/132966619176312238 by Bill Schmalfeldt

ISBN-10 1453899367 ISBN-13 9781453899366 Published in the United States of America Follow me on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/bschmalfeldt Tweet me on Twitter http://twitter.com/ParkyBill Check out my You Tube Channel http://www.youtube.com/bschmalfeldt Read ―Parky Bill‘s Place‖ http://parkinsondiary.com

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

FOREWORD Cool! You bought my book. Or you‘re sitting in front of your computer screen looking at the preview panel, which means you‘re CONSIDERING buying this book, which is also cool. Or you‘re just passing through and there‘s nothing I could ever say to get you to even CONSIDER buying this book. Whatever. The central conceit of this book of essays is the same as t‘was the central conceit of Volume 1, which is still available and if you haven‘t purchased it yet, you can still purchase it because they don‘t need to be read in order or anything like that, but you WILL want to have the complete collection by the time I shuffle off the old mortal coil because if THAT doesn‘t cause these books to increase in value, I don‘t know what will! It‘s basically me, telling stories about my day to day life as a guy who has had Parkinson‘s disease for nearly 11 years as of this writing (October 27, 2010). If I keep blogging at my current rate, I figure on being able to poot out four volumes per quarter, which means – if I live another 10 years – you could have the ENTIRE SERIES of 42 books (I mean, 40 after this one and the one before) and wouldn‘t THAT look great on your bookshelf or on the cardboard table at the garage sale?

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Like in the last book, I write about my decline in Parkinson‘s related symptoms. I write about my liberally-slanted political views. I write about my family… my mom‘s broken knee, my youngest sister being a jerk (the picture on the cover, for instance? The quote comes from a nasty e-mail my youngest sister sent me in which she uses that very sentence to show me how SMRT she is! You can find out how to get your very own line of “I’m F**cking Mensa, You Dumb F**cker” products at the end of the book), and other stuff. This is a hard book to categorize. It‘s basically about my life as a guy with Parkinson‘s – and the other crap that annoys me. I hope you enjoy it, and buy a lot more of the other stuff I sell… since 100 percent of author proceeds go to PD research. You DO want to help find a cure, right? I thought as much. So keep reading, enjoy, and drop me a line sometime.

Parky Bill‘s Place http://parkinsondiary.com

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

DEDICATION To caregivers everywhere, but most of all to the best friend, partner, caregiver, wife and spaghetti-cooker it has ever been my pleasure to spend 22 years with. To you, Gail, this dark chest of wonders. (Oh, wait… Stephen King used that in his dedication to his wife Tabitha in ―The Stand‖.) Ummm… OK, here‘s what we‘ll do. We‘ll consider this entire first essay as a dedication to my love, my wife, the love of my life.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Just Call Her â&#x20AC;&#x153;My Caretaking Angelâ&#x20AC;? I did a telephone interview this week for my day job. It was about "caretaking," how spouses who never bargained for the 24/7 nursing care of their loved one react to finding themselves in that position due to disease or injury. Of course, I approach the story from the other side of the spectrum... Although I hardly need the 24/7 care yet (perfectly capable of tending to my own hygiene, etc...) I do need daily help with a lot of things. Primarily in the area of "getting around" and "remembering stuff." When I gave up driving 17-months ago, Gail had to take those duties on to herself. And she doesn't like driving. I used to love driving. But I really don't miss it. Nor do I have the attention span to do it safely any more. When we go shopping, Gail has to take care of the heavy stuff. And she's not the most healthy person in the world either, suffering from scleroderma as she is. But me? I could barely tote a 12-pack of soda from the shelf to the veggie aisle where Gail was salad-shopping. And when we've gotten everything we need, she lets me go back out to the car to sit down while she goes through the checkout line.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

When we're walking together, she's constantly at my side... just to my left, slightly behind me, watching for signs of stumbling. I really think she'd tear every muscle strap in her back if she ever tried to catch me in a fall, but there have been numerous time where I've started to wobble and she was there to put a hand on one shoulder or the other to stop me before I reached the tipping point. I like to think I would do the same for her. I'm pretty sure I would. But you don't know until it happens. I have no doubt in my mind that my former wife, known here as "facebook user", would NOT have been able to handle it. She couldn't even stay faithful to me when I was young and healthy, so what would I expect from her when I'm older and having difficulties? I think my first wife would have been able to deal with it -- from a technical point of view -because (from what I'm told) she was a physical therapist. But knowing her personality, she was the type that would have constantly blamed me for causing her extra work because I wasn't well.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Gail and I joke about it. Today in the store, I was waiting for someone to pass me on my right. Then Gail said, "Scoot over to the wall, Rat Boy." (See, as explained earlier, a rat stays close to the wall, feeling it with his whiskers. Gail likes me over by the wall to my right so she can protect me from my left.) I made my way over to the wall and said, "This is about as scooty as I get these days." We both had a good chuckle. Over the past few days, I've been forgetful. Examples? "Is TJ here?" "No, he left. You said goodbye to him." "Oh, yeah." I sneeze. I turn to Gail. "Bless me!" I say. "I did, I said 'God bless you.' You said 'thank you.'" Oh. I walk into the kitchen to get ice cubes from the dispenser in the fridge. The glass overflows with ice cubes because I don't pull it out in time. Ice cubes on the floor. (The dogs used to love that. They'd dash in and get the ice cubes. But they had just recently enjoyed some "Frosty Paws" and their taste for cool treats had been sated.) So, we deal with it. And it would be impossible to deal with if I didn't have my faithful companion, my best friend, a caregiving angel named Gail.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

RIP Bedroom Fan It was a long, slow, lingering death. But our bedroom fan finally died last night at 10:28 p.m. The fan had been ill for quite some time. When you turned on the switch, the blades would begin to turn, ever-soslightly, then stop, then almost imperceptibly begin to move. The gears would catch and the blades would make a quarterturn... then stop. Then slowly start again, but go a little further this time. And then it would stop, but not for as long, and the blades would begin to turn a little faster, a little further, a little faster, a little further, and then -- generally about 10 minutes after turning it on -- the fan would come to life, after making a couple complete revolutions with the blades, it would kick in and spin and spin and spin and provide the air movement (and white noise) we need to sleep well at night. I admired the fan. It reminds me of me. It just would not give up. It would try, then freeze, then try, then freeze, then try, then freeze, then -- slowly, oh-so-slowly -- begin to execute its function. Every time the fan would kick in and run properly, I'd smile. If the fan could do it, I reasoned, so could I. There was hope. Last night at 10:28, the fan began making a series of loud clanking noises. It was metal rubbing against metal. And it

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

went on and on, despite our attempts to ignore it. Finally, we decided its suffering should not be allowed to continue and we turned it off for a final time. (The lack of "white noise" proved to be a problem. Raven -who sleeps with us -- could now hear every sound being made outside our bedroom window and had to "uff!" at it. I turned up the speed on the ceiling fan. It doesn't give out as MUCH of the "white noise" as the old fan, but it sufficed.) Gail had a doctor's appointment this morning. Then she will stop by the Lowes and pick up a new fan. The old one will get a respectful burial in the trash. Thank you, bedroom fan. You served long, you served well, you served when it would have been easier to just quit. I will always remember and admire you. You Need WATER to Make Coffee! Even back in the cowboy days, when they'd boil up a pot of coffee around the old cook fire, they needed water. This is a known fact. So when I made the coffee this morning, why did I forget the water?

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Oh, I put the pot in the sink to wash it out. I filled the container with beans to grind. But that's not where the BEANS go... that's where they end up when they're GROUND! Ya gotta GRIND the beans FIRST! Shoot, even the cowboys knew THAT! So, I poured the beans from the container into the grinder, ground 'em up REAL good, then put 'em in the filter. Pressed the "strength" button to "strong", sat down and worked a little on my new book. And maybe that's the problem. I got a bad night's sleep because of the book. I felt guilty about charging $20 for a thin little 156-page book. "NO!" I said, sitting up in bed. " I will sell it for $10! And I will make a BETTER cover design!" I finally went back to sleep. And as I worked on the new cover design for the book, I wondered why I wasn't hearing any coffee-making sounds.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Then, Gail got up. I kissed her and told her that coffee was on the way. I looked at the pot... and... (Insert your own sound effect, something like "da-DAH-daDAAAAAAAH!") The pot was still sitting in the sink. There was no water in the coffee maker. I hadn't washed the pot and filled the coffee maker. So, I washed out the coffee pot, filled the coffee maker, pressed the "strong" button again, hit the "start" button. And sat down to weep. Reason for Concern? Let's be clear. I do not have a diagnosis of Parkinson's disease dementia. Yet. But there is reason for concern. Let's sum up my various brain farts of the last 72 hours. 1. Monday morning, I was sitting on the potty before taking my shower. After a few minutes, I decided that I wasn't going to "move" anything that morning. I stood up to flush the john. There was a "dookie" in the bowl that wasn't there when I sat down. I went "poopy" and couldn't remember HAVING gone "poopy."

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

2. Tuesday. I made an online purchase of $16.16 -- but in the checkbook register, I wrote $19.19. Then, I bought a distribution package for my new book. And along with it, I thought I was buying a proof copy of the new book. The title was right there on the order form. The book I bought was NOT a proof copy of my new book, but another copy of my PREVIOUS book. 3. Today. Got up to make coffee. Poured the beans into the container where the grounds are supposed to go AFTER the beans are ground. "The beans don't go THERE," I said to myself, and then I poured the beans into the grinder. Took the coffee pot out of the coffee maker and put it in the sink to wash it. Ground the beans. Put them in the filter. Pushed the "strong" button for the coffee strength. Pushed the power button. Sat down to distribute e-mails, wondering why I wasn't hearing the sound of coffee brewing. Gail got up and I told her coffee would be ready in a minute, looked at the coffee maker and saw the pot was still in the sink. Washed the pot, filled it with water, poured the water into the coffee maker, made coffee. This has all been coming on for awhile. In recent months, I've gotten into the shower with my glasses on, have sat down on my shower stool without bringing down the shower nozzle to where I could reach it to wash myself, have almost gargled with aftershave. I have to look very carefully at my morning pills to make sure I'm taking the right ones... not the night-

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

night ones. I'm sure if I concentrated, I could come up with more examples. I think I require careful watching. You Know It's Going to Be a Good Day... You know it's going to be a good day when... 1. You don't even open your eyes until 7:30 a.m. 2. When the dogs lie there respectfully and let you pet them instead of jumping on you. 3. You make the coffee in the correct order... water, beans, grinding, grounds, container, power, coffee! 4. You remember not only to take your pills when you get up, but at 10 am, too! 5. You change your "adult disposable undergarment" and see NO STAINS! 6. You can't really think of a decently entertaining blog entry, because everything is going along pretty well at the moment.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I Don't Think "Tea Partiers" are BAD People... I just don't think they're very bright! Ask any teabagger how the Constitution begins, and they can bark it right out!

"We the Peopleâ&#x20AC;Ś" Do they remember the rest of the preamble? "...of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America." Well, goodness. Establish JUSTICE? Insure domestic TRANQUILITY? Promote the GENERAL WELFARE? Especially that last part. That doesn't sound like something the Tea Party could really get behind. WELFARE? For the POOR? In the name of JUSTICE? I wish that the next time a reporter was confronted by one of these Tea Party candidates with, "This was a victory for WE THE PEOPLE," would ask that candidate to recite the rest of the preamble. Just to amuse me. 14

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

They just don't strike me as a very bright bunch! That teabagger Gail and I ran into a year ago Valentine's Day in DC, for instance. "Dale Robertson of Tea Party Org. demonstrating his poor spelling -and racism" I mean, JESUS, Dale! I could spell that word when I was in second grade. Of course, I would have gotten my ass spanked by my parents if I was caught spelling it, but I knew how to spell it! When you go to the comment section of a blog or a news site, you can always tell who the teabaggers are right away! They're the ones with the horrible spelling, the lack of punctuation, the ones who write "your" when they mean "you're". "There" when they mean "they're" or "their." Sure, I know it was tough sometimes to stay awake in English class, but God Almighty! The same people who whine because English is not the "official language" of the United States are the ones who most guilty of abusing it!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

And speaking of "God Almighty." Someone please show me in the Bible where God says that America is His favorite country? Even Thomas Jefferson -- who these teabaggers talk about with religious reverence, but wouldn't vote for today if they actually READ something he WROTE -- had this to say about "church and state." (h/t David Waldman @ Daily Kos) Emphasis added. Gentlemen, â&#x20AC;&#x201D; The affectionate sentiments of esteem and approbation which you are so good as to express towards me, on behalf of the Danbury Baptist Association, give me the highest satisfaction. My duties dictate a faithful and zealous pursuit of the interests of my constituents, and in proportion as they are persuaded of my fidelity to those duties, the discharge of them becomes more and more pleasing. Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between church and State. Adhering to this expression of the supreme will of the nation in behalf of the rights of conscience, I shall see with sincere satisfaction the progress of those sentiments which tend to 16

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

restore to man all his natural rights, convinced he has no natural right in opposition to his social duties. I reciprocate your kind prayers for the protection and blessing of the common Father and Creator of man, and tender you for yourselves and your religious association, assurances of my high respect and esteem. And teabaggers, you can't CHANGE what Jefferson said by saying, THAT'S NOT WHAT HE MEANT! You don't KNOW what he meant, because you were not in his HEAD when he WROTE it! So, that means we have to take him at his WRITTEN WORD. See how simple it is, when you drop the dogma and let the truth crash over you in waves? And what DID Jefferson and the other founders REALLY think about Christianity, the Hebrew faith, and Islam? In his Slate article of January 9, 2007, Christopher Hitchens wrote... Patrick Henry and other devout Christians attempted to substitute the words "Jesus Christ" for "Almighty God" in this opening passage and were overwhelmingly voted down. This vote was interpreted by Jefferson to mean that Virginia's representatives wanted the law "to comprehend, within the mantle of its protection, the Jew and the Gentile, the Christian and Mahomedan, the Hindoo, and Infidel of every denomination."

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

No less an authority than James H. Huston, writing in the Information Bulletin for the Library of Congress website, wrote... In his seminal Letter on Toleration (1689), John Locke insisted that Muslims and all others who believed in God be tolerated in England. Campaigning for religious freedom in Virginia, Jefferson followed Locke, his idol, in demanding recognition of the religious rights of the "Mahamdan," the Jew and the "pagan." Supporting Jefferson was his old ally, Richard Henry Lee, who had made a motion in Congress on June 7, 1776, that the American colonies declare independence. "True freedom," Lee asserted, "embraces the Mahomitan and the Gentoo (Hindu) as well as the Christian religion." ... The Founders of this nation explicitly included Islam in their vision of the future of the republic. Freedom of religion, as they conceived it, encompassed it. Adherents of the faith were, with some exceptions, regarded as men and women who would make law-abiding, productive citizens. Far from fearing Islam, the Founders would have incorporated it into the fabric of American life. Yet, even today at the Values Voters Summit, you have people... people who want to RUN this country... LYING about the founders' ideals of religious freedom in America. They run on at the mouth on how this country was founded 18

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

on Judeo-Christian principles (but not so much the "Judeo" part, wink-wink!) while intentionally ignoring the REAL and WRITTEN WORDS of the people who founded the nation. Yet, the average teabagger, not being particularly curious or willing to look things up for him or herself, eats up every word spoken by a Palin or a Beck or a Christine O'Donnell or anyone ELSE who confirms their innate fears and bigotries. They swallow it whole and declare it righteously delicious. I fear for this nation. The last time the stupid people ran this country, they started a war in Iraq, they let Wall Street rape Main Street, they ran the deficit through the roof, and brought the economy to the brink of collapse. And in January, I believe they will again have majorities in the House and Senate. Then, in 2012... President Palin? If that doesn't scare a smart person out of his or smug complacency, then I don't know what will. Lessons Learned Over the Past Year I thought I'd share with you a partial list of things I've learned during my last year with Parkinson's disease. We'll start with things I've learned during my morning clean-up. 1. First thing in the morning, LOOK at your pills before you take them. I take five pills first thing in the morning. It 19

