A Chris-mess Story

1/9/98

A Chris-mess Story

Chris put down the crudely scrawled cardboard sign that read "Will Jerk For Food" in the grass and muttered to himself "Why did I think this would work?..... I think I lost some of my best moves to the surgeon's scalpel in April .....well, good riddance". He got up from the cold ground, held the sign aloft and said "It's a joke, people...I have PD....it's a play on words...oh, forget it" and tossed the sign down on the sidewalk and began to walk toward his car. It was Christmas Eve.

Chris Kinesia. Man of mystery? Man of misery? Being single with PD was a challenge for some and Chris was no stranger to this group. "Hi there, I have PD complete with head scars from recent brain surgery which has let me re-enter the everyday world which I was beginning to shun" seemed a little much. "Hello, I sure wish my meds were kicked in" also lacked a punch. His mood as of late had been coated with the uncomfortable feelings brought on by the onset of the holidays, the rush of eye-candy glitter of the stores and teary-eyed healthy-family reunion commercials and shows on TV.

His disease and his reaction to changes in his condition tended to make Chris somewhat self-absorbed. But this was understandable since he had switched from a literal Hell-on Earth of daily symptoms and side-effects to a more manageable "Now, you're on...Now, you're off" type of day where he was once again in control. He didn't miss the writhing motions (a side-effect of Sinemet) that made it feel as though he were turning into The Human Pretzel. Gone also were the tremors that gave him round-the-clock isolated exercise to unnecessary regions of his body. He shuddered at the thought of the two extremes and how much energy, physical and emotional, it took to deal with them.

As he walked along, he felt his medicine fading. The "slight limp going into the zombie shuffle" was not one of his better public scenes and the approach of a young woman walking gave him enough energy to disguise his walk just a little longer. He passed her and suddenly heard his name called. "Chris Kinesia, right?" He was stunned and said "Yes...where do I know you from?". She told him that she saw him one night at the neighborhood bar and had asked about him.

"This guy that I asked said you didn't come in that often but you seemed to be having a good time after awhile that night." Chris only went out rarely and wondered if it had been Suburban Cowboy Night (he was admittedly good at riding anything bucking or writhing) and wondered if she saw his night-and-day transformation. If he didn't make it to his car soon to get his medicine, he would truly be at a "loss for words". The woman introduced herself as Anne and shook his hand warmly. Chris, amazed that this stranger had asked about him but also fearful of turning off entirely in front of someone who's unaware of PD, made a hurried excuse but said that he hoped he'd see her again.

As Chris reached his car, his anxiety lessened as he reached for his meds. As he started the car and backed out of his spot, a station-wagon honked loudly and swerved to miss his rear fender. The driver yelled at Chris "What in the world is wrong with you? Have you got brain damage?!" Chris smiled and muttered "If you only knew...". As he drove home, he thought about the encounter with Anne and realized he hadn't asked for her phone number and didn't know how to reach her.

When he arrived at his apartment, he headed for the bed to lie down. His days seemed so full yet he accomplished very little. "Is this what older people feel when they retire?" he wondered out loud. "Have I just come by this knowledge 25 years earlier than most?". All he was sure of was that the holidays wore him out physically and emotionally. He had to get some rest....

The phone ringing brought him back to the land of the living. His meds had long faded as he tried to muster his best diction. "Hello?" he said. "Chris, hi, this is Anne...from downtown.... just a few hours ago". Chris realized then that he'd fallen asleep but how did she get his number? She continued, "I wanted to know if you would like to have a cup of coffee...I'm just finished with my errands and I want to tell you a few things". Chris agreed to the meeting and hung up the phone more mystified than before. "Tell him a few things?" ... Who is this woman?

Chris swallowed his meds and changed shirts before heading out the door. He reached his destination five minutes later and searched for Anne. Figuring he'd gotten there first, he sat down at a table. Anne walked in a few minutes later just as the waitress had left to get him a cup of coffee.

"Hello again" she said as Chris smiled, or thought he did, anxiously waiting for his meds to kick in. "A mutual friend said you were going through a tough time since your surgery and I wanted to offer an ear to listen". Chris sat there stunned wondering who had informed this woman of his recent events. Yet for some reason, her frank and direct manner of cutting to the chase was.... refreshing. However, Chris realized that this manner of self-disclosure was not easy and told her just that.

Though tentative at first, Chris eventually loosened up and began to talk. He talked about how bad it got at times before the surgery and his frequent thoughts of "quitting the game and leaving the playing field". He told her how lonely it was locked inside a body that was hardly recognizable to himself anymore, one that rarely cooperated with him. He told her about embarassing moments in the past when he'd lost control of his bodily functions in public.

