and all the other folks here, who bring a smile to my face.
Parkinson's
- Thread starter Peachy
- Start date
Hi Peachy-
I wrote a little something about my grandad
He had Parkinsons...pretty bad case, back in the '50s
This prolly won't make you laugh.
But maybe some of it will bring a smile;
Grampa
He was a quiet man.
Work was his vocation and recreation.
I spent a lot of time at their place in my early years, his later years.
Seems Grampa always had chores that filled his waking hours.
I was his shadow.
He wore coveralls most days, and always sported an old grey fedora.
His high cut oxfords made a shuffling sound as he walked. Parkinson’s was having its way with his system.
We’d dine on a bowl of hominy together in the country kitchen.
As the midday sun danced on the table through the window from between the limbs of the giant firs, I’d watch his massive hand struggle to keep his corn on the shaking spoon.
In between chores, and my naps, he’d sit in the old padded rocker and thumb through a photo album while I stood at his side.
‘The dapple was Molly and the grey was Dixie’, pointing to the work horse team he knew so well.
Seemed Grampa had a couple soft balls tucked in his upper shirt sleeves. He was a compact man at five nine, but stout, bull neck, thick arms.
I knew him in his lesser years, keeping his meaning to life by doing small jobs.
Things like sharpening the hoes with rasps, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, or lubing the tractor.
He cut down a hoe to my size, and all three of us hoed acres of strawberries.
His words were measured, but oftentimes would repeat a sentence.
I saw him laugh once.
He was a proud man, brought down and humbled by an untreatable disease, but keeping his misery within.
Dad says he was hard boiled in his younger years, and short on patience. Hard.
I knew him as a much different man.
One time I peered through a cracked door to his study. He was on his hands and knees, talking to his Lord, no longer able to kneel.
His bible was quite worn.
Dad gave it to me a few years ago.
I leant it to him at Christmas.
I’ll get it back pretty soon.
I think of times then and times now.
What a difference in pace, in conviction, in the shear enjoyment of endurance in simple living.
I see my grandkids give me an occasional glance of admiration, but nothing like the revered awe I had of him.
He died when I was ten.
I can still hear the shuffle of his feet, but it’s mine that echo his stride now.
Enough of this.
I’ve got chores to do before I sleep.
Chores to do before I sleep.
I wrote a little something about my grandad
He had Parkinsons...pretty bad case, back in the '50s
This prolly won't make you laugh.
But maybe some of it will bring a smile;
Grampa
He was a quiet man.
Work was his vocation and recreation.
I spent a lot of time at their place in my early years, his later years.
Seems Grampa always had chores that filled his waking hours.
I was his shadow.
He wore coveralls most days, and always sported an old grey fedora.
His high cut oxfords made a shuffling sound as he walked. Parkinson’s was having its way with his system.
We’d dine on a bowl of hominy together in the country kitchen.
As the midday sun danced on the table through the window from between the limbs of the giant firs, I’d watch his massive hand struggle to keep his corn on the shaking spoon.
In between chores, and my naps, he’d sit in the old padded rocker and thumb through a photo album while I stood at his side.
‘The dapple was Molly and the grey was Dixie’, pointing to the work horse team he knew so well.
Seemed Grampa had a couple soft balls tucked in his upper shirt sleeves. He was a compact man at five nine, but stout, bull neck, thick arms.
I knew him in his lesser years, keeping his meaning to life by doing small jobs.
Things like sharpening the hoes with rasps, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, or lubing the tractor.
He cut down a hoe to my size, and all three of us hoed acres of strawberries.
His words were measured, but oftentimes would repeat a sentence.
I saw him laugh once.
He was a proud man, brought down and humbled by an untreatable disease, but keeping his misery within.
Dad says he was hard boiled in his younger years, and short on patience. Hard.
I knew him as a much different man.
One time I peered through a cracked door to his study. He was on his hands and knees, talking to his Lord, no longer able to kneel.
His bible was quite worn.
Dad gave it to me a few years ago.
I leant it to him at Christmas.
I’ll get it back pretty soon.
I think of times then and times now.
What a difference in pace, in conviction, in the shear enjoyment of endurance in simple living.
I see my grandkids give me an occasional glance of admiration, but nothing like the revered awe I had of him.
He died when I was ten.
I can still hear the shuffle of his feet, but it’s mine that echo his stride now.
Enough of this.
I’ve got chores to do before I sleep.
Chores to do before I sleep.
rkunsaw
Well-known Member
- Location
- Clarksville, Arkansas,USA
I've been on carb/levo for several years. Just last month the doctor increased my dose to 4 times a day. I haven't noticed any problems with it.
Your grandad was quite the fellow. What a beautiful tribute you have written in his honor. I appreciate greatly that you shared this Gary.
So glad that you have had no complications with this med rkunsaw. Keep moving forward in faith.
My father struggled with Parkinson's disease for the last ten years of his life, and took levo and a cocktail of other drugs, actually maxing out a prescription plan! He suffered from tremors, rigidity, and mobility issues among other symptoms, but said he would have chosen Parkinson's over other conditions. The disease can track differently in individual patients, but staying socially connected and as active as possible are important.
Good info Fyrefox. Thanks!
C'est Moi
Dishin' it out.
- Location
- Houston Y'all
My best friend was diagnosed with Parkinson's nearly 20 years ago. She is in her mid-60s, divorced and lives alone. (Yeah, the horse's patoot husband bailed on her.) Over the years she has struggled with various drug trials; some were total nightmares. Thankfully they landed on some that seem to be helping. I have no idea which medications she is taking now. She moves a little slower but has no debilitating symptoms yet.
Good luck to you, Peachy.
Good luck to you, Peachy.
Thanks for sharing and the good luck wishes C'est Moi. When I wake up in the A.M. and find that I am still breathing--I move forward. lol