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

would be wrong to just grab the first five pills I can get my fat, Parkinsonian fingers around and take them. I have to take the RIGHT pills or there will be trouble. I take a Stalevo (for PD), a Zoloft (for depression), a Metropolol (for blood pressure), a Lisinopril (which helps the Metropolol) and a Prilosec (cuz I gots acid). That leaves three Stalevo in the pill box, along with an Ambien and two Klonopin. If I start the morning by grabbing two Stalevo, an Ambien and both Klonopin, I will need to force myself to throw up -- or else just go back to bed until they wear off. And it won't be pleasant. 2. If you use a shower seat, make sure you have the flexible shower head on the floor and you are seated in the shower with the curtain closed before you divert the water to the shower head. If you are bent over the bathtub rim and turn on the shower head, you will get a blast of cold water on your back and neck that will run down your body onto the bathroom floor. This is not good. If you put the shower head on the tub floor and THEN turn on the shower head before getting in and closing the curtain, then you will have water EVERYWHERE. Also not good. Pay attention. Make a list. Do things in proper order and everything will work out just fine. 3. Wash everything. Then rinse everything. Set a routine. Start at the top, work your way to the bottom. Save the sensitive, naughty bits for last cuz they're dirty and you can wash your hands when you're done as the last part of the 20

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

shower. Do not forget to rinse yourself all over. If you leave any area of your body soapy, you will be very uncomfortable later in the day. Learn from experience. 4. When in the bathroom, LOOK at the LABELS before you use things. Toothpaste and Preparation H come in similar tubes. This is not a mistake you will make more than once. But still, be careful. 5. You cannot put toothpaste on an electric toothbrush while the toothbrush is turned on. You will only succeed in getting toothpaste all over the sink, all over the mirror, all over your self. Leave the toothbrush OFF, apply the toothpaste, THEN turn it on. 6. If you have dysphagia and a balance problem, be careful gargling. If you tilt your head too far back, you will inhale some of the mouthwash into your windpipe. It will burn like Satan's fire. If you close your eyes while tilting your head back, you will not only burn your windpipe, you will fall. Keep your head level, force that epiglottis to close by tucking your chin, gargle, then spit. 7. When using an electric razor, use the PRE-shave lotion BEFORE shaving and the AFTER-shave lotion AFTER shaving. If you use the aftershave lotion before you shave, all you're gonna accomplish is getting the blades all gunked up and you'll get a crappy shave. Then, when you apply the pre-

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

shave lotion after you shave, it'll burn like a sonuvabitch. The PRE-shave has astringent properties that dry out the skin and make the whiskers easier to cut. The AFTER shave soothes the skin, which does not NEED soothing BEFORE you shave. Again, read the labels. 8. When shaving, shave the ENTIRE face. If you are distracted by something, like a dog barking or the glint from some shiny object, try to remember where you left off, start there, and finish shaving your face. If you leave a patch of face unshaven, it will look silly and bother you the rest of the day. 9. Adult diapers go UNDER the underpants, not over. I don't do this one much anymore. But early on, I would slip into a pair of Hanes or Fruit of the Looms only to look at my side and see a neatly-folded Depends sitting there waiting for me. These special undergarments are useless when worn over the standard underwear. Put the Depends on FIRST, and THEN the underwear. I'm sure there are more of these hints, and I will share them as they occur to me.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Tee Hee! FUNNY T-Shirt Racism! There's a funny, funny racist t-shirt being sold on the online shop Zazzle (which would probably let you sell a t-shirt with a picture of the beheading of a child on it as long as they got a cut of the profits) that has a funny, funny, racist message on it. This t-shirt was designed by this funny, funny person called "XUBERALLES" (Iget the "uber alles" part? It's part of the frequently quoted Nazi slogan Deutschland Uber Alles, or "Germany Over Everyone." I can only guess that the "X" is the archaic reference for Jesus or the old time wrestler, Dr. X.) who sells ALL MANNER of funny, funny, right wing bullshit on his own little shop at Zazzle. Little wanted posters for Obama, wanted posters for Obama, Pelosi and Reid, little posters that say he will kill you if you try to take his guns... you know, the standard right wing paranoid crap. Now, in its proper context, "don't renig" (actually, the word is "renege") would be a call to vote FOR Obama in 2012, since "renigging" (or "reneging," if these brutal idiots actually cared about proper spelling,) would require overturning the progress being made by this administration. But, see, the funny part here is that President Obama IS a nig... well, he's one 23

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

of THEM! A dark-skinned man who probably isn't even an American and has no business whatsoever being elected by a large majority of free-voting Americans in one of things we do every four years, called freely electing a president of the United States of America. BUT IT'S NOT RACIST TO SAY THAT! See? XUBERALLES HAS A T-SHIRT SAYING SO!

By wearing that t-shirt, you can say any racist thing you want to say, but it won't be racist because you say right there on 24

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

the t-shirt that you're NOT a racist, therefore the racist thing you said can not be considered racist. Get it? And he's not violent, although he sells t-shirts and posters that say you'd better bring YOUR gun if you're gonna try to take HIS! And he sells "Wanted Posters" for Obama, "Wanted Posters" for Obama, Pelosi and Reid. He sells baby clothes that say "Liberals Hate Me." Isn't that just DARLING! See? We're LIBERALS, so every baby that is born and is not sacrificed to our sacrament of abortion is an AFFRONT to all liberals EVERYWHERE! Now, doesn't it all make sense? XUBERALLES sells this shit on his own Zazzle store website, called "The Right Stuff," which has images of brave troops at Iwo Jima, Ronald Reagan, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln. And he gets stuff wrong. He attributes the statement, "The government that governs best, governs least" to Jefferson, when it was actually from an essay by Henry David Thoreau paraphrasing the motto of a contemporary magazine.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

But XUBERALLES knows that the people who BUY his excrement aren't SMART enough to check the veracity of whatever bubbles and flows from his online anus. XUBERALLES calls Obama a "lying socialist," then he must be a lying socialist! He sells ANOTHER Jefferson quote, "A government big enough to supply you with everything you need, is a government big enough to take away everything you have..." that Jefferson NEVER SAID according to the official Jefferson website. The following statement, or variations thereof, is often attributed to Thomas Jefferson: "A government big enough to supply you with everything you need, is a government big enough to take away everything that you have...." We have never found such a statement in Jefferson's writings. As far as we know, this statement actually originates with Gerald R. Ford, who said, "A government big enough to give you everything you want is a government big enough to take from you everything you have," in an address to a joint session of Congress on August 12, 1974.[1] This quotation is sometimes followed by, "The course of history shows that as a government grows, liberty decreases," which is most likely a misquotation of Jefferson's comment,

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

"The natural progress of things is for liberty to yeild, and government to gain ground." But a lie, when it's useful to FOOL STUPID PEOPLE, is a lie worth TELLING, is it not? There's another one on a t-shirt XUBERALLES sells. Status: We have not found any evidence that Thomas Jefferson said or wrote, "When governments fear the people, there is liberty. When the people fear the government, there is tyranny," or any of its listed variations. Comments: One source attributes this quotation to Thomas Jefferson in The Federalist.[4] The Federalist, however, was the work of Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison; it also does not contain the text of this quotation. This quotation is vaguely similar to Jefferson's comment in an 1825 letter to William Short: "Some are whigs, liberals, democrats, call them what you please. Others are tories, serviles, aristocrats, &c. The latter fear the people, and wish to transfer all power to the higher classes of society; the former consider the people as the safest depository of power in the last resort; they cherish them therefore, and wish to leave in them all the powers to the exercise of which they are competent."[5] To date however, the most likely source of this quotation appears to be a series of debates on socialism published in 1914, in which John Basil Barnhill said, "Where

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

the people fear the government you have tyranny. Where the government fears the people you have liberty." Bottom line, you could print out an archaic sounding quote, say it came from Thomas Jefferson, and these idiots will believe it. "Those who would choose a repast of spaghetti with a thick sauce of tomato and meat over the simple baked potato (without sour cream or all the fixings) would water the tree of liberty with their own urine." Thomas Jefferson in a letter to the Virginia Legislature, 1778 See how easy it is? Quite the little scam XUBERALLES has going on here. And shame on Zazzle for letting him profit on lies and fomenting violence and racism. (h/t to @Grizzlygrowls on Twitter for pointing this out.)

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Say Again? Just got back from the store. Opened my passenger door, closed it, and began walking around the front of the car. I heard a voice. It was definitely Gail's voice. Loud and clear. From the back of the car. "Are you done?" "What's that?" I asked? Gail looked up from gathering groceries from the hatchback. "What?" "What did you just say? Am I done with what?" Gail got a quizzical look on her face. "I didn't say a word." She went back to gathering groceries. I stood there, scanning the neighborhood. No one else was out. I could hear nobody speaking. I looked again at Gail. She had all the groceries and motioned toward the front door. "Get a move on," she said. 29

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

"I DEFINITELY HEARD A VOICE! YOUR VOICE! ASKING ME IF I WAS DONE!!!" She shook her had. "I didn't say a word." Now... Gail is not the kind of person to mess with me like that. I stood there, listening and scanning for another moment, then headed for the front door. Those Poor, Poor Literary Agents! I've been following a thread on Twitter written by literary agents, complaining about the naughty, bad writers who bother them with their improper query letters. I understand completely. And I empathize. I imagine having to sort through poorly-written letters sent by people who think they can write (but can't) is a frustrating way to waste your intern's time. But let's examine the question from the other side of the mailbox.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

You're a writer of fiction. You've written, rewritten, rewritten, redrafted, thrown away, dug out of the trash, rewritten again, had people you respect read your manuscript, adopted their advice when you agreed with them, ignored them as idiots when you disagreed, and you now have a beautifully typed, perfectly spaced, properly formatted professional manuscript. No one will ever see it! You do an online search of literary agents and you see most of them prefer either an online query letter, or -- because they are personally keeping the US Postal Service in business -- a snail-mailed query letter which they promise to answer within six months. However, they say they will not consider queries that are being considered at other agencies. So, you check the agency's list of agents and find the PERFECT agent to represent your work. A lot of these agencies are quite specific about how they like their query letters, and many times you find what THEY want in a query letter runs against everything you've been taught about HOW to write a query letter in that writing course you took, but hey! It's their agency. So, you write your query letter. You keep it not-too-short to be skimpy on details, but not-so-long that it contains

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

unnecessary words. You are selling the sizzle here, not the steak. You want the agent to see you can write. But you don't want to write too much because then the agent might think you're overly verbose. You make the agent want to try a bite of the steak. That's the name of the game here, to get the agent to request... A SAMPLE CHAPTER! You send your letter. You mark the date on your calendar. Weeks go by. Months. Not a word. While you were waiting, you've rewritten your manuscript three or four times. These are not just fictional characters to you at this point. These are real people. Your children. Your BABIES! Why won't they look at your BABIES??? So, you find another agency that deals with the kind of writing you've written. Their query guidelines seem a little less strict. They'll take an e-mail query. So, you determine which agent should get the query and you write. You WRITE! You want this person to be interested enough to at least want to look at a PICTURE of your baby, your beloved child! You hit the "send" button, and get an automated response telling you that your work isn't quite what they're looking for at this time but not to be discouraged because many writers face many rejections before they find the agent that is right for them and if you will just keep looking you will be sure to find one and they made this determination in the span of time it takes a series of electrons to leap from your computer to their computer back to your computer.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Well, at least you didn't waste a lot of time with this one. So, you scan the lists again and you find another agency that deals with your sort of writing. They want a snail-mail letter, so you write according to their specifications. You send the letter and three weeks later -OH, MY SWEET JESUS! THEY WANT TO SEE YOUR FIRST 10 PAGES!!! CALLOOH! CALLAY!!! Even better, they want you to SEND THE PAGES BY EMAIL!!! A Word attachment will be fine. So, you create a mini-file of your first 10 pages and you send it right back to the agent who requested it. And he/she LIKES it! He/she sees REAL POTENTIAL here! He/she thinks the work needs just a BIT of polish, and he/she suggests an editing company that will GLADY turn your work into a MASTERPIECE at the low, low charge of $20 a page. Oh, and they're an affiliate of the agency. You talk yourself down from the ledge, or untie the noose from your neck, crack your knuckles and resolve to try again.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

You've been through this before. You've had to change the name of the President four times in one of your novels. You're used to waiting. You've gone through all your manuscripts and have taken out references to phone booths and have incorporated cell phones. Your characters use a LAPTOP now. Maybe even an iPAD! Not a Word Processor! And CERTAINLY not a typewriter (unless it's a character quirk, charming in its way). Your characters have gone from using Live Journal to MySpace to Facebook to Twitter, and now you're considering taking them back to Facebook. They don't "change the channel" on their TV's any more. They don't WATCH TV. They watch ON DEMAND MOVIES on HDTV! They have NETFLIX! And they don't buy or rent DVDs any more -- they use BluRay! And where one of your characters never went anywhere without his cassette Walkman, he has since graduated to a CD walkman, to an MP3 player, to an iPad, to an iPhone, before switching to Blackberry for business reasons. The Catholic priest in one of your books has gone from Pope Paul VI, through John Pauls I and II, and now we're up to Benedict whatever... Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And then there are the agents who say nothing on their websites about reading fees -- until they respond to you and tell you how much they charge to read your manuscript.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

So you decide to stick with agents who are members of the AAR (Association of Authors' Representatives) and they don't take e-mail queries, and they're not TAKING queries at the moment, and they WERE taking queries until last week but only from previously published writers with a successful portfolio, and they don't accept unsolicited manuscripts, and if they do take queries they might not answer you for six weeks or six months or six years and you may NOT submit your work to another agency while they are considering yours... and your name better be J.K. Rowling Anne Rice or Tom Clancy or Stephen King or James Patterson or else it better be about vampires and werewolves and teenage girls who don't have sex but do love with all their hearts and just somehow KNOW they can change him because he has GOOD inside him and the characters are already familiar to your readers and there's not a new idea to be found in your 400 double-spaced pages of 12 pt. Times Roman with NO typos and NO formatting errors and the publishers had better be waiting with a BIG, FAT CHECK before the agent even CALLS with the fucking PITCH or else you might as well just never mind. But that's OK. You died six weeks ago. Your estate manager discovers your box of unpublished manuscripts, sells the movie rights to a Hollywood production company and retires to Hawaii. So EVERYONE is happy! (OK, I didn't die. Yet. But I'm not as robust as I used to be. I'm not getting any younger, I'm on the downhill slope with my Parkinson's disease, and I don't HAVE unlimited time to 35

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

sit and wait and hope you want to see a flippin' sample 10 pages only to have you try to sell me on an editing service or ignore me completely. I might not sell many copies taking the self-publishing route, but MY BOOKS EXIST! And that's the important thing to me -- and to anyone who really considers him or herself a writer. THE BOOK EXISTS!!!) Now, if YOU are a legitimate literary agent, feel free to check my list of books. The "My Books" link at the top of the page will take you to a list of titles. Each title is a link to a page that describes the book. See anything you like? I own all the rights, except for "...by the people...". We can talk. If not? Well... THE BOOK EXISTS!!! Dementia and Dumbass Start with the Same Letter Like I said, I do not as of yet have a clinical diagnosis of Parkinson's disease dementia. But over the past year, I've been doing things that lead me to believe such a diagnosis is not far off. This morning, for instance.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Got in the shower. Already had the shower head on the floor of the shower so I could pick it up and wet myself down while sitting on my shower chair. Sprayed myself down. Got to my face. Sprayed my face real good! Realized I was still wearing my glasses. I have been taking showers since we got our first shower in 1970 (it was bathtubs until then). I've been wearing glasses since 1967. This marks the second time in a couple months that I have neglected to remove my glasses before getting into the shower. Then... After getting all soaped and scrubbed, I rinsed myself off. I do this from a seated position as well, since my eyes are closed and my balance is further compromised when I can't see. Stood up to put the shower nozzle back in its proper place. Opened my eyes. They stung! "I must still have some soap near my eyes," I surmised. Not only near my eyes, all over my face, neck, head and hair. I had forgotten to rinse my head. Yup! It's a slippery slope and I'm sliding down fast!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Another Writer's Rant Hey there, kid! So, you're a new writer are ya? Yeah, yeah, yeah... forgive me for the generalization. You've been writing for years, but other than print-on-demand and selfpublishing, as far as the literary world is concerned, you're a "new writer."

It's a tough world out there, kid. (OK if I call you "kid"? I know you're in your mid-50s, but I've never heard of you and we've only communicated by e-mail and, after all, I am a successful agent so you're lucky I had a cancellation today. I don't mean to denigrate, and I'm sure you're great at what you do for a living but you ain't a writer yet, kid. Not until you've been published.) So, what's the pitch?

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Fiction? (Oh, excuse me. Coffee ALWAYS shoots out of my nose when someone tells me they write fiction. I'm sure a good pre-soak will take that right out.) OK, then. I'll bite. What kind of fiction? These days we got two kinds of fiction, kid. Vampires and werewolves. We had that wizard thing going for awhile, but when the actor playing the kid started collecting Social Security... well, you know... that genre kinda went belly-up. You don't write about vampires or werewolves. Well, you're in trouble then, kid. We might be able to find some small press publisher somewhere who puts out a couple books a year... oh, you're not a romance writer either? Well, what kind of science fiction writer ARE you then? You're NOT a science fiction writer? What the hell DO you write? Sandy, we're gonna need some more paper towels in here. Thanks. You're a peach. Humor. Satire. Funny stuff. Kid? Your last name Leno? Letterman? No? What network is your TV show on? No TV show? OK. What makes you 39

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

think you can write funny stuff. I mean, if you could write funny stuff you'd be on TV, right? Nah, I don't need to see your manuscript. Like I just said... you ain't on TV, and if you ain't an actor, you ain't a recovering alcoholic, you ain't a friggin' ex-circus clown with a heroin addiction and a pedophilia rap sheet, and your name ain't Seinfeld, Tim Allen or Larry the Whatzit Guy, you just ain't funny. Got anything else? OK, non-fiction. We can talk about non-fiction. How long were you a male prostitute? You weren't? OK, when you were mobbed up, did you push any buttons? You know, "whack" anybody? Not "connected," huh? Kid, what do you have for me? And I don't wanna hear about the "funny stuff" again. You volunteered for brain surgery to further the medical community's knowledge about how deep brain stimulation affects early onset Parkinson's disease. You wrote a book about the experience of getting a diagnosis. You take us into the operating room with you while you remained awake for a seven hour brain operation.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Well, OK, that explains the scars on your head. But as far as subject matter, we'll pretend anyone cares for a minute. What the hell is Parkinson's disease... oh, wait! YOU'RE MICHAEL J. FOX, RIGHT??? Oh, MAN! You've really let yourself GO, Mike... I mean, I loved you on "Back to th....." You're NOT Michael J. Fox? Well excuse me, kid, but you clearly ain't Muhammad Ali or Brian Grant. And them is the only three people in America what's got this Perkyson disease yer talkin' about. So who's gonna buy your book? You know, kid, I'll tell you this then I gotta cut it short cuz I got an appointment with someone who wants to pitch a GOOD idea -- this 3-D CGI thing with characters so cute you could shit yer pants. Three big-eyed hamsters who have this hip-hop thing going except for the girl hamster who turns out to be this ball-busting Latina with an attitude... Look. You seem like a nice kid. I'll share something with ya. Ya wanna be a writer? Write something new. Write something that captures the imagination. Write something that no one has ever written before. Then convince an agent that it has been done -- with great success -- by many other writers who are now all rich. Write something that incorporates consumer products so we can get the product 41

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

placement money. Write something with familiar characters in familiar situations doing things that nobody has ever done but somehow it all seems really familiar. And if you can toss in some girl-on-girl action, maybe even just some innuendo, that gives us something for the DVD release. If ya ain't got nothing like that, something new that has been done to death but nobody's quite tired of it yet, something that the reader or the viewer will recognize right from the cover or from the opening scene although this time it's fresh and exciting, then you just ain't a writer anyone is gonna take seriously, kid. But good luck. And no, I don't validate parking. Sally, send in the idiot with the CGI hamsters. This is gonna be big. BIG, I tells ya! You still here? It's An Ouchie Morning Woke up about an hour earlier than usual. Back ache. More likely, a kidney ache. Past CT scans over the last few years have shown I have a large, unobstructing kidney stone in my left kidney. No need to do anything about it since it ain't goin' anywhere. But some mornings, few and far between, 42

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

my left flank gets all achey and I can feel the ureter that leads to my bladder. So, at 5 am, got up, went potty, tried to lay back down but I was wide awake. Got up again. This time, Raven "the Tattle Tale" walked me to the kitchen and looked very sadly at about 5 small turds Shiloh had deposited on the linoleum. "What's all this?" I asked Shiloh, showing her the poo. Her ears went back as she lay on her bed with a "you have every right to kill me, but please don't" look on her face. I picked up the mess, "Swiffered" the floor, took both girls out so they could go potty where good girls are SUPPOSED to go potty, then sat down at the computer and divided up the morning clinical trial information requests for the Patient Recruitment staff. So... how's your morning going so far? Grateful for a Normal Morning I am EXTREMELY grateful for a normal morning!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

After a day when I forgot to take off my glasses before getting into the shower... After a day when I forgot to rinse the soap off my head in the shower... After a day when I had to get up early because of a sore back... After a day when I couldn't even keep my eyes open and kept dozing off while drinking my coffee... After a day when the whole community's water was shut off - at the same time as my two days of constipation finally broke loose... Finally... a day where nothing (so far) has gone wrong. A day where I've gotten a great deal of work done. A day where I feel relatively focused. A day where I am making lunch for my wife... and it ain't sammiches! It's shrimp alfredo over linguine noodles! Later, I expect to take a nap. A good day. At last.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

The Morning's Final Dream is Usually the Strangest In this morning's final dream, it was a cold winter day in my hometown of Clinton, Iowa. My dead twin brother had just signed a mortgage obligating BOTH of us to pay for this rundown two story house on the south side of town. The place was a dump, and I was royally pissed that Bob somehow got MY name on the mortgage as well as his own. As I was walking around with Bob, inspecting the house, I noticed in one of the upstairs rooms that there was a huge hole in the floor. you could see the foyer below. "That can be fixed," Bob said. I walked towards the kitchen (which for some reason was on the second floor) and looked into a closet. The back wall of the closet had been broken out and there in a dead space between the closet and the upstairs rooms was a homeless guy sprawled out on a mattress. "You're going to have to get out of there," I told him. "Make me," he replied, then rolled over on his side and went back to sleep. "Bob! We have homeless people in the walls!" "We can spray for those," was his answer. I had to get to work because I had a debate class to teach at the middle school. But it seems that Bob sold MY car and traded it in for this rusted up, beat up old boat of a 1977 El Dorado. He didn't think I'd mind. 45

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

As Bob and I argued about it I realized I was running late so I went looking for my suit because you can't teach a debate class unless you're wearing a suit and I had trouble finding my suit, then it occurred to me -- this was MY dream, and if I decided that I didn't HAVE a debate class to teach, that would remove some of the stress from the situation. So, I no longer had a debate class to teach. Instead, I went down to the car. To my surprise, it started right up. I drove up 3rd street looking for a donut shop. That's when I woke up. Parkinson's Disease Patients Have Trouble Walking, Talking at the Same Time. I first noticed this in my Parkinson's disease progression during my final 8-day "droolfest" with my brain buddies in Nashville in early 2009. We were walking from the Vanderbilt Medical Center North to a nice little restaurant and I realized it was difficult for me to walk and talk at the same time. The other fellas were chatting away, and I'd turn to say something -- and almost stumble. And this was BEFORE I started having the serious problem with walking and balance. Now, clinical research indicates that this does not necessarily mean I am a stumble

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

bum. (It doesn't say I'm NOT a stumble bum, either. In fact, the tone of the article is quite neutral on the subject of my stumble bummery.) Today, I see this new study published. A new Florida State University study found that older adults with Parkinson's disease altered their gait, stride length, step velocity and the time they spent stabilizing on two feet when asked to perform increasingly difficult verbal tasks while walking. But the real surprise was that even older adults without a neurological impairment demonstrated similar difficulties walking and talking. A disruption in gait could place Parkinson's patients and the elderly at an increased risk of falls, according to the Florida State researchers. No foolin'? Francis Eppes Professor of Communication Science and Disorders Leonard L. LaPointe and co-authors Julie A.G. Stierwalt, associate professor in the School of Communication Science and Disorders, and Charles G. Maitland, professor of neurology in the College of Medicine, outlined their findings in "Talking while walking: Cognitive loading and injurious falls in Parkinson's disease." The study

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

will be published in the October issue of the International Journal of Speech-Language Pathology. "These results suggest that it might be prudent for health care professionals and caregivers to alter expectations and monitor cognitive-linguistic demands placed on these individuals while they are walking, particularly during increased risk situations such as descending stairs, in lowlight conditions or avoiding obstructions," LaPointe said. In other words, don't ask an elderly person or someone with Parkinson's to give directions or provide a thoughtful response to a complicated question while walking. In fact, just leave me alone. (I'm kidding. I'm a kidder. I kid because I love.) Actually, now that I'm having major difficulties walking with NO distractions, I find I have to stop walking completely to do almost anything. To get a tissue out of my pocket, to check my cell phone, no can do! Must concentrate on each step. Gail makes me walk in front of her at the store. That way she gets to enjoy watching me fall. (SHE says it's so she can try to catch me, but WE know the truth... whoever WE is...) If

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

she says something to me requiring a response, I have to stop. If I think of something I want to say to her, I have to stop. So, once again, Medical Science has spent God knows HOW many gazillions of samolians to get answers to a question I would have HAPPILY answered for FREE! (Just give me a decent cut on the royalties from the paper you'll publish, and we'll call it even.) So, if we're out walking, don't try to engage me in deep conversation... Among older adults, falls are the leading cause of injury deaths, according to the Center for Disease Prevention and Control. They are also the most common cause of non-fatalinjuries and hospital admissions for trauma. ...unless you're TRYING to kill me. That's Odd. My Legs and Feet, I Mean... I noticed it for the first time in the shower this morning. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) How odd. I could feel the water splashing on my lower legs and feet. But I couldn't feel the HEAT. Especially on the right side.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

So, I ran the water up my legs and noticed I started feeling the heat around my knees. So, back down my shins and ankles and feet... nothing, except the feeling of the water splashing against my feet. No temperature whatsoever. When I was done with the shower, I turned the water on cold and retried the experiment. THAT I could feel just FINE! So, this afternoon, I heated up a small glass of water in the microwave. Not hot enough to burn, but hot enough to feel.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I could feel the pressure of the glass on the inner and outer part of my right leg and on the top and side of my right foot, but not the heat. On my left leg, I could feel more heat on the inside of my calf than on the outside, and still no sensation of temperature on the top or side of my foot. Grabbed an ice cube? That came through loud and cold everywhere I touched it. Tried to find some literature about this. Best I can find is that there is some peripheral sensory loss in Parkinson's disease. So far, it seems isolated to my lower legs and feet. How odd. Considering the Future, Disability Retirement, and What Happens Next Yesterday, something almost happened that made me seriously consider the future. Turns out my boss (who I like and admire) made a promise to another department head about our podcasting capabilities without first discussing the possibilities with me. She promised one of the departments that we (meaning I) would record a series of weekly 3-hour sessions, get the transcripts for them, and post them on our podcast page.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I tried to explain that our current 1-hour long series is already so compressed that it sounds like someone talking on the telephone, and that a 3-hour podcast is going to take one hell of a lot of compressing -- or one hell of a lot of downloading time, and one hell of a lot of bandwidth. She said she promised it to the other department head. So I will produce this podcast, it will take up a huge amount of bandwidth, for a very limited audience. That's fine. I can do that. No problem. The potential problem reared its head when she said this podcast will also need a transcript. Now, until recently, we got transcripts for the hour long podcast we do each week from the people who do the closed-captioning. They are rife with mistakes, misspellings and utter gibberish. For more than two years, I was responsible for translating these transcripts into readable English, but we stopped doing that when my boss farmed the job off to another employee and SHE found it too difficult, so now we just direct the hearing impaired to the site of the videocast so they can watch and read the closed captioning. I asked if she wanted this new 3-hour transcript to be edited and made readable. If she would have said yes, I would have been faced with two choices. 1. Tell her that I no longer have the attention span, mental capacity or skill to do that

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

part of the job and if she couldn't find someone else to do it; 2. File for early disability retirement. Thank goodness she said it didn't need to be edited. But still, it got me to thinking. Earlier today Gail and I discussed what we would and could do when the day comes that I can no longer do this job because of my Parkinson's disease. Thank God there is a provision for early disability retirement in the federal government. The pay would work out to be about 60% of my current salary, so that means Gail and I will have to make some decisions before that time comes. 1. Where to live? Certainly can't keep living here on the ultra-expensive East Coast. So a move to Milwaukee would probably be in order. We could cut back on other areas as well, but Gail wouldn't be able to take outside work because I would need her home to look after me. So Milwaukee looks like the likely choice. 2. What about TJ? Well, we would give him the choice of staying here and maintaining the lot rent and mortgage on the trailer. If he wanted to do that? Fine. If he wanted to stay in this area (he loves his job) but find a cheaper place to live, fine. If he wanted to move to Milwaukee with us? That would be fine too, although I would probably be looking for a 53

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

retirement community where they have staff on hand to help out with emergencies and such. 3. What about the dogs? Well, we're not talking about doing anything in the near future. I'd like to keep working (as long as I can do the jobs I'm asked to do) until I'm at least 60. If I can't -- or if they decide to close the trailer park -- then retirement will be in order. We will try to find a pet-friendly place. If TJ decides to stay here, we'll give him the option of keeping one dog or the other. But we're talking 5 years down the road. Raven will be 11 by then, and that's an old border collie. Shiloh will be 9, and that's "getting up there" as well for a German shepherd. Hopefully we can maintain the status quo for as long as they live so no hard decisions will be necessary. I just wanted to have a plan in place, to have talked about this while I'm still capable of talking and thinking about it. So I'm glad she and I had this chat. According to Latest Research, I Will Die Soon. Or Else I Wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. Just saw one of those REALLY helpful studies published recently in the journal Neurology. It purports to explain why some people with Parkinson's disease die earlier than others. Now, as we slog through this, let us keep in mind that Parkinson's -- in and of itself -- is not a fatal disease. You die 54

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

WITH it, not OF it. But when you fall and bust your hip and get pneumonia or choke to death on a big chunk of turkey leg cuz your swallowing muscles aren't working properly... well, dead is dead, no matter HOW you got there. But according to THIS article... 1. How old you were when diagnosed is a factor in longevity. The older, the sooner and yada yada. 2. Average time from appearance of movement symptoms to death? 16 years. OH NO! I HAVE FIVE YEARS TO LIVE! 3. Average age at death? 81 years. OH NO! I HAVE 26 YEARS TO LIVE! The study found that the risk of earlier death was increased about 1.4 times for every 10-year increase in age when symptoms began. People with psychotic symptoms, such as delusions and hallucinations, were also 1.5 times

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

more likely to die sooner compared to those without these symptoms. The odds of dying earlier were nearly two times higher for people who had symptoms of dementia in the study compared to those without memory problems. In addition, men were 1.6 times more likely to die earlier from the disease compared to women. Participants who scored worst on movement tests also had a higher risk of earlier death compared to those with the highest scores. "...for every 10-year increase starting at WHAT AGE?" Huh? We'll assume that at 45, I'm on the lower range of that spectrum. I do have the occasional delusion or hallucination, so this study says I'm 1.5 times more likely to die sooner (sooner? Than WHO?) than those without those symptoms. I am also having memory problems, so that means I'm 2 times more likely (than WHO?) to die sooner (than WHO?) and being a man means I am 1.6 times more likely to suffer early death. Not sure where my movement scores lie, but they can't be all that good. Now, I want to know are these scores consecutive? Cumulative? Concurrent? Do you add up all the risks (in my case, making me 5.1 times more likely -- than WHO? -- to die early) or do you average the scores (making me 1.7 times more likely -- than WHO? -- to die earlier (than WHO?), or do you just take the highest number and run with it, making

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

me 2 times more likely (than WHO?) to die earlier (than WHO?)??? Well, gentle reader... after reading this article, one thing is crystal clear. I am going to die in the near future. Or I am going to die 40 years from now. Or somewhere in between. So, make your plans accordingly. (This next part of the narrative deals with a single subject. On Sept. 25, 2010, my mom fell and broke her left knee just above where she had a total knee replacement done a couple years earlier. For the next several pages, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll focus on Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s injury and recovery.)

