Column: Parkinson’s patients like me prepare for the inevitable falls, but most of us get up

One day the fall shall come.

I’m not referring to autumn’s inevitable arrival but to my klutzy response to gravity.

And I will collapse in a heap like a sack of Idaho russets.

As Joe Bonamassa sings: “This train gotta mind of its own.”

My body is misbehaving like a runaway San Francisco cable car, and I’m powerless to stop it. I can refuse to accept my predicament but that doesn’t solve a thing. Denial isn’t a creditable strategy.

I’ve had Parkinson’s disease for 12 years. Many of my Parkinson’s friends have already taken spills. Some of them serious.

My best buddy in high school and college died from the effects of the disease almost two years ago. That was a staggering blow for me. He was a person of faith, and he handled it with great dignity.

What were the odds that he and I would both end up with this disease?

Close to nil. Oh, well.

During my years with Parkinson’s, a number of people in my support group have died. They’d all become my good friends.

To get by, I lean heavily on Jesus Christ — just as my friend did. I also depend upon my wonderful wife, Hedy. Hedy’s so good; I don’t have the words to describe how much she means to me.

She didn’t sign on for this 43 years ago!

Then again, maybe she did.

Parkinson’s is a progressive neurological disorder with no known cure. It causes nerve cells to die or become impaired, and patients exhibit such symptoms as tremors or shaking, slowness of movement, rigidity or stiffness, loss of facial mobility, and balance difficulties. Other signs include a shuffling gait, cognitive problems and muffled speech.

As a Parkinson’s patient, I can tell you that when a fall happens to you — as it most assuredly will — it’s terrifying. Your world collapses, literally. It’s like crossing the Rubicon and entering a blighted new reality.

“I took my first fall the other day,” a friend told me at a support group meeting.

I could detect fear in her voice. Yet she also sounded upbeat. The worst had finally happened, and she’d successfully stared down her pursuer.

It’s a bit like living through the inevitable super-shaker on the San Andreas Fault. At last you can stop stressing about its imminent arrival and get on with living.

“Yeah, I was reaching for the refrigerator door,” she continued, “turned slightly and was on the floor.”

That’s how it happens — out of the blue.

I haven’t fallen, yet. That’s still ahead for me. I’ve lost my balance on several occasions, but recovered before going down.

I’ve hit the floor twice since diagnosis, but I don’t consider them “falls.”

Five years ago, while taking my morning walk, I wasn’t paying attention and stepped on a small pebble. My ankle buckled and I fell hard into the street. A trip to the emergency room confirmed a badly bruised shoulder.

Three years later I stepped on one of my grandson’s toy cars and took a dive on our tile floor.

No harm, no foul.

I resist referring to those as Parkinson’s falls.

I’m not totally inured with the thought that one day, sooner or later, I shall experience my first collapse. It could open the floodgates — as it did for my father, who had Parkinson’s.

The day will also come when I can’t get out of bed unaided (it’s getting more difficult), or button my Reyn Spooner shirts (I encounter buttoning snafus all the time), or get a spoonful of soup to my mouth without dumping it (this happens intermittently).

The day shall arrive when I need a walker, and then possibly a wheelchair.

But not today. Not yet.

No sense covering this over with a smiley face. It is what it is, as a friend of mine likes to say.

That’s how things went for my dad and for my best friend from school. They fought the good fight and so shall I.

Here’s how I cope: God has me in the palm of his hand … it’s under control.

Nothing else is nearly so reassuring!

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.