One of the things you deal with as a person with Parkinson's disease -- or "Parky" as I like to call myself -- would be the almost nightly vivid and weird dreams one has. Some, weirder than others.
Last night, for instance.
I'm working in a hospital. I may be in the Navy and a corpsman, Not sure.
I'm in a combination patient's room and treatment room and I see a bottle of some sort of medication -- it looks like one of those inhalers, like you see in the Omnaris commercials. I just want to see what it smells like so, I pick it up just to give it a little squirt to smell the vapors. Next thing I know, My face is being blasted by a brown, sticky mist and I can't stop it. It gets everywhere.
I should just resolve to not touch things that don't belong to me in my dreams.
I try to clean it up but I can't seem to get it all. There's a bunch of it on my face. And then, I notice it's making me rather "high" so I lay down on the hospital bed, turn off the lights and watch some black and white television.
A nurse comes in, a young African American woman, and she's looking for the medication I had just wasted. It's for a baby who needs it to stay alive, and it was the only bottle in the hospital and without it the baby is doomed. I tell her I haven't seen it and I have no idea what she's talking about. I make subtle efforts to hide the evidence of my crime as she searches the room for the medicine, but she notices there are fine droplets from the mist everywhere. And she sees the evidence on my face. She orders me to stay in the room.
I wait until she leaves, then I try to wash the stuff off my face again, but it's not going anywhere. So I open the door to step out into the hallway, but then I'm back in the room somehow. Another medic or corpsman, a good-looking white dude, has a syringe and he's trying to stab me in the abdomen with it. "What the hell is that," I ask him. "It's so we can get you sedated and arrest you," he says.
"I needed to sniff the medication because I thought it would have an alcohol smell and it would help my Parkinson's disease," I cried in vain as he stabs me in the left upper thigh with the needle. I suddenly feel very high, and have this image of myself being hoisted over this dude's shoulder and being carried off to face whatever punishment awaits me.
Then, I woke up.
You can share my Parky Experience on my new blog, "Put On Your Parky Face." Let's have some fun, whaddya say?