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

(Sept. 25) Good Thoughts, Please, For My Mom My 79-year old mother fell and hurt herself this morning. She had knee replacement surgery two years ago, and broke the replacement joint off of the bone. My sister, Becki, says that Mom has been acting irritable and confused, much like when she isn't getting enough oxygen. Bex stayed with her last night, but Mom forgot she was there and tried to get out of bed to her wheelchair and fell. Please, keep my mom in your thoughts today. (Sept. 26) I Gotta Ask, Hasn't She Suffered Enough? Hasn't this poor woman suffered enough? It sounds so melodramatic to ask it, but the question keeps coming up. I don't even know who I'm addressing the question to, since my idea of God is not someone who sits on a celestial throne pushing buttons so that Mary gets cancer while Julie wins the lottery and Jimmy steps in front of a bus and Mike draws a Queen to get that inside straight and millions of Africans starve while the sinful and undeserving enjoy wealth made off the sweat and misery of others.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

But hasn't this woman suffered enough? Here's my sister Becki's telling of how my mother broke her leg yesterday. Since Mom has been taking a new antibiotic for the impetigo, she has seemed weaker and out of sorts... not the normal Mom that she is. Last night I got a call at about 11pm from the "I've fallen and I can't get up" monitoring service saying that Mom had fallen, paramedics were on the way and they may need a key. When I get there, she tells the paramedics that she is fine and does not want to go to the hospital. I tried to talk her in to it, even saying that I would drive her there myself, but she refused. I stayed with her until she went to bed. She was so shaky and weak that she could not lift herself out of her regular wheelchair. She was acting like she was 02 deprived since Thursday, but her meter always read in the 90s. I used a gait belt to flop her into bed and she fell asleep quickly. I went back to my house to get Bob and headed back over to Mom's. She was fast asleep when I returned. I moved her potty chair and wheel chair out of the way so she would need to call me if she needed to use the bedroom. I got a bedpan ready so we would not have to transfer her to the chair. I stayed awake until about 3:30am to listen for her, then I fell asleep. At 5am, I woke up to the sound of the monitoring service saying that they had received a call. I 59

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

ran in to see that Mom was on the floor again. It seems she had forgotten that I was there. When she reached for her wheel chair, the brakes were not on and she fell again. The paramedics had even a harder time getting her off the floor this time and she agreed to go to the hospital. Since I had only had about an hour of sleep, I laid back down. At 6am the doctor called me and I described what had happened and how she has been reacting since she was put on the antibiotics. I left Mom's house at 7am to take Bob back home and head to the ER. When I got there, they were just taking her to xray because she was having horrible pain in her left knee. When she returned, the doctors came in to ask me a bunch of questions. They had already decided to admit her to deal with her altered state and rash on her face. She was in such pain they gave her a shot of morphine. It did not seem to help her at all. While I was speaking with one of the doctors, another came in an said the xray showed that she had broken her femur right about the artificial joint. Surgery would definitely be required. They gave her dilaudid and that seemed to help. They admitted her to a room at about 11am. I came home to get a little more sleep and went back out to the hospital at about 4pm. They have scheduled her surgery for tomorrow, but since it is a weekend, they are not sure what time they will be conducting the surgery. The first surgery is scheduled at 7am. There is 60

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

another patient scheduled for the ortho team, but they will also need to wait to see if any traumas come in during the nite. I am going to plan to get to the hospital between 910am. I will have my cell phone with me if you would like to call me. I will be staying at home tonite to try to calm down a bit. From what I've read on the subject, surgery will likely involve drilling pins into the head of her femur, near the total knee replacement implant, to stabilize the fracture. I'm no doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but my reading up on the subject indicates that she'll be allowed to begin moving her knee tomorrow, will be allowed to put weight on it after 6 weeks, and could be totally healed in 14-26 weeks. And if the cause of her previous knee pain was an improperly installed implant, then this could fix that as well. But come on, whoever's in charge of this kind of crap! This woman has lost three adult children -- four, if you count the one who chose a walking penis over her family -- in the span of the last six years. She's had two total knee replacements already, almost died from substandard nursing home care, has suffered several falls in the past couple years - and she JUST GOT her power chair and a new lift chair.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

(Sept. 27) Mom's Surgery Postponed They've postponed my Mom's surgery to repair her broken left femur until at least Monday. Her blood clotting factor isn't where it needs to be. She's been taking blood thinners to avoid deep vein thrombosis, and now they need to "thicken up" her blood before they can do surgery so she won't have bleeding problems. Here's my sister Becki's most recent report from the hospital. They postponed her surgery until at least tomorrow. The hospital checked her INR level (how long it takes her blood to clot) yesterday and it was a little high (2.9). When they checked it this morning, it was even higher (4.0). That means her blood is thinner and there may be a problem with controlling her bleeding. They have given her Vitamin K (to thicken the blood up a bit) and will test her again in the morning. If her INR is better tomorrow, they will do surgery. Of course, they do not know what time that will be. I have taken the day off of work tomorrow and plan to be at the hospital between 8-9am.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

When I got to the hospital this morning, she was sleeping. After getting my coffee, she was awake and more like the Muz we know and love. I went to her house to get her some necessities. Bonnie stopped by Mom's apartment when I was there with some flowers for her. I went back to the hospital a little after noon and Muz ate about half of the apple fritter I brought for her. Towards the end of my visit, the morphine had really taken effect... she was in no pain, but was acting loopy. That scares me when she acts like that, but I know what causes it. All in all, she is doing okay. She was disappointed that they postponed the surgery and just wants it all over and done. I love you all very much. I am at home tonite if you have any questions, but I am wiped out. I will check with you all in the morning. Now, one of the complications they face is doing the surgery within 48-72 hours of the injury. Tomorrow morning makes 48 hours, so the clock is ticking. Keep them good thoughts a-comin'!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

(Sept. 27) What Do My (Nearly) 80-Year Old Mom and a 17-Year Old Dog Have in Common? If your 17-year old dog breaks its leg, the vet will be honest with you about it. 'We could spend thousands and thousands of dollars to fix your dog's leg, put her through a lot of pain, and the dog will probably die anyway', is what a responsible vet would tell you. I am starting to believe the orthopedic team at Froedtert Memorial Hospital in Milwaukee is thinking of my Mom, who will be 80 in a month, in those terms. The only difference -- Froedert's "Medical College of Wisconsin Ortho Team" isn't being honest about it. See, they had a good reason for not operating yesterday. Because of her blood thinners they had to wait until her clotting factor was within normal limits. Well, this morning it was within normal limits. But they couldn't get her into an operating room. Can't bump those profitable elective surgery cases, you know. Someone getting a bunion removed or a young person getting a fracture reduced, that outranks an old woman who won't be all that profitable a patient since all they can get is Medicare reimbursement. Call me Socialist if you wish, and in this instance you are probably correct. But "for profit" medicine sucks! When you make medical decisions based on how much you can make from the procedure, that is just immoral.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I just spoke to Becki, and I will add her e-mail to the end of this post. But after waiting all day for an OR space, they removed Mom's catheter so they have to roll her over to use her bedpan, which causes her to scream in pain. She has started running an axial (underarm) temperature of 101 degrees, and the underarm temp is usually 1 degree below what you get with an oral thermometer. So now, there's worry of an infection setting in. They were sending Mom down for a chest x-ray when Becki left for for the evening. Then there's the risk ANYWAY of an older person lying around in a bed all day, unable to walk or move about -pneumonia, thromboses, embolisms, lots of bad stuff that could happen. Is that what they're counting on? So, Becki will go back to the hospital tomorrow and sit and wait again. They are still telling her, "if we get an opening" when she asks about when in the hell my mother is going to get her broken femur repaired. Here's what Froedtert's website says about their orthopaedic surgery department. The Department of Orthopaedic Surgery at the Medical College of Wisconsin has long been a national leader in teaching and patient care. We value excellence, compassion, 65

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

and professionalism. We are proud to train many successful orthopaedic surgeons who go on to practice medicine with these same core values. With 21 faculty members providing nine different clinical services, the department covers the full spectrum of orthopedic surgery. I just wonder if all that excellence, compassion and professionalism carries over to an 80-year old woman in failing health who faces an expensive operation with a long recovery period and only Medicare reimbursement to pay for it all -- or if it better serves their bottom line to just kinda let the old girl fade away. "For Profit Medicine." What a wonderful idea. And to think, we were THAT close to getting a health care system where folks would be treated based on their NEED, not on their ability to pay. How fascist would THAT be? I will add my sister's e-mail after this point, once I receive it. ********* Here's Becki's e-mail: I am so furious that I am about "this close" to finding the nearest bell tower. 66

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I got to the hospital about 8am this morning. The lab took blood from Muz. Her INR was way down where they wanted it... at about 1.7. So the nurses and the medical staff on the floor said that she was put in rotation for surgery today. They would just have to wait from a call from the OR. So I called my office at about 9am to let them know I would not be in and would update them on my mother's condition. Well, at 5pm the nurse finally informed us that the OR was just way too busy today and mom's surgery is being pushed back until at least tomorrow. No, the nurse could not tell me what time they would do the surgery. No, there is no guarantee that she will have surgery on Tuesday. The hospital will have to wait to see what the surgery schedule looks like. So tomorrow will be just like today was. Groundhog's Day, anyone? So Muz went all day without food or water. They had her hooked up to IV fluids, so she was still pissing every hour or so. You know what sound I just love??? Hearing your mother moan in pain as the nurses try to roll her on to the bedpan and then to change the sheets under her. The doctors took the catheter out after she was admitted... they are worried about a bladder infection. The nurses did not want to put her in a diaper because she has a small tear on her butt. We both asked the nurse if they could call the doctor to get her on a catheter at least for tonite.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Because you know what else is fun to hear??? Your mother, immediately after getting off the bed pain, asking for morphine. And then within a half hour of getting the morphine through her IV, it's really funny to hear her getting goofier and goofier... like not remembering where she is, what day it is, if the Packers played yet or not. Good times, good times. After her morphine has worn off a bit, she is back to being the Muz we know and love. Her rash is almost completely gone. Now if they could only fix that pesky bone in her leg... Anyway, tomorrow will be just like today. I will have my cell phone with me, but I have limited minutes. I can't seem to log on to the Cracker Jack's cell phone's website to buy minutes. Plus I have 5 in the pool for tonite's game. Today has just sucked. Hopefully tomorrow I will have the energy to give you all a call. If you would like to talk, I am at home for the rest of the evening and you can call me if you like. I am just beat, my days are running together and I am forgetting whom... out of all of you... I have told what about Muz. I think tomorrow morning, I will contact the orthopaedic department. I will tell them that Aaron Rodgers broke his femur after the game and requested to be treated at

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Froedtert. When they get the OR ready, I will say... "Ooops, I was wrong about the quarterback. But since you are all set up for surgery, could you fix my mother's leg THAT HAS BEEN BROKEN SINCE 5AM SATURDAY???" I love you all. Call me if you would like, but I am afraid that I would just shout too much. I will keep in touch. (Sept. 28) MICKEY MENSA OK, if you know anything about me by now, you know how much I love my family. How fiercely loyal I am to the name ―Schmalfeldt.‖ Anyone who disrespects my family is going to have trouble with me. What makes this particularly difficult is that this person disrespecting my family is a MEMBER of the family. But here‘s the ensuing e-mail exchange. Since the walking dildo my youngest sister married (and my youngest sister herself) have blocked their e-mail addresses from receiving anything from us, I created a new e-mail address and sent this to the scrotum with feet my sister married. This was in response to the phallus with legs referring to my other sister, Becki — the one who is actually taking CARE of my mother — using a word that rhymes with ―punt.‖

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Does your wife know that her mother is in the hospital with a broken leg? Or are you hiding that from her like you hid your financial background and unwillingness to pay your bills. He responded, thinking that he was talking to Becki. Grid Jimmy…You are on the grid. Apologize and go the f*ck away. See, Becki has stated more than once that she doesn‘t want an internet presence. The glans with eyeballs has used this as a threat to her before, to put her personal business on the web. I responded. What, precisely, should I be apologizing for, (Walking Gonad’s Name Redacted)? That you’re a deadbeat? That you hurled a profanity at someone instead of expressing a word of concern about your mother-in-law’s injury? OK, I apologize that you’re are such an asshole. Grid? F*ck you. F*ck the grid. And my GOD you are an idiot! A FABULOUS idiot! A REMARKABLE idiot!

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Tell your wife that if she wants to find out how her mother is, and her bile and hatred of her sister who is actually taking CARE of her mother makes it IMPOSSIBLE for her to call HER, she can call any of her brothers. If she doesn’t care how her mother is doing, f*ck her. And f*ck you. Grid. HAH! You are a PROFOUND idiot! Now, go get a job. Then I wrote directly to my sister. OK, enough of this bullshit. If your bile and insane hatred of your sister is so overwhelming that it keeps you from calling to find out how your mother is doing, you can call either of your brothers. Please don’t make me have to deal with your walking dildo. He’s a profound idiot. Let me tell you a little bit about supracondylar femur fractures above a total knee arthroplasty. It’s a VERY difficult and touchy operation and it is rife with complications, especially for someone of Mom’s age. And they’ve made your mother wait since 5am Saturday since she 71

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

hurt herself. She MAY have the operation today. They can’t seem to bump any of the elective cases from the surgical schedule since they get full reimbursement from private insurance and not so much from Medicare. If you want to call me, you know my number. Or you can call Joe. Or, you can continue being ―(Name Redacted)‖, dipshit wife of a dipshit deadbeat who is bleeding you for everything you have. The choices you make are the ones you will live with for the rest of your life. You are my sister. I love you. But I seriously… SERIOUSLY… question your judgment and mental stability. That being said… Toodles. Before she responded, the corpus callosum with arms wrote back. He still thought he was talking to Becki…

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

You can apologize to me for all your personal attacks. I have left you alone and every chance you get. You are throwing barbs. Well fuck you if you impersonate someone and then post something on my wall you F*cking Crazy Bipolar C*nt! See a doctor because your meds aren’t cutting it. The whole relationship problem between Shelly (the name he gave my youngest sister, something no one else in the family ever called her and a name her father hated!) and her mother is between them. It was caused by you because you are such a wonderful daughter and sister. You can chose friends. You can’t chose family. You were a f*cking random mistake of a sister. You love your sister so much. That you can’t keep your big fat mouth shut and act civilized. Ever. Cheers :D So I replied. See, this is why nobody likes you. You are AMAZINGLY stupid. You’re not TALKING to Becki, you remarkable DUNCE! GOD, what a MAGNIFICENT idiot! 73

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Not that you DESERVE an explanation (or ANY display of human kindness), but your wife’s reaction to her psychotic episode in which she believes Becki ―MIIIIIIND CONTROOOOOLED ME‖ into commenting (perfectly politely, mind you) on her SOOOOPER ATHEIST blog has made it impossible for anyone in her ―family‖ to contact her in case of emergency. So the creation of Rhonda was something we ALL agreed upon — Mom included — so that in case something happened we’d have some way to let (Name Redacted) know about it. Rhonda has been following you for MONTHS, Sparky! The only reason you KNOW about her is because she TOLD you — because Mom wants (Name Redacted) to know she’s in the hospital. You might wanna see a doctor yourself, Skippy. ―Rage‖ as an initial reaction to a stressful situation, that’s pathologic. If your first reaction to news about your wife’s mother’s health is to call the person informing her a ―c*nt,‖ that says a great deal more about you than it does her! And your concern for your mother-in-law’s health? I’m moved to tears. The word is ―choose.‖ Not ―chose.‖ ―Choose‖ signifies doing something in the present tense. ―Chose‖ indicates something done in the past tense. And the incomplete sentences you use? Sweet Jesus, I know 4th graders with better grammar. You’re as good a wordsmith as you are a photographer.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Now, go get a job. Then, I sent a follow-up. See, (Name Redacted)… the lesson here is this. When someone contacts you to inform you that your wife’s mother is in the hospital, even if she is snarky in doing so (and she was), the NORMAL PERSON’s reaction is to step away from the computer, go hold the wife’s hand and gently inform her that her mother is in the hospital with a broken femur. The ABNORMAL, PSYCHOTIC person’s reaction is to dig up an old post made by the person in question and posting the word ―c*nt.‖ See the difference there, Scooter? I wouldn’t even be involved in this, but outsiders like you, especially deadbeat losers who are being chased down by creditors and sued for their last nickel when they don’t even have a JOB… they don’t GET to call my sister that word. We understand each other now?

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

He replied. Well Billy Boy. Clever girl you are. :) Have fun… To which I said… JESUS BE PRAISED!!! HE FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT!!! The fact that you think calling me a ―girl‖ is an insult says a great deal about your level of misogyny. Look it up. Now, back to looking for gruesome videos to post on your SOOOOOOPER ATHEIST Facebook page… see, Rhonda wasn’t the ONLY one keeping an eye on you. See if you can guess which of your OTHER ―Facebook Friends‖ I am! (What a MAGNIFICENT idiot!) The best thing about engaging in a war of words with a dumbass is that the dumbass generally doesn‘t know when he‘s whipped. That‘s why he sent this…

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

See you can’t seem to get it through your thick skull. You are as much an ass as her. So boo hoo Becki got called a c*nt. Shelly knows. She tried to call hospital but her mom wasn’t there…Since you and Bex want to pretend your needed and are with holding the phone number. You are the ones being petty and dickwads. If you cared you should have sent the number in the first place…but mom has to wait while her fucking loser siblings pretend they are good people. So try pretending your civilized and shut the f*ck up. Send the number to her mom. Shelly did not want to talk to you two. Which begged the response… See, that’s where you’re wrong again. I don’t have Mom’s hospital phone number. It was her decision. She gave orders — no visitors, no incoming phone calls until she’s on the mend. I’m in Maryland, respecting her wishes. Mom knows (Name Redacted) would be at the hospital making a scene. She is in great pain and doesn’t want to talk to anyone on the phone. I will let (Name Redacted) know when Mom gets home, and she can call her there. Same deal as I get. You would understand that if you had more than a functioning brainstem. Now, don’t you have some more gruesome pics to post on your Facebook page?