He talked about life since the surgery, about opportunities that were opened to him. Eating in public or wearing clothes with zippers and buttons was no longer a physical struggle while getting to know new people was. He talked of the type of woman he would love to meet: a woman who could care for him like a girlfriend but who could be relied on as a caregiver when his condition was poor and he felt immobilized. As he continued to talk about all of it, his tears began to flow. Without realizing how it occured, Anne was holding him and saying soothing words as his shoulders shook with uncontrolled sobs. After a few minutes, he composed himself and thanked her for encouraging him to talk about his predicament.

Anne looked at him and said "Chris, I haven't done anything today but listen to your words. You are the one who has done the work digging down deep in yourself to root out the demons that have haunted you and the demons you fear still haunt you. The world is no different than before your surgery ... it's you that have changed and you that must remain open to change. No one is going to re-introduce you to the world out there, that responsibility is yours. The women out there who notice you are the same ones who noticed you before. They don't care about your PD, the women who are going to be there for you in your life as a partner are out there waiting for you to strike up a conversation with them, to make them laugh, to see past their own lists of perceived faults and shortcomings and love them for who they are". Chris looked off in the distance as if seeing something for the first time. As he turned back to ask her how she knew so much about him, he discovered the chair across from him was empty.

The waitress brought him his coffee and asked if he would like to order anything to eat. "Where did the young woman go who was sitting here a few moments ago?" Chris asked. The waitress smiled thinking he was pulling a prank on her. "I'm here now, will I do?" she said and waited, pencil poised, to take his order. Chris paid for the coffee and got up to leave. He looked down at his watch noting that it was later than he thought.

He shuffled down the cold street while holiday shoppers bustled around him, paying no particular attention to his odd gait. He thought about his long day as he finally made it back to his apartment. He sat down in his favorite chair resting and listened to the holiday sounds outside. Life was still available to him; he'd meet somebody someday. Why worry about it? As he felt the medicine beginning to take hold, he drifted off to sleep, feeling calm and secure, as if he were wrapped in the arms of an Angel.



		1/9/98 A Chris-mess Story Chris put down the crudely scrawled cardboard sign that read "Will Jerk For Food" in the grass and muttered to himself "Why did I think this would work?..... I think I lost some of my best moves to the surgeon's scalpel in April .....well, good riddance". He got up from the cold ground, held the sign aloft and said "It's a joke, people...I have PD....it's a play on words...oh, forget it" and tossed the sign down on the sidewalk and began to walk toward his car. It was Christmas Eve. Chris Kinesia. Man of mystery? Man of misery? Being single with PD was a challenge for some and Chris was no stranger to this group. "Hi there, I have PD complete with head scars from recent brain surgery which has let me re-enter the everyday world which I was beginning to shun" seemed a little much. "Hello, I sure wish my meds were kicked in" also lacked a punch. His mood as of late had been coated with the uncomfortable feelings brought on by the onset of the holidays, the rush of eye-candy glitter of the stores and teary-eyed healthy-family reunion commercials and shows on TV. His disease and his reaction to changes in his condition tended to make Chris somewhat self-absorbed. But this was understandable since he had switched from a literal Hell-on Earth of daily symptoms and side-effects to a more manageable "Now, you're on...Now, you're off" type of day where he was once again in control. He didn't miss the writhing motions (a side-effect of Sinemet) that made it feel as though he were turning into The Human Pretzel. Gone also were the tremors that gave him round-the-clock isolated exercise to unnecessary regions of his body. He shuddered at the thought of the two extremes and how much energy, physical and emotional, it took to deal with them. As he walked along, he felt his medicine fading. The "slight limp going into the zombie shuffle" was not one of his better public scenes and the approach of a young woman walking gave him enough energy to disguise his walk just a little longer. He passed her and suddenly heard his name called. "Chris Kinesia, right?" He was stunned and said "Yes...where do I know you from?". She told him that she saw him one night at the neighborhood bar and had asked about him. "This guy that I asked said you didn't come in that often but you seemed to be having a good time after awhile that night." Chris only went out rarely and wondered if it had been Suburban Cowboy Night (he was admittedly good at riding anything bucking or writhing) and wondered if she saw his night-and-day transformation. If he didn't make it to his car soon to get his medicine, he would truly be at a "loss for words". The woman introduced herself as Anne and shook his hand warmly. Chris, amazed that this stranger had asked about him but also fearful of turning off entirely in front of someone who's unaware of PD, made a hurried excuse but said that he hoped he'd see her again. As Chris reached his car, his anxiety lessened as he reached for his meds. As he started the car and backed out of his spot, a station-wagon honked loudly and swerved to miss his rear fender. The driver yelled at Chris "What in the world is wrong with you? Have you got brain damage?!" Chris smiled and muttered "If you only knew...". As he drove home, he thought about the encounter with Anne and realized he hadn't asked for her phone number and didn't know how to reach her. When he arrived at his apartment, he headed for the bed to lie down. His days seemