Here’s what it means in practice when I grouse about little things taking longer than before. This afternoon I went up and down the stairs several times in quick succession — sometimes one flight, sometimes two — while carrying laundry and other things. Then I moved an empty metal five-shelf cabinet a few feet from where it originally stood and filled it, one armful at a time, with things carried downstairs across several trips. It was equivalent to a short high-intensity workout and for more than a half-hour afterward, this happened.
You’ll want to skip the first 30 seconds since it contains the same exposition you just read. The camera’s trained on the bedspread throughout and my hand shows up once that concludes. As you can tell by the camera’s steadiness, it’s mostly unilateral: post-exertion, my left side vibrates like a tuning fork. It’s more dramatic than my usual tremor and persists whether my hand’s in use or at rest, though pressing down with my fingers against a surface can briefly and slightly subdue it.
Rigidity, bradykinesia and dystonia are bigger problems for me, but they’re harder for casual observers to spot than this nonsense. It’s Parkinson’s Awareness Month, so there you have it, my contribution to visibility. I’ll post some photos of what I was staining once the protective coating is done. This batch of work started yesterday evening, and when Crankenstein got home I summoned her to the Grandma Suite — its windows open and ceiling fan blades spinning like a ballerina on speed — to check it out.*
“Smells like brain injury!” she joked from the doorway.
“That’s no way to talk about your wife,” I wanted to reply.
* Muriel would’ve huffed the fumes, so I had to keep it away from her.