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Shelly? Did you buy a turtle? My sister’s name is (redacted). (Such a REMARKABLE simpleton it is!) Have you guessed which of your FB pals I am yet? Here’s a clue. Compare (Name Redacted’s) friends to yours. Toodles, nitwit! Then (Name Redacted), or Shelly (take your pick) finally replied. The stalker (meaning Becki, because Becki read something on her blog and responded to it which is something only a STALKER would do, meaning I get a LOT of stalkers looking at and responding to MY blog, but never mind that now) COULD have given me the number to nurse’s station. She did not. Instead, she said I had to call her, that I need the family more than it needs me (which we all know is not true), and all sorts of melodramatic crazy bullshit. If you want to give me the number to the nurse’s station and make sure I can get information, please do. Other than that, do not contact me again.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I’ve asked you both time and again to leave us alone, but you can’t seem to handle that simple request. Were you really pleased with yourself for stalking us through (daughter’s) puppy on that website? Sick f*cker. Reagaring my husband: The reason you both have a problem with him is that he convinced me to cut off CRAZY once and for all. You have no reason to make any sort of accusations against him; the loss of compliant (Name Redacted) is just too much for you obsessive control freaks. I’m f*cking Mensa, you dumb f*cker. I am not stupid nor am I a “mark” for (Name Redacted). I CHOSE to be with him and you all chose to be crazy assholes. Tough decision, that one. Because we share genetic material does not give you any special rights. You two couldn’t behave yourselves so I cut you off. That was your choice. NORMAL people who are actually concerned about their mother would give me a phone number, room number or something so I could make contact with her or the nurses; maybe even send cards or flowers. But when I called the hospital, they would not give me any information, probably because crazy bitch set it up that way thinking I would have to call her.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

So, you can give me a number and access to reach Mom or not. Your choice. If you decide to be a decent person and do that, great. Then leave me alone. You can SERIOUSLY QUESTION whatever the f*ck you want. I was through playing with you two long ago. Well, a SOOPER GENIUS wouldn‘t misspell ―regarding‖… but I replied anyway… Oh, sweet. Mensa. Get that on the Internet did ya? I did a test like that, and it says I’m an ―empathizer.‖ I don’t have the phone number. Mom specifically said she wanted no incoming calls or visitors until she’s on the mend. I should ignore Mom’s wishes? As as far as the ―stalker‖? You left no choice. We all agreed… me, Bex, Mom and Joe, to create a FB avatar just so we could notify you in case of an emergency. Becki broke her cover today — a little snarkier than I would have, but whatchagonna do? Now… see if you can guess which FB friend I am? Which one JOE is? Which one is with the CIA or FBI! Or (oooooh!) with the VATICAN 80

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

My puppies were cuter. I saw a link to cute puppies. It was only a side benefit that it got you and dickhead annoyed. LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW! I’M WATCHING YOU NOW! CUZ BECKI SAID SO!!! I repeat. I do not have the number because your mother doesn’t want to be called until after the surgery and she feels better… and she knows you would be at the hospital making a scene — like you did at Bob’s funeral, like you did at Jack’s funeral, like you would have done at Sis’s remembrance if you hadn’t been so pissed at me for being KING OF ALL SCHMALFELDTS!!! (―I just wanna say (sniff!) that I loved my brother (blubber!) and I won’t be satisfied (weep!) until I bring EVERYONE in the room down after that inspirational euology. (waaaah!)‖ Mensa! That’s rich stuff. Remember when you had a brain tumor that turned out to be a tooth abscess? Mensa? Hardee f*ckin’ har har! Joe and I had a good laugh over that one last time we had dinner in Nashville. Did you get a CERTIFICATE? How much did they charge you for THAT?

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I will let you know when Mom gets out of surgery and gets home and you can call her there. We just wanted you to know she was in the hospital. Mission Accomplished! Oh, about (the scrotum with feet)… got a job yet? Or are YOU paying for that nice boat with the big fishies with the pink ribbons and peace symbol. Wouldn’t that money be better used to pay off the judgments against him? But don’t worry. The money will start flowing soon, no doubt. He’s as good a photographer as he is a writer. Like I said, I’ll let you know when Mom is out of surgery and will send you daily updates until she gets home. Then… just like the rest of us… you may call her. Because you are my sister. And I love you. (The walking dildo? Not much use for him. But you pays yer dime, you takes yer chances.) Nowhere in that exchange with the shaft with arms or my sister did EITHER of them express the slightest CONCERN

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

about my mother — who at this moment is STILL awaiting a room in the OR. The testicle with a nose was more concerned about calling names, and my sister is still convinced that Becki has this mind control hoodoo going on. My parents always said, if one person thinks you‘re a jerk, you can tell yourself it‘s just one person. But if EVERYONE tells you, then YOU might have a problem. Becki and I have no problems at all talking to my brother Joe, my brother-in-law Dave, my sisters-in-law Lori and Kelli. We had no problems with Cindi or Jack or Bob when they were alive. BUT THEY ALL HAD (and the living ones CONTINUE to have) problems with Mickey Mensa! I wonder why THAT is… Mensa! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!! BTW: Becki just called. The surgery has been moved to Thursday. Good God Almighty!

(Sept. 29) Get Your Mickey Mensa Products! Say there, Smartie! Sick and tired of dumbasses coming up in your face every day thinking that they‘re SMARTER than 83

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

you? Well, YOU took an online IQ test that said you QUALIFY for MENSA membership. Now you can shove their ignorance RIGHT BACK IN THEIR SMUG, STUPID FACES with this great new line of ―I‘m F**cking MENSA‖ products.

With those cool autumn and winter months ahead, wouldn‘t a

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

nice ―I‘m F**cking MENSA‖ sweatshirt be just the COZIEST way of reminding yourself you‘re the smartest girl you know? And suppose Mr. Thinks He‘s So Smart tries to start an argument about quantum physics over morning coffee? THIS little doozie of a coffee mug will shut his mouthbreathing yap but GOOD! And why not let everyone at the FOOTBALL GAME know how brilliant you are by sporting this fashionable CAP to keep that magnificent brain of yours nice and warm? Got a smartass neighbor? This yard sign will remind him who‘s the genius on YOUR block!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

And that‘s not all! There‘s stickers, trucker caps, t-shirts of all shapes and sizes, stickers, ornaments and all kinds of neat stuff to show EVERYONE just how smart you are! All of these products are REAL and AVAILABLE NOW. Any proceeds (after Cafe Press gets its cut) will be donated to the Charles DBS Research Fund at Vanderbilt University Medical Center! And how smart is THAT? So JOIN THE MICKEY MENSA CLUB TODAY. Visit the store, make a purchase, and feel real good about yourself! And thanks to my sweet baby sister for the quote. I just know she will be pleased that Parkinson‘s disease research will be funded as a result of her crazed ranting. (Sept. 29) Surgery on Thursday Here's tonight's update from the hospital, ala Becki. They've put off the surgery until Thursday. This morning they were still thinking that Muz might have surgery today. I left the hospital and spent some time with Mom's cat. I got back to the hospital this afternoon to find Mom drinking water, so I knew surgery was off for today. I spoke with the ortho team. They have her on the schedule for Thursday (they still did not know what time). They are starting her on Heparin. They said there had been concerns about her blood work, her previous DVT and scheduling conflicts, so they wanted to start the Heparin and make sure

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

she is stable and comfortable until the surgery. They then put a splint on her leg, which seemed to make Muz a bit more comfortable. When I was there, she ate a half of a cheeseburger and a few fries. The nurses are keeping her quite doped up. She was pretty cognitive for a while, but during our daily viewing of "Judge Judy", she started getting confused again... lucid dreams. Always a fun thing to see. I know it is because of the massive amounts of pain killers she is on, but it is still unsettling to me. She was in good spirits today, so I was happy to see that. Anyway, I am going to go in to my office tomorrow. I will stop in to see Muz tomorrow evening and will update you again tomorrow evening. I love you all very much. If there is anyone else you think I should send these updates to, please let me know. You all have a good night's sleep tonite. Muz is in good hands at the hospital. Good job, Bex!

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

(Sept. 30) Becki Gets a Scare Becki had one of those "heart attack" moments today. She got a call from the hospital and she didn't get to her phone and they didn't leave a message leaving Bex to fear the worst. On her way to the hospital, she finally got through and talked to the doc who will be doing the surgery tomorrow. Muz is second on the rotation for tomorrow, meaning they will likely get her into the OR around 9 or 10 CT. And instead of pinning with nails or screws, given that the objective here is not to get Muz up and running in a marathon but is to allow her to transfer from wheelchair to recliner to wheelchair to toilet, etc., they're going to do a different sort of surgery. I think I've found the proper description of the surgery. I may be wrong, but it sounds like this is the procedure Bex was talking about. I've tried to explain in italics. The most difficult cases involve a loose prosthesis coupled with deficient metaphyseal (the wider portion of a long bone adjacent to the epiphyseal plate [the cartilage plate and the end of a long bone]) bone stock rendering a basic revision procedure impossible. (There's not enough 88

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

good bone to work with.) Such cases require excision of distal fracture fragment (removal of the chunk of broken bone between the fracture and the old knee replacement) and replacement with either a distal femoral replacement prosthesis (an artificial "knee end" of the femur) or a structural allograft (a new "knee end" of the femur crafted from the leg of a dead person). These treatment methods may also be required for nonunion following previously failed attempt at osteosynthesis (a surgical procedure that stabilizes and joins the ends of fractured bones by mechanical devices such as metal plates, pins, rods, wires or screws). Distal (further from the hip, i.e., the "knee end" of the leg bone) femoral replacement implants should be considered as a limb-salvage option when other surgical options are not feasible. With modern hinged knee prosthesis (the thing they're gonna use) there is increased freedom of rotation, which decreases prosthesisâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;bone stresses but still it does not match the function and longevity of the condylar components (the femur end of the total knee replacement previously done) and therefore should be used only in low-demand patients. Like Muz. The literature says this is a pretty low complication procedure and Muz will be weight-bearing much sooner than she would have been otherwise. This will get her home sooner and on the mend quicker.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

(Sept. 30) Muz Has the Surgery: Becki's Latest Update -- and the Latest on SvenShelly! Mom had the surgery this morning. That part of it went well, so we're told. I'm a bit worried about her slowness coming out of the recovery room. But the nurse told Becki that it's not unusual for someone of Mom's age. So, until we hear otherwise, let's all keep breathing for my Mom. Here's Becki's latest dispatch. I'll update when I hear more. The nurse called me about 9am this morning and said the order had come to bring mom down to surgery. I got to the hospital a little bit before 10am. I told the nurse I was there and she said it would be about 5 hours or so. A little after 1pm, Mom's room phone rang. It was the ortho surgeon. The surgery had gone well, but they had not taken her off the ventilator yet. He said he would be up to her room shortly to speak with me. About 1/2 hour later, he came up and we talked. The surgery that was done was a little more complex that just getting in there to pin the bone together, but there is a much quicker recovery time. While we were speaking, he called down to post op to find out her condition. She was off of the ventilator, was breathing on her own, but was still intubated. Her O2 sat was at about 87. I told him that was her usual saturation when she was not on O2. He would like to get her 90

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

up and around today and she should be able to bear weight on that leg. They wanted to keep her in post op until her sats were up a bit. If her saturation comes up to where it should be, she will be back in her room. If they have problems getting them back up, they will admit her to ICU. I left the hospital at about 2pm. Before I left, I spoke to the nurse. She said this is a pretty normal situation. I asked her to call me when they knew where she was going to be... which may take about an hour or two. I will then run back out there to let her know how much we all love her. It looks like she will be in the hospital until at least Monday. Knowing how she was after her knee replacement surgery, she did not want to talk on the phone. The doctor said they would like to get her into rehab. I am sure she will HATE that, but our goal here for her is to just get her to transfer safely independently again. I don't think rehab will be as hard on her this time and she will not be there as long. Anyway, I am at home until the nurses call me. I love you all very much and thank you all for your good thoughts for Muz (and for me, too). And I would ask one favor... I doubt this will happen, but if any of you happen to hear from (my youngest sister), would you please let me know. You can give her any information

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

about Mom that you like. I know Bill has been trying to email updates to her, but she may have blocked his emails. I would like to be able to tell Muz that (Name Redacted) knows about how she is doing. I don't need to speak to (Name Redacted), but it would be nice to know that if she wants, she can contact any one of you to ask about our Mom. The only reason that I had restricted access to Mom is that the last time Mom was in the hospital (vomiting for 4 days in a row), (Name Redacted) was in Poland. She would call Mom a few times a day and if Mom did not answer the phone, she would call the nurses station to ask her to be patched through. The nurses are just a little busy and do not need to be bothered to give (Name Redacted) information about Mom multiple times a day when she can get the same information from any of us. I wish that (Name Redacted) would get over all of this, but I have no control over that. I love you all so much. Thank you all for calling and checking on me as well as mom. I really could not ask for a better family. I thought twice about including that part about (Name Redacted). But she and her crazy-ass husband have taken the day to delete their Facebook pages, his "Fans of BCR3 Photography" page, his entire BCR3 Photography website, their various blogs, etc. In effect, because they are mad at Becki and me, they are eliminating their Internet presence. Because any time Becki or I happen to visit a website that they have visited, that's "stalking." So what better way to stop us from "stalking" her than eliminate their web presence. 92

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

What we have here, gentle readers, is a woman completely under the control of a Svengali who gives her orgasms. He has convinced her that the whole world is out to get her and only HE can protect her from the "crazy family" that she LOVED being part of for so many years. As her oldest remaining brother, I still love her. But -- as is my way -- I will mock ANYONE who acts like an idiot. And she grew up around too many smart people to be acting like such a dumbass. (Sept 30) Mom Weathers the Storm. This is One Tough Old Hen, Here! Just spoke to Becki as she was leaving the hospital. Not only is Mom now back in her room, she's awake, alert, and feisty. She wanted to show Becki her leg "so I could see where she doesn't have stuff on her leg that she used to have," Becki said. The nurse came in and asked her about pain. "None worth talking about," Muz said. In fact, she says that -- except when she bends her new knee -- there's 93

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

not much pain at all. This is one tough old bird we're talking about here, my friends! This is not a bird you would want to serve up at Thanksgiving, because she's just too tough. Stringy. Would give you indigestion. Wouldn't slice easily. Just not a nice, tender little chickadee! My Mom is my hero! Becki is my hero for being there for her through all of this. Everyone reading this who still has a parent on this planet, take a minute to think of him or her and remind yourself how much you love them and how lucky you are to have them. This was tough. Mom admitted as such. But the worst is over. Now comes the rehab. As Becki was leaving, she said, "Your job now is to rest, get better, and do what the nurses tell you." "I always do what the nurses tell me," Mom grumped. My mom is back!

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

And I love her so very much! (Oct. 2) Herein Lies the Tale of the "Friday Freakout" My mother does not want to go to physical rehab. She really, really, REALLY does not want to go to rehab. The doctors say she should go to rehab. The nurses say she should go to rehab. Becki says she should go to rehab. But Mom really, really, REALLY does NOT want to go to rehab. In this case, rehab would consist of strengthening exercises that would allow her to reach her ultimate goal of being able to transfer from her chair to her power chair, to her bed, to her potty, etc. We have no illusions of Muz ever walking normally again. So Becki went out to the hospital yesterday and found our mother to be -- how shall I put it -- in a state of "non compus mentis", as the lawyers put it. She was babbling, out of her mind, not knowing where she was, thinking she was at her old home in Oak Creek, etc. and etc. Becki could not stand seeing her mother like that, so she retreated from the hospital and contacted us. I requested (and got) leave for at least the next week so that Gail and I can be there to help out. The original plan was to leave this morning.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Well, when I got up, there was a message from Becki saying that she had talked to Muz around 9:30 pm ET, and that she was back to her old self. She did not want us to drive all the way out there just for her. But she still does not want to go to rehab. So... it was the morphine (apparently) that sent Muz over the "wacky line." And now she's doing better. But if she refuses to go to rehab, Gail and I are STILL going to head out there so that we can be with her 24/7. Becki has used all her vacation time and I have vacation time until hell won't have it anymore. If Muz decides TO go to rehab, then Gail and I will go out after she is released from that so we can help out. What we're waiting for is the following information from Becki... 1. Is Muz STILL refusing to go to rehab? 2. If so, when does the hospital plan to discharge her? We will be there when they do. If they plan to discharge her on Monday, we will leave tomorrow. 3. If Muz DOES go to rehab, how long of a process is that expected to be?

