Kingdom of Parkinson’s. Part 6. Who else is here?

I am beginning to see beyond the noses of my sneakers. I force myself to look at what lies in front of me, whether I like it or not. At first I don’t see anything or anyone. All I’m aware of is my own sorry self. Because let’s face it, I must be the only one here and certainly the youngest.

Wake-up call

“Do you realise that you are only one of 7 million with this hopeless diagnosis? So you’re not the only one and what’s more, not the only one who feels sorry for themselves. And take it from me, some people have far more reason to feel sorry for themselves than you.”
Ooh have they now!!??
“Yes. Sorry to break it to you, you are not the most unfortunate of all and you are not alone. Come on. It’s time to get up from your pity-stone. Chop chop.”
I would but I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself.
 “Time’s up, baby. Unless you prefer sitting on that boulder for the rest of your so called pityful life. Belów that boulder, rather.”
Being nice to me wouldn’t kill you, you know, I whisper under my breath, which only has the effect of multiplying my sorrow.
“Chop chop!”

Who else is here?

Who else is here – can’t see anyone. Not a single soul on that terrace. Looks totalle deserted. I am sure they’re all somewhere else having a great time, can’t blame them, I’d do the same if only I hadn’t received such a hopeless diagn….
“Come on!”
Oh. Sorry. Got carried away for a minute.





Wim Rozenberg FotografieChocolates

Hey … there’s a small box of chocolates on that bench. Yum! Huh? My name…? How come my name’s on that little box….who could possiblyknow that I passed through the wrong gate? Strange. Well, I might as well have a chocolate. It’d be rude not to. A voice escapes the box upon opening it. I recognise that voice…it belongs to a friend who often comforts me. I’m certainly not scared of that familiar sweet sound. And the chocolates are simply delicious! Just what I needed.

Sorry, yup, I got momentarily distracted. All right, I’m on my way. Although


Enter the professional, the sensible person and the neurologist

Enter the health care professional. You can tell it’s a health care professional by thE “Stay put and sit still because I’m going to help you” look on their face. Yeah right, I’m sure your gate is still swinging wide open at will. Well, mine doesn’t.

Enter a sensible person. You can tell by the “I know you so I know what’s best for you” look on their face. Yeah right, I’m sure your gate swings effortlessly in its hinges without so much of a squeak? Yup. Thought so.

Enter the neurologist. You can tell by his waiting room voice: “Mrs Robijn….?” He asks how life is treating me and kindly suggests that I let go of my anger.

What do you mean, anger?!

He continues to gently insist. Great advice, doc, but I bet your gate doesn’t even have a doorstep, and swings wide open at the mere touch of your reflex hammer. Letting go…easy for you to say, doc.

But they’re right. All three of them. The health care professional, the sensible person and the neurologist. But hey, I didn’t invite myself to this weird place, this is not my party. So, when you’re done advising me, could you kindly let me out of here? Please?

Read my blog about Good Advice: Ten things I’d tell myself if I were my friend.


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