Parkinson’s disease provides lessons ... and blessings for retired teacher

By Terri Reinhart

Special to the Register

A few weeks ago, I was asked to speak to our 11^th graders about Parkinson’s disease. I was pretty nervous about this, even though I really wanted to do it. I’m not a medical professional, nor am I a science teacher. I’m just a retired kindergarten teacher who happens to have Parkinson’s.

It wasn’t so much my lack of expertise that had me worried. I have had challenges lately with what seems like way too much wet stuff in my mouth, and I was a bit concerned that I might accidently spit or drool while I spoke. And it’s hard enough to feel intelligent in front of high school students at the best of times. But I promised that I would come so I gave it a go.

Like a good kindergarten teacher, I started with a story:

When I was 9 years old, my teacher suggested that I needed an eye exam. So my parents took me to the doctor, who found that not only was I very nearsighted, I couldn’t even see the large “E” at the top of the chart. When I received my glasses and put them on, I literally saw the world for the first time. I saw the individual leaves on trees and the bark of the tree. For the first time, I saw all the angles sharply defined on buildings, houses, windows, and signs. I could read every sign. I was in awe -- until we got our Christmas tree and put up the lights. As soon as the lights were turned on, I nearly started to cry. I could see every bulb, every strand of wire. The wonderful magical floating balls of light were gone. I took my glasses off and was determined not to wear them anymore, or at least not while I looked at the Christmas lights.

End of story.

I then told the students about Parkinson’s, including all the medical bits and how it affects me personally. Then I spoke about my own feelings about what it is to live with this diagnosis. It’s hard for people to understand and I don’t know if I understand it fully, but more than anything else, the diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease has been an incredible gift to me. How can this be? I suspect that it has a lot to do with letting go. I’m just speaking for myself, of course. Everyone has different ways of responding to a situation like this. More than anything else, I feel a deep sense of peace. Life is slower for me now. I have more time for people. I can let go of the frantic pace that I kept up for so many years. I can trust much easier. I do have my days when I get frustrated or angry; this is a gift that keeps on giving and some of what it gives, I’d like to give back!

What I hope I was able to convey to the students is that our society has a very peculiar attitude about illness, disability, and even to a large extent, aging. They are the “enemy” to be avoided at all costs, eradicated (in the case of illness), or hidden away. I remember the pressure that I was under to have an amniocentesis with my last pregnancy. Why do they do this? They want to make sure that this child is healthy and “normal”. And if there is a problem, the doctors are right there to offer the option of abortion. Heaven forbid that we would willingly welcome a disabled or ill child into our lives. We have forgotten how to recognize the amazing, incredible gifts that come with illnesses, disabilities, and of course, aging.

I would never have the surgery for nearsightedness. I love being able to take off my glasses from time to time and see the world as a softer place, one without sharp angles and with wonderful magic floating balls of light. Now, don’t get me wrong. I hope and pray that someday there will be a cure for Parkinson’s as well as for many other diseases and disorders. In the meantime, I don’t really mind going slow. Sometimes there can be magic in that, too.

Terri Reinhart is a freelance writer and artist from Wheat Ridge, Colo.