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

4. When she is released from rehab, Gail and I will be there to help out. But in the meantime, we wait. Stubborn old Mommy! So much for Becki's "mind control" over her... (If Bex actually DID have mind control over Muz [as a certain Svengali-controlled Mensa member dumbass insists], none of this would have happened because Muz would have gone to the hospital last Friday night -- like Becki WANTED her to -- when she slipped out of her wheelchair instead of waiting to fall out of her bed early Saturday morning.) Ay yi yi yi!!! (Oct. 2) Greetings from Cambridge, Ohio -Home of the 'Lumberjack Festival' Gosh! And to think we're in town for the Lumberjack Festival... whatever that is. We're rolling the dice here. Gail is driving us to Milwaukee on the very real chance that Muz will continue to decline rehab and will need someone at home with her 24/7 -something Becki can't do. Gail drove over 300 miles today. I'm very proud of her. Cross country driving is not something she's ever done.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

We're going to take our time tomorrow and should get to St. Francis sometime early tomorrow evening. This is a nice hotel room -- we got the last one in the place because of the aforementioned festival ... now to relax, watch "Cops" and just relax.

(Oct. 3) We're Here! That Much is Clear. Everything Else? Up in the Air. Well, we made it to St. Francis. I'm so proud of Gail. She has never driven such a long distance in her life, and she did it and we didn't get killed or anything. Becki came over to help us get settled. Talked to Muz on the phone. She sounds great, but no way ready to leave the hospital just yet. How long will we be here? Who knows? They could release Muz from the hospital tomorrow. They could hold her for days. They could put her in rehab right there at Froedtert. They could send her to another facility, if she agrees to go. Or they could just send her home.

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Whatever they decide to do, Gail and I are here to help because Becki just can not carry this load all by herself. I have the leave available, Bex has pretty much used up her vacation. So, if they release Muz to home tomorrow, we're here. If they release her in a week, we're here. If they release her to rehab for a week, we're here. I can still get the majority of my work done from here. But we are here. (Oct. 4) Mom Agrees to Rehab, and… “Clink”? Good day here in the Cream City with my bride. Mom's cat, James, was EVER so happy to have someone in the apartment with him. He took turns sleeping with us. Got up and Gail went for Starbucks. Decided it would be more cost effective just to replace Mom's busted coffee maker. Went out to Froedtert to visit Muz, and were almost to the elevators when Becki called, said Muz called her, asked us to postpone the visit until 2 pm. So we went to breakfast at Baker Square, got some quarters so Gail could do laundry, then went back to visit Muz. We gave her a cute little stuffed kitty that looks like James. She seemed delighted.

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

We talked to Muz about the importance of rehab, how we could take care of her at the house, but neither Gail nor I are physical therapists and MY days of picking up elderly ladies from wheelchairs and plopping them on the potty are DONE! She agreed, and decided she would submit to rehab. Becki came over for a visit after visiting Muz. Her dog Bob is just adorable. Nothing against my dogs, which I love dearly, but Bob is big hunk of sweet, sweet dog. Tomorrow, we'll meet with Becki to check out a reputable place where it looks like Muz is gonna get her rehab. Now, about the "clink"... As I've mentioned, the last couple of days, I've gotten up in the morning with an achy back left flank and what felt like a band of achyness in my left abdomen. I figgered it was a kidney stone, since previous CT scans have shown nonobstructing "renal calculi" in my left kidney.

100

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

So, I sit down on the potty and start to make #1, and nothing is happening.... then I hear, in quick succession -- "clink, CLINK!" And the urine started flowing like it had been backed up by Hoover Dam. The reason I was sitting was because I thought I was gonna do more than just make weewees, but no such luck. I stand up, turn around, and there toward the front of the bowl. Boulders. Actually, a small stone with a smaller stone that looks like it chipped off the bigger one. Just thought you'd like to know. (Oct. 5) Busy Day, But Allâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Well that Ends Well Mom's in rehab. Becki, Gail and I checked out a rehab facility earlier today and fell in love with it. At about 3:30 this afternoon, the ambulance crew showed up to transfer

101

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Muz to the rehab place. She asked me to ride along with her in the ambulance and I was happy to do so. Kept up a running line of smack talk with one of the attendants who is a Vikings fan. We got Muz situated, and it is a GREAT FACILITY!!! One of the nurse's came in to introduce herself to Muz and said, "YOU are a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!!!" Becki and I voted her our favorite that instant. So, the grand problem is solved for now. Muz is not fighting rehab. Now she just needs to buckle down and get it done so she can get back to where she can transfer from chair to potty to bed, etc. She seems to understand the importance of it, and it's a huge load off of everyone's mind. And it means Gail and I can start for home on Friday. (Oct. 6) Now That the Immediate Storm has Passedâ&#x20AC;Ś Now that the immediate storm has passed, there's a chance to relax a little bit before we point the car east and head home Friday morning. Muz is safely in her rehab facility, Becki seems a lot less stressed, and Gail is at this moment puttering around my mother's apartment cleaning stuff.

102

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

We both got a good night's sleep. My mother's cat, James, is walking around the apartment saying "meow!" to nobody in particular. We can finally relax a bit. Muz is in great hands. Cooler heads have prevailed and she is getting the rehab she will need to help her live out the rest of her life at a lower risk of falling. Later this morning, Gail and I will go buy a nice plant to take to her room to brighten it up a bit more. But it really is a nice room! Flat screen HDTV (as soon as she figures out the remote), a caring staff. We couldn't be happier about where she is. We all need to confront the fact that my Mom is in a state of decline. The aortic stenosis the doctor told me about is particularly bad news, especially now that this life-long condition has become symptomatic. I would like to get a look at the report of her recent echocardiogram to see if they suspect congestive heart failure or left ventricular hypertrophy, either of which would heighten my concern. But the fact that her blood's oxygen saturation plummets when she's taken off her O2, that tells us that the aortic valve of her heart -- the valve responsible for sending oxygenated blood to the rest of the body -- is just not up to doing the job. Nobody's suggesting valve replacement, which tells you something. Just like the decision to give her what amounts to a "short term fix" in her knee tells you something.

103

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I think we all just have to prepare ourselves for the reality that Muz is not all that far removed from that day where she will join Dad and my departed siblings. Our job -- our DUTY as her children -- is to ensure that she is as comfortable and cared for as is humanly possible for whatever time she has left. It's been a hard few years for Muz, with Bob dying in 2004, Jack passing in 2008, Cindi dying last November, and the idiotic actions of her youngest daughter choosing her Svengali with a penis over her family. And for Muz, her loss of independence is doubly difficult as she has always felt that SHE is the Mommy, so it should be SHE who is doing for her kids and not the other way around. Gail, Becki and I will do what it takes to make sure she is happy, as protected, as comfortable and as healthy as she can be for her remaining days. We love her so very much. (Oct. 6) Mom Aces First Full Day in Rehab Mom spent her first full day in rehab today. It went very well. Other than the fact that they don't answer the call bell as fast as they do at the hospital, she really likes the place. And the more time Gail and I spent there this afternoon, the more WE like it, too!

104

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Got up, went for a nice late breakfast at Andrea's, then picked up a plant and a little light-up ghost to decorate Mom's room. We had a lovely visit, watched some TV together, and said goodnight. I had to take a little nap when we got back to the apartment. Then Becki came over with Gail's boyfriend, Bob. (I should say, Gail's OTHER boyfriend, since she is also tight with James who you see her with in the attached photo. We had some delicious pizza, and called it a night. Everyone is just so tired after a long, crazy week. But Muz looked GREAT! She's pinker than she was yesterday, she was up in her wheelchair, she was happy, peppy and bursting with love. This place will be very, very good for her! (Oct. 7) Final Day in Brewtown This will be our last full day in Milwaukee. Gail and I will go out to get a bite to eat, then we'll head out to the home to see Muz one last time. Then, tonight, we'll relax here at the apartment so that Gail is good and rested for the long drive tomorrow and the shorter drive on Saturday.

105

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Not gonna make the same mistake we made on the way out here by pushing too hard and driving too late. As soon as it starts getting dark, we will put in for the night. G0nna give Bex a call and see if she's talked to Muz yet today so we know what to expect when we get there. More details later tonight, as we wrap up our latest emergency trip to Milwaukee. (Oct. 7) Mom is in Great Hands, Home We Go! Well, now the whole thing is in the capable hands of the good folks at the rehab center, Becki's continuing care and love, our support and love from afar, and God. Said our goodbyes to Mom today. Each time I leave Milwaukee, I'm always a little fearful that this will be the last time I see her. If that turns out to be the case, then my last look at my Muzzie will be that of a happy (but sleepy) girl who had therapy this morning, steak for dinner last night, and a tai chi class this afternoon. Yes. My mother took part in tai chi this afternoon. She looks better. Her color is better. She seems stronger. They are taking great care of her. Becki will go out for awhile on

106

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Friday then spend most of the day on Saturday and watch the Packers game with her on Sunday. We'll get up around 6 am and get started on the long road home. But I'm so glad we came. Mom listened to reason. It wasn't just Becki telling her she needed rehab. She heard it from me and Gail, too. And we all figure that she decided that if it was important enough for us to come all the way out here, then it was important enough for her to bow to reason and take the opportunity go get stronger. I still worry about that aortic stenosis. I worry about that a lot. But she's almost 80. And all ANY of us want is for her to spend her twilight years as happy and in as much comfort as possible. (Oct. 17) Your Latest "Muz Update" from Becki Been awhile since I've posted an update on my mom... here's the latest from an e-mail we got yesterday from my sister. I just wanted to give you all a brief update about our Muzzie. She is doing really well! Yesterday was the first day that she stood up by herself (using the parallel bars) without fear of falling. She was very proud. We learned yesterday that the order has come from the doctor to have the staples removed. The nurse told me she would do it last nite or today.

107

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

That will make Muz very happy because now she can get in to the whirlpool. She is in great spirits. She is focused on getting stronger. Of course, she misses her home and kitty. She knows she has to work to get back to the life she had before and she is doing it with a smile on her face. I am so thankful that she likes this facility. I do not worry so much like I did when she was at the last 2 facilities. The first one almost killed her and she had issues with some of the personnel at the facility she was at after her last surgery. But at the (rehab facility), every one is cheerful and helpful, the room is large and always clean, and the food is good (I know, I had dinner with Mom last week and it was quite good... for a nursing home). I am going to do some house cleaning this morning then go to spend the afternoon with Mom. Tomorrow I will bring her some "burger doodle" and watch the Packers game with her. Hopefully the Packers will show the same progress Mom has in the last week. I love you all very much. Thank you so much for all of your help and for your care and concern about Mom. I could not ask for a better family. bex 108

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

If she can just keep working on that upper body strength, she'll be home before show knows it. Continued good thoughts are in order. (So there, you’re up to date – as of this printing – on my Mom’s condition. She continues to heal. She continues to get stronger. Now we can get back to worrying about ME!)

109

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

More of My Comedy Cavalcade! I generate comedy like rabbits generate little poo pellets. Example: I'm getting into the shower this morning. As I've mentioned, I shower while seated because of my balance issues. That makes it necessary for me to take the shower head off its standard post and use the flexible shower hose to wash myself. So, I get everything together. The water is just the right temperature, and I lean over to lift the piston that will divert the water from the faucet to the shower head when... Ah! Ah! I stop myself. See, if I lifted the piston NOW, I'd get a splash of cold water on the back of my head from the water that's already in the flexible hose, and some of that water would certainly run down my back and onto the bathroom floor before I could get into the shower and close the curtain and THAT would be SILLY! So, I reach up, grab the shower head, place it on the floor of the bathtub -- facing up, mind you... THEN I lift the piston! WHEE! COLD WATER EVERYWHERE! In my face, on my chest, all over the bathroom floor as the happy little 110

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

shower head sprays and sprays and sprays. See, what I SHOULD have done was wait until I was SEATED and the curtain was CLOSED before lifting the piston. But that would be the NORMAL way of doing it. I swear to God, I'm my own Three Stooges comedy sometimes. POSTSCRIPT: And if the above weren't enough, while I was putting the finishing touches on this post, sending out copies to various social media sites, etc... I soiled myself. Thank God for disposable adult undergarments (aka "diapers") but can you imagine the humiliation if I still worked in an office? With people? So, I'm a Dysfunctional Executive? Just got home from my 4-month meeting with my neurologist. I seem to be doing OK as far as the motor symptoms are concerned. But the non-motor stuff seems to be on a downhill slide. On the good side -- I've lost weight. On the bad side -- seems like the frontal lobes of my brain are involved in this thing now. 111

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I described yesterday's fun in the shower with the nozzle and the wetness and the water going everywhere. That, and some other silliness of the recent past. He said this is suggestive of problems in the area of executive functioning. The concept is used by psychologists and neuroscientists to describe a loosely defined collection of brain processes that are responsible for planning, cognitive flexibility, abstract thinking, rule acquisition, initiating appropriate actions and inhibiting inappropriate actions, and selecting relevant sensory information. Uh-huh. What else?

112

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Parkinson's disease causes problems with thinking and mood. These thinking disturbances occur early in the disease. The most common thinking deficits are in executive functions which involve higher level thinking skills. These problems may lead to other difficulties such as, sadness and lack of impulse control. Executive functions are a group of higher level thinking skills that involve planning and self-control. Most of the executive brain functions are controlled in the frontal lobes of the brain. This area of the brain is last to mature and the first to decline. Executive functions include the ability to develop strategies for a task that involves multiple steps, think ahead, switch from one task to another quickly, concentrate, control impulses, predict based on recognizing a pattern, think logically, choose what to do with incomplete information, pay attention to more than one thing at a time, decide things quickly and accurately, and change plans based on what is happening in the surrounding environment. No shit? The doc doesn't think it's actual dementia yet. Just executive dysfunction. But he did administer the MiniMental Status Exam (MMSE), and I scored a 22. I had trouble spelling the word "WORLD" backwards (I spelled it "WROLD" or, We're Old...) and I could only recall one of the three words I was supposed to remember. There may be some disagreement as to whether or not this denotes dementia.

113

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Any score greater than or equal to 25 points (out of 30) is effectively normal (intact). Below this, scores can indicate severe (â&#x2030;¤9 points), moderate (10-20 points) or mild (21-24 points). The raw score may also need to be corrected for educational attainment and age. Low to very low scores correlate closely with the presence of dementia, although other mental disorders can also lead to abnormal findings on MMSE testing. The rest of the visit was fine. I still fall when pulled backwards. I'm still remarkably non-rigid. I showed some tremor in my right hand that hasn't been noted before. And there are some new rules. Now, in addition to "not backing up" there's no more "bending over", which means that either the dogs will have to stand on their hind legs when I take off their collars when bringing them in from the yard, or else I have to sit down while doing it. I wonder which would work best. Next visit, Feb. 15. I Have Absolutely Nothing to Say. I have absolutely nothing to say. How weird is that? I find myself staring at the computer screen, realizing that I haven't posted a single thing on this blog all day, and it dawns on me -- I have absolutely nothing to say. 114

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

My mind isn't QUITE a blank. But it's close to it. I recorded and uploaded nine podcasts for work today. At this moment, a German shepherd is staring at me with an "I need to go outside" look in her eyes, but Gail said she'd take the pups out when she gets back from taking our neighbor to work. So I guess she can wait for a few minutes. I have no new insights on anything today. Nothing new to say about my Parkinson's disease. Nothing interesting in the research news. Anything I could say about the political scene would be something I've said before, ad nauseum. Finished

my podcasting at about 2:30, took a nap until shortly before

115

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

4. Now, I sit here, in the uncharacteristic position of having absolutely nothing to say. Hah. Gail's home. She has the mail. Maybe something in there will spark a topic! Nope. Nuthin' but crap. The girlies are heading out into the cool, fall afternoon. I guess I'll go and sit in front of the TV and try to follow the plot line. Oooh! Raven barked at something. Shiloh went to the window and started screaming. When she gets excited, she doesn't bark. Barking is for "alert". Screaming is for when she's all excited and stuff. Typical afternoon. Is this what the French call "ennui"? Ah, the French. They have words for everything. Don't they just?

116

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

An Open Letter to Michael J. Fox Dear Mr. Fox (it feels odd calling someone six years my junior "Mister", but I can't think of anyone who deserves the honorific more than you do, sir): I was just sitting and watching MSNBC. My eyes wandered to the crawler below the main screen and I saw the words "October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month." We just got home from Milwaukee the other day, visiting my 80-year old Mom who broke her leg -- feisty old thing, we had to almost coerce her into going into rehab to get her strength built back up. While there, we saw the fountain at the art museum. The water was colored pink for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I watched my beloved Green Bay Packers lose in overtime yesterday to the Washington Redskins. Everyone on the field was wearing pink to commemorate Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Even the referees had the pink ribbon behind the NFL logo on their hats. Any given number of products advertised on TV promise donations to one Breast Cancer Awareness group or another. Here in the DC area, we just had our 3-day Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Awareness Walk.

117

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

I pray that medical science someday finds a cure for this cruel disease which has affected family members and friends of mine. But Mike (may I call you Mike?), where is OUR "Breast Cancer Awareness Month?" I know April is officially Parkinson's Disease Awareness Month. But where was the awareness? Where were the marches? Where were the calls for support? Where were the pleas for donations to your organization or to the National Parkinson Foundation or the American Parkinson's Disease Association or any ONE of the numerous PD awareness groups? Where is OUR "awareness," Mike? If I can share a bit of my own story -- I was diagnosed with PD in January 2000. I was working talk radio in Naples, Florida at the time and went public with my diagnosis on the air the next morning, using your brave example to -- I hoped at the time -- raise awareness. For the better part of seven years, "having Parkinson's" was more or less just a concept in my mind. I didn't really start suffering significant symptoms until late 2006. In June 2007, while an employee of the National Institutes of Health and doing research on the benefits of clinical trials, I found a Phase 1 Clinical Trial for

118

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Deep Brain Stimulation in Early Parkinson's Disease being conducted at Vanderbilt University. I volunteered, passed the screening and was one of 15 people randomized to the surgical group. I had my main surgery on June 13, 2007. There are 15 others in our group of "brain buddies" randomized to the "control group" -- continuing their medication without the surgery, to be used as a measurement against those of us who had the surgery. The hope is that DBS when done earlier in the course of the disease will serve as a neuroprotective and therefore delay -- maybe even halt or reverse -- the progression of the disease. I still work for the NIH, but my symptoms make it necessary for me to work from home. I don't have tremor or dyskinesia, but I do have great difficulty walking, I freeze frequently and fall occasionally. I have developed a neurogenic stutter, which is LOTS of fun for a 30-year broadcasting veteran. But with good audio editing software, I get by and continue to make podcasts for the NIH Clinical Center. This past April, I asked in my blog (http://parkinsondiary.com) -- "WHERE'S THE AWARENESS?" If I may be allowed to quote myself... April is National Parkinson’s Disease Awareness Month. So, why the lack of media stories about Parkinson’s? Where’s the “awareness”? Why are my fellow activist Parkies being met with blank faces and silence when they 119

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

contact their local media outlets asking for a story, a feature, a report of SOME kind about Parkinson’s disease? My cynical opinion? We don’t have a “sexy” disease. There’s nothing attractive about Parkinson’s. We drool, we shake, we walk very slowly, we fall, we break our hips, we get pneumonia, we die. If this started happening to 20-year olds on a regular basis, you damn BETCHA it would start getting some serious media attention. But Parkinson’s is typically a disease of aging. It doesn’t have the devastating quality of Alzheimer’s where we keep our bodies but lose our minds. We keep our minds but lose our bodies. We just don’t have an ATTRACTIVE disease. The money demo in the TV world is the 25-40 year old group. Testing shows that these younger folks don’t really like looking at older people anyway. Add some drool, some shaking, some shuffling, some slurred speech, and you have a real tune-out factor with these folks. We’re just not CUTE enough. Since this disease typically strikes after age 50, it’s rough for Jerry Lewis to hold a telethon to get folks to cough up cash because they feel 120

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

sorry for us. The typical, ill-informed reaction to someone with PD is NOT, “Oh, that person is sick. I want to do something to help.” The reaction is, “Oh, that’s an old person. I hope I don’t get like that when I’m old.” We’re just not TRAGIC enough… like a celebrity who jumps a horse over a hedge, falls and breaks his neck. We have our examples, of course, with young, vibrant, tragic Michael J. Fox. And we all know that Muhammad Ali no longer floats nor stings. And then, there’s NBA star Brian Grant, but he hasn’t really shown any signs of the disease yet. But we also have Janet Reno, who is still joke-fodder for the right wing. We have Yassar Arafat, a dead terrorist. We have Billy Graham. Old. We had Pope John Paul II. Old. We had Adolf Hitler. Evil. So MJF carries the celebrity load, the “Champ” does what he can, and Brian Grant is just getting into the act. We don’t have anyone from “Twilight” coming down with PD. No one from “Avatar.” No one from “30 Rock.” Our shaking, drooling, shuffling, slurring, pooping and peeing ourselves, choking on food and drink, falling and slowness is seen by the uninformed as just a natural part of getting older. Now, if we had a RESPONSIBLE media that could take its eye off the bottom line for a minute, we COULD get a good public service campaign going. I mean, they’ve got a good one for the ASPCA now with the sad doggies and 121

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

kitties and folks are sending money THERE to help. But the media knows that sad doggies and kitties will move people. Shuffling, drooling, slurring older folks will just make people change the channel. Folks get SAD when doggies and kitties are mistreated and uncared for. Folks turn away when faced with images of middle-aged to elderly folks who pee their pants. So what about it, Mike? What can we do? Why is it that no matter what kind of fuss we try to raise, you and Muhammad Ali (and now Brian Grant) are the only people in America with Parkinson's disease -- at least as far as the national media is concerned? Why is there no nationwide, concerted effort to raise awareness, to help you and the other wonderful organizations fund and find new and better treatments, and perhaps a cure for this horrible affliction? My own efforts -writing and self-publishing three books on the subject and donating 100% of author proceeds to research -- have thus far netted just a bit over $200. I have widgets on my site where folks can donate directly. I volunteered for brain surgery, and now I'm trying to raise funds so that Vanderbilt can expand their Phase 1 clinical trial with 30 people to a nationwide Phase III clinical trial, multi-center, involving hundreds if not thousands of younger folks with PD. I feel like I've done my part, and God knows I want to do more. But nobody knows who I am!

122

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I can't snap my fingers and demand TV or print or web media coverage. Hell, I spent hundreds on press releases and they resulted in one live radio and two internet radio interviews. I'm just a civil servant who gets funny looks in the grocery store because of my walk and the scars on my bald head. Where's our Jerry Lewis? Where's our Susan G. Komen? You are our hero, Mike. But you can only do so much as you progress into your 20th year with this beast. Who can we find to lead us? Who can we find -- someone with a national spotlight -- who will draw attention to the 1 million of us in America with this disease, the 50,000 new cases that will be diagnosed this year, and next year, and the year after that and the year after that? I'm hoping you can use your influence to convince someone like that to pick up our banner and run with it. I have no idea who that would be. I think it is fair to say you know a LOT more famous people than I do. But we need someone that folks can point to and say, "that person makes me want to help find a cure for Parkinson's disease." Otherwise, October will continue to be Breast Cancer Awareness Month, while April slogs along as African American Women's Fitness Month, Amateur Radio Month, Autism Awareness Month, Cancer Control Month, Child Abuse Prevention Month, Confederate History Month, Emotional Overeating Awareness Month, Global Child Nutrition Month, Fresh Florida Tomatoes Month, Irritable Bowel Syndrome Month, National Child Abuse Prevention

123

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Month, National Pecan Month, and National Straw Hat Month. Thank you for your time. Meet the Neighbors Before we meet my neighbors, a disclaimer. Yes, I am a snob. I am an elitist. When I drank, I preferred premium single-malt scotch. Before I lost my taste for them, I enjoyed hand-rolled Dominican, Honduran or (when I could get them) Cuban cigars. I have a big vocabulary and I won‘t hesitate to use it. My wife used to call me ―Charles Emerson Winchester‖ for the character on the M*A*S*H TV show. Her family thinks I‘m too smart for my own good. And it‘s true. It‘s all true. Would that I could BE a happy dummy, unaware of my surroundings, blissful in my ignorance. I wish I COULD say things like, ―Them Republicans SAID they‘s sorry fer messin‘ up everything, and they promises not to do it again! I‘m VOTIN‘ fer ‗em!‖ But, no. Sadly, no. I‘m a Mister Smarty-Pants and I admit it. So keep that in mind as you read this post. So… with no further ado… Let’s meet my neighbors.

124

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Well… these aren’t REALLY my neighbors. These are representative neighbors since my REAL neighbors, if I published their photos, would probably gut me in their toolsheds and leave my body hanging by my feet until I dried out good enough to make into jerky. And believe it or not, these characters are an IMPROVEMENT over what we‘re used to here in this neck of the woods. A couple years ago, we had an actual crack/whore trailer right across the street from us! Honest to God! Real crack dealers! Real prostitutes! I used to take the doggies out at night and see various crackheads of various ethnic backgrounds sitting on the curb in front of this trailer waiting for their turn to go inside and get their crack or their prostitute. The cops were over all the time, and finally these folks were booted by trailer park management (but not before 125

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

they ripped every inch of copper wire from the trailer to sell… I guess, for crack.) The people who bought the trailer fixed it up real nice and now it‘s a pleasant sight to see. Even if the lady who lives there sees herself as something of ―the neighborhood queen‖ who has to get her hands into every dispute and work one side against the other for her own amusement. But, it‘s an improvement over crack and whores. Believe me. (They had to put up numerous ―No Trespassing‖ signs and various other indicators to dissuade folks who hadn‘t gotten the news that the supply of crack and/or whores had dried up – at least at THAT trailer. Many was the time we‘d see some crackhead wandering up our street, stopping in front of the trailer, scratch his head in wonderment, and wander away again, no doubt disappointed by the absence of crack and/or whores at the traditional location.) No, the real source of annoyance is this family of ―Sanford and Son‖ hillbillies who have surrounded us to the north, east and west. They‘re running some sort of home business where they ―chunk up‖ things… usually washers, dryers, air 126

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

conditioners, refrigerators, and whatever the hell else they can ―chunk up‖ that is really, really loud when they unload it into their yards at 1:30 in the morning and break out the metal-cutting power saws at 7 am. They occupy three trailers, and there‘s about a hundred of them. At some point, each day, through some sort of familial ESP (since I never see a toothless Granny outside clanging a metal triangle with a metal bar), they all migrate to one trailer or the other, or the other for supper, TRAMPING THROUGH OUR YARD instead of moving NORTH one whole trailer, using the street, and crossing over that way. When either of my dogs are outside, it doesn‘t stop them. The dog leashes don‘t reach that far and they just ignore the frantic barking of dogs protecting their territory. This family, when they‘re not using their ESP, communicates like they did back in the hill country. By hollering. They yell at each other when they‘re happy. They yell at each other when they‘re angry. They yell to tell someone to come over – cutting through our yard, of course. And they have kids. About 300 of them. Gail had to put the kibosh on their using our front yard tree as a gathering place. They would sit under our tree and discuss whatever sort of vandalism they had planned for the day (I can only assume) until Gail chased them off.

127

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

They seem to be inclined to settle arguments like they did in the hills. With violence. And a lot of yelling. The other day, we witnessed the wife (I suppose) of one of these hillbillies standing there in her driveway hollering at her husband (I suppose) waving a hammer at him, and I don‘t think she was asking him to pound down loose nails on the deck. And then, there‘s the motorcycle. One of these hillbilly families has a motorcycle. They don‘t actually drive it. But they LOVE to HEAR it. They come out side, stand around it, scratching their heads in amazement at the miracle of the internal combustion engine as they rev up the motorcycle, and rev it, and rev it and REV it. And they‘re ANGRY at one of my OTHER neighbors (who is on the hillbilly fringe, but not part of this particular clan) because THEY think that SHE called the cops on ‗em when they were revving their motorcycle at around 11 one night. See, these folks, having grown up – no doubt – where the nearest neighbors were three hilltops over, have no concept of how to live in tight spaces. The hillbillies behind us have a cute little puppy. It‘s a pit bull, of course. (And what is it about these hillbillies and pit bulls? Is it some sort of compensation for manhood? Does a guy say to himself, ―Well, I‘m disappointed in the size of my penis and it doesn‘t seem to be getting any larger, so I think I‘ll get a pit bull since I can‘t afford a Dodge Ram Pickup Truck.‖) At present, it seems like a friendly little puppy – which I‘m sure

128

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

I‘ll learn for myself some day since they don‘t bother to put a LEASH on the critter when they let it outside. Shiloh, our German shepherd, seems to want to PLAY with the puppy when she sees it. Raven, our border collie, is less so inclined, having been attacked by one of our OTHER hillbilly neighbor‘s pit bull bitches on numerous occasions (said hillbilly being tangentially related to this newest clan of which I write, but I‘m not sure exactly how. Gail tried to explain it once and my eyes glazed over and my left ear started to bleed.) So… using our yard as a short cut, using THEIR yards as junk yards, cutting up their junk with loud hammering and sawing at all hours, revving up their motorcycle to hear it rev, leaving their dog off their leash, and hollering, hollering, HOLLERING all the time… Well… It makes a fella almost LOOK FORWARD to the day when full blown dementia sets in and I don‘t notice it any more. On the Subject of Direct-to-Consumer Marketing by Big Pharma "Say! That KNEE REPLACEMENT PROSTHESIS I saw on TV last night looks SHARP! Oughta GIT me one a those!"

129

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Saw a commercial last night that nearly floored me. I have long wondered why Big Pharma feels it's necessary to advertise their prescription drugs -- the stuff YOU can't just walk into a drug store and buy without a doctor's written sayso. After all, shouldn't your DOCTOR know what drugs are available? Right now, for instance, I'm hearing a commercial for "men over 45" who "just don't feel like they used to." They blame it on low testosterone or (to make it simpler for the dummy watching the commercial), "Low T." Fact. If you're 45 or older, you don't have the same levels of testosterone you did when you were 25. Fact. When you're 45, getting a drug to increase your testosterone probably will not cause you to FEEL 25 again. But that's not the commercial I'm talking about. Last night, I saw a commercial that showed animated silhouette images of people swimming, playing tennis, jogging and having all SORTS of outdoor fun thanks to... A NEW KNEE REPLACEMENT PROSTHESIS!!!

130

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Now, you tell me. You're sitting at home watching TV. If you have a bad knee, chances are you know about it and your doctor knows about it. And if your doctor thinks knee replacement surgery is warranted, your doctor will let you know and together you can make an informed choice. I understand ads directed at doctors to let them know about new drugs, new treatments, etc. I do NOT understand ads for KNEE REPLACEMENT PROSTHESES directed at the CONSUMER! What's the end result supposed to be? "Well, doctor. It seems like it's taking me forever to get over this sinus infection. And as long as I'm here, I saw this commercial for shiny new knee replacements that are supposed to last 30 years. Any chance I could get you to whip in a couple of those for me?" THIS IS ONE REASON WHY DRUG PRICES AND HEALTH CARE COSTS ARE OUT OF CONTROL!!!

131

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

The cost of ADVERTISING these shiny new knee replacements will be added to the cost the hospital has to pay to procure them, which will be passed along to the insurance company, which will be passed along in higher premium costs. And it's not just knee replacements. If you have sinus difficulties, chances are your doctor KNOWS what drug will work best for you. You don't have to ask for a specific brand. If you have erectile dysfunction, that's a discussion for you and your doctor, NOT a topic for stupid commercials that start with mommy and daddy making a salad and daddy sneaks up on mommy and she gives him a look that says "Is that a cucumber in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" and then the kitchen turns into a garden glade with a

132

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

babbling brook and grassy knolls and the couple ends up naked in separate bathtubs. When these commercials say, "Make sure your doctor knows what other medications you're taking..." IF MY DOCTOR DOESN'T ALREADY KNOW WHAT MEDICATIONS I'M TAKING, GET ME A NEW DOCTOR! STAT! Big Pharma sees consumer-oriented product advertising as a cost-effective way to raise more revenue. They know if they show a cute little commercial with animated people made of bronze water pipes or bouncing water balloons, they can get you to ask your doctor about the fact that you sometimes have to get up at night to pee. Never mind that getting OLDER means you have to get up sometimes at night to pee. Never mind that getting older means you WILL sometimes have trouble to get yer soldier to stand at attention during close order drills. Never mind that getting older means you WILL get tired sooner and can't disco dance all night long like you could when you were 25. If there's a pill for it, Big Pharma's JOB is to MAKE YOU WANT IT. And now, we're supposed to shop for knee replacements like we shop for cars, flat-screen TVs and small appliances. "Oooh! That one's SHINY! I'll take it!" 133

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Old People? Eeeew! Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;reâ&#x20AC;Ś OLD!!! I want to expand a little on my hypothesis that one reason there is no nationwide, publicized, "Jerry Lewis"-type effort to fund and find a cure for Parkinson's disease is -- people don't want to look at older people. To further this hypothesis, I submit two publications specifically targeting older folks. First, let's examine the most recent issue of the AARP monthly magazine.

On the cover? A lovely photo of Kristen Bell (she's 30-years old), Jamie Lee Curtis (almost 52, selling yogurt on TV and looking great!), and Betty White (she'll be 89 in January, and in this photo it seems like her wrinkles have been airbrushed

134

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

away). They are featured in an article about "sex, love, and... staying hot!" Hmmm. Most older folks would settle for affection, some good company and staying warm. Let's open the magazine and look for old people. Table of Contents page shows a 1971 picture of Milton Berle with Marlo and Danny Thomas. Nobody looking particularly old in THIS photo, and Uncle Milty and Danny have gone on to their maker. There's also a picture of Darryl Hannah, who will turn 50 in December. OK. Marlo is older, but well kept -- and this is a 1971 photo. No old people here. An ad for a rent-a-car establishment on page 9 shows a middle-aged couple. They're hiking up a mountain. He has gray fringes in his hair. She has white hair and nary a wrinkle. They are clearly youthful, vibrant and energetic. I get winded hiking from the store to the car. In the "You First" section on page 10, the five tips for the month "to enrich your life, starting now" are... 1. Drink wine.

135

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

2. Burn off some taxes (by installing insulation) 3. Catch a falling star (by watching a meteor shower in December) 4. Salute a vet. Veterans day, you know. 5. Go wild, by visiting your local zoo. Hmm... nothing about things that I would think would be of concern to older folks -- ways to avoid breaking a hip, for instance. In the "What's New" section on page 13, the feature story is about how "old styles are back!" If you still have your glasses from the 1960's, they're COOL now! The picture... a young person wearing "cool" 60s glasses. To be fair, there are articles with tips about handling diabetes, ads about not being too old to learn, some exercise tips, tips about claiming an adult child as a dependent, ads for "easy to use" cell phones, but nowhere in this issue -- NOWHERE (outside of the picture of Betty White), is there an image of an older person looking like... AN OLDER PERSON!!! If you were a visitor from another planet and used the recent issue of AARP's magazine as a guide to human aging, you 136

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

would be left with the impression that "older folks" are trim, thin, muscular, healthy, mountainclimbing, active and young! Now, we turn our attention to a magazine you may have in your bathroom reading basket. A magazine that endeavors to sell stuff to older folks. The "Dr. Leonard's Catalog." Let's look for older folks in here. OK, an ad for a folding cane. Older folks use canes! But the photo with the ad? A woman, mid-30s, putting the cane into its pouch. Ah! An ad for a triple-layer waterproof bed pad! We older folks sometimes, well, I wear "Depends" so I don't GET my mattress wet, but... Oh. The ad has a picture of a woman in her early 40s. Sleeping comfortably. On the pad.

137

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

OH, WAIT! THERE'S AN OLD GUY ON PAGE 10! Oh. It's Jack LaLanne and he's selling his power juicer. Never mind. On page 14, an ad for a "classic poplin driving cap" like the kind you see on the head of the old fart in the car ahead of you, driving 30 mph in the 55 mph zone with his right turn blinker on for the last five miles. But the ad has a photo of a guy, mid-30s, smiling like he's happy to be wearing an old guy's hat. Now, who would use a "deluxe rollator" -- a rolling walker that supports up to 250 lbs? According to Dr. Leonard, a beautiful young woman in her early 30s. That's who. And that guy in the "easy comfort lift chair" on page 21? 45-years old. Tops. On page 20, a woman wearing a full upper-body "cotton terry bib" (cuz you know how messy we older folks are when we eat)? She's 30 if she's a day! There's a "Carefree Comfort Floral Dress" -- like the kind you'd see your gramma walking around the house wearing. Only on page 25 of the catalog, "Gramma" looks like she's 28. I think I've made my point.

138

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

If we older folks can't stand looking at images of older folks in publications CREATED for older folks, then how can we HOPE that some day there might be a serious, nationwide awareness effort on behalf of folks with Parkinson's disease. In the AARP magazine, all the older folks (the few I could find) were athletic and climbing mountains. With advanced Parkinson's disease, you sit staring blankly with drool on your chin, perhaps a tremor, you walk stooped and shuffling, you freeze in place, you fall. Hardly attractive. And there WERE no older folks (other than LaLanne shilling for his juicer) in the Dr. Leonard's catalog. How in the hell can we get people to CARE about us when they don't even want to LOOK at us? I'm open to suggestions. By the way? Two weeks ago today, I wrote an Open Letter to Michael J. Fox. I sent a copy to his organization and published it across the Internet. My response from him and/or his organization can be found below. (crickets)

139

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Thank you. The Disease Progresses ...although it seems kind of stupid to use the word "progress" in any form when discussing one's dance with Parkinson's disease. I now find myself using my cane, even for simply moving around the house. This came about Monday when my addled midbrain was trying to negotiate the distance between Shiloh lying on the floor and the coffee table to see if I could pass through and I lost my balance, catching myself by planting both palms on the coffee table. Gail looked up at me from the couch. "Where's your cane?" "Over there," I said, pointing at its usual resting spot on the wall, knowing full well what she was driving at. "Use it," she said. End of discussion. And yeah, I find it helpful. I don't lose my balance as much. I rarely fall, but before using the cane in the house I lost my balance frequently. But this is such a small place, there's always something close by to grab onto.

140

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

More "Progress"? I wrote and recorded a podcast yesterday. You can hear all my podcasts, if you like, if you log into the Clinical Centerâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s podcast site which is http://www.cc.nih.gov/podcast . Don't let the smooth, mellifluous voice fool you. I have audio editing software. I stumble over practically every sentence in the script. Once I get through a sentence without a mistake, I use it in the final cut. Sometimes, I have to splice together two or three attempts at the same sentence to get a complete sentence that doesn't sound like it's being read by Porky Pig or Popeye. But I get the job done. The problem... where I'm seeing "Progress"? There's a system in place for doing these things when you work from home. And in my current condition, it goes like this... 1. Get the raw audio of the person being interviewed. I have someone in Bethesda who does the actual interviewing. She sends me the audio and a transcript. 2. Decide what clips of the audio I wish to use for the podcast.

141

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

3. Using the audio editor, cut those clips from the raw audio, process them for volume, set aside. 4. Write my portion of the script. The easiest part of the endeavor. 5. Put together the whole script, e-mail it back to Bethesda to get final approval. 6. Once I get approval, I record my portion and produce the podcast bringing together all the elements -- my voice, the interviewee, and the musical intro and outro. 7. Run the sound file through a program called "Levelator" to even out the volume. 8. Log onto my work FTP server and upload the finished soundfile and the transcript (for the hearing impaired). 9. The computer ladies put it on the test server. I give it all the once over and approve it. And they put it on the web. Done.

142

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Yesterday as I produced the aforementioned podcast, I kept getting "lost" along the way. I recorded my part of the script. Then I sat here looking at the screen, knowing I had to do SOMETHING... but damned if I knew WHAT! I closed my eyes and concentrated. Blank. Then it hit me. Gotta put my sound file into the multitrack screen of Adobe Audition, then add the soundbites from the interviewee. Opened up the multitrack screen. Put my portion of the audio in place, as well as the opening and closing music. OK, now what? Blank.

143

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Closed my eyes. Thought real hard. Still blank. AH! ADD THE SOUND BITES! And where ARE these sound bites? I have no idea. I puzzled and puzzled until my puzzler was sore. AH! They're in the FLU PODCAST FOLDER! There they were! I grabbed 'em and loaded them onto the multitrack screen. Now, with everything right there in front of me, I was able to edit out all my stumbles and stutters and mumbles and "ummmm's" and pauses and hitches and put together a nicesounding podcast. I mixed it all down to a single file. OK, now what? Blank. My puzzler was still quite sore but I had to use it anyway. "Podcast recorded... must save it as .wav file." 144

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

So I did. Brick wall again. OK... now what? "Must... put... .wav file into Levelator. Level sound!" Did it. The Levelator did its thing. OK... now what? Brick wall. Closed my eyes and thought real hard. "Use Adobe Audition. Open newly created soundfile from Levelator. Save it in the "Files to be Uploaded" folder as "CCRadio 102610." But not until you convert it into an .mp3 file." OK, did it. Forgetting something... something... something... AH! PUT THE TRANSCRIPT IN THE FOLDER, TOO!

145

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

But wait, check the transcript and make sure you put the correct "run time" of the entire script cuz there's no way you could KNOW the total run time until the project is finished! Did it. Now what? Blank. Stared at screen. Screen offered no answer. Looked at the border collie at my feet. Raven didn't have a clue, either. AH! GOTTA LOAD IT TO THE SERVER!!! Logged on to the Clinical Center's FTP server, opened the podcast folder therein, opened up my "Files to Upload" folder, clicked and dragged the sound file and text file to the podcast folder on the Clinical Center's server. Done. No. Not done. But what? Ah! Write e-mail to computer gals, letting them know I've uploaded the podcast.

146

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

My neurologist describes the process I've just described as having trouble with executive functioning, which means the Parkinson's disease is now messing with the frontal lobes of my brain... the planning and decision making parts. It's the same thing that makes me turn on the shower head with it laying on the tub floor, spraying water all over the bathroom floor. It's the same thing that almost made me pour freshly ground coffee beans into Gail's coffee cup. It's the same thing that makes me have to CONCENTRATE on which pills I'm taking. (5 pills in the morning means 5 SPECIFIC pills, not just the first 5 pills I can wrangle from the day's compartment in the pill box.) It's why I no longer handle the family finances. And it's progressing. Last night, Raven startled both of us with a VERY loud, sudden bark at something she saw outside. It so startled Gail she was nauseous. I didn't want my pill alarm at 8 pm to go off and startle her again, so at about 7:55 I got up and went into the kitchen to take my nitey-nite pills. I plugged in my cell phone to its charger, turned off my computer, went back into the living room, sat down, and remembered I had forgotten to take my nitey-nite pills. And so it goes.

147

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

FUN WITH DEMENTIA You know, as long as you're slipping into dementia anyway, you may as well have a little fun with it while you are still able. I suggest printing out this list and saving it for a day when you feel those first, subtle signs of dementia starting to creep in... that way you can refer to it because damned if you're going to be able to remember any of these suggestions. 1. If you're a man and you shave, leave about a silver dollar-sized patch of beard on one cheek or the other unshaved. (You choose the cheek.) When someone asks why you're doing that, you have a choice of responses. a.) "Oh, just in case. Just in case." b.) "Don't you worry about it. THEY know why." c.)Put a finger to your lips and say, "Ssssshhhh!" Then wink, point at the door, give the "thumbs up," and smile. 2. Every few minutes or so, ask your spouse, "When was the last time the dog was outside?" (Note: This is even funnnier if you don't have a dog.) 148

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

3. If your motor skills allow you to do so, bake a pie. Leave it on top of the refrigerator. Don't allow anyone to touch it. Refuse to answer questions about it for three days. Then, after three days if someone asks, shout at the top of your lungs, indignantly, "Because JESUS is coming back and it's an established FACT that he likes PIE! And I'll be DOGGONED if I'm gonna let this family be damned to eternal fire and damnation because nobody remembered to make a frickin' PIE!" 4. Put the TV on "The Weather Channel." If the forecast is for sunny skies, applaud wildly! If the forecast is for rain or snow, weep inconsolably. 5. Sit in your recliner all day. Don't say a word. Keep a blank stare on your face. Don't move. If it's a rocking recliner, feel free to rock but vary the speed of your rocking from very slow to very fast. Don't respond to anyone. If you are offered food, eat it but don't say a word. Put the plate on the floor when you are done. Watch the evening TV programs with a blank expression and utter silence. Then, at bedtime, stand up, stretch, yawn and scratch yourself and say, "Well, another day, another dollar!" Then trundle off to bed. This should be enough to get you started. And if you're lucky, these actions will get you shipped off to a nice residential care facility where -- if you're not REALLY all THAT demented -- you'll likely end up running the joint. 149

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

And remember, if you let Parkinson's disease kill your sense of humor, it'll take your humanity with it.

150

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

Other Books by Bill Schmalfeldt YOU NEVER MISS THE DOPAMINE (until the brain runs dry), Vol. 1 Non-Fiction, 155 pages The first volume of this hilarious and poignant series of essays about life with Parkinson‘s disease. Author Bill Schmalfeldt tells his story with a wink in his eye, his tongue firmly implanted in cheek, but with the occasional flash of anger directed at America‘s political right wing and their anti-scientific agenda that he feels is hindering the search for newer, better treatments – and perhaps even a cure for Parkinson‘s disease. 100 percent of author proceeds donated to PD Research. Available through Createspace.com, at most major online booksellers, and at Parky Bill‘s Place, http://parkinsondiary.com

151

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

NO DOORWAY WIDE ENOUGH Non-Fiction, 470 pages Bill Schmalfeldt thought his story was worth telling. After being diagnosed with Parkinson‘s disease in 2000, having experimental deep brain stimulation surgery in 2007, Bill wrote a manuscript about the experience. Bill dug into his own pockets and took the self-publishing route. Now he‘s donating the author proceeds to the PD organizations that helped him. ―No Doorway Wide Enough‖ is Schmalfeldt‘s personal story about living with a neurological disease that afflicts over a million Americans. 100 percent of the author proceeds will be donated to the National Parkinson Foundation and the Charles DBS Research Fund at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. GET YOUR COPY TODAY, AVAILABLE AT MOST MAJOR ONLINE BOOKSELLERS, AND AT: Parky Bill‘s Parkinson‘s Place http://parkinsondiary.com 152

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

UNDERCOVER TRUCKER: How I Saved America by Truckin’ Towels for the Taliban Fiction, 304 pages For obvious reasons, his real name cannot be revealed. You‘ll understand when you read the improbable and hilarious adventures of ―Billy Big Rig‖ in ―Undercover Trucker: How I Saved America by Truckin‘ Towels for the Taliban.‖ You‘ll learn about his many marriages, his thoughts about modern day truckstops and his politically incorrect philosophy of life when you read ―Undercover Trucker: How I Saved America by Truckin‘ Towels for the Taliban.‖ AVAILABLE AT MOST MAJOR ONLINE BOOKSELLERS AND: Parky Bill‘s Parkinson‘s Place http://parkinsondiary.com

153

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

HUNKY DUNK Fiction, 192 pages It was a state of mind as much as it was a song title. And it made a couple of simple Iowa boys very, very rich indeed. ―Hunky Dunk‖ is the story of Mud and Jake Klemper. They live in the little city of Slope Oak, Iowa, along the Mississippi River. They would have lived and died unnoticed had it not been for a sound Mud heard one day while rocking on his front porch rocking chair. Along the way, they become the tag-team wrestling champions of the world (for a few minutes), visit a sex club in Japan, inspire a line of canned spaghetti and breakfast cereal, a cartoon series, and create a conglomerate that would put Donald Trump to shame. But could they ever get back to the simplicity they craved? FIND OUT IN ―HUNKY DUNK‖ AVAILABLE AT MOST ONLINE BOOKSTORES AND THROUGH THE AUTHOR‘S WEBSITE. Parky Bill‘s Parkinson‘s Place http://parkinsondiary.com

154

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

STUFF 2 BUY! Wanna show your support for Parkinson's disease research? Grab something from "Parky Bill's PD Emporium"!

We've got shirts, hats, mugs, steins, clocks, water bottles, mouse pads, a little of this and a little of that, all to help show YOUR support for PD Research.

155

You Never Miss the Dopamine (until the brain runs dry) Volume 2

Wanna show everyone you're SMARTER than they are? Join the Mickey Mensa Club. That'll show the dumb f**kers!

The quote is from an actual e-mailed insult hurled at me by my estranged younger sister to prove that she's smarter than I am. She thinks I'm "faking" my Parkinson's disease. Now, her words will go to help fund PD research. Ain't irony SWEET? 156

(by Bill Schmalfeldt)

And profits from all sales will go to PD Research. Get your stuff today! http://www.parkinsondiary.com/stuff-u-can-buy/

“See Ya in Volume 3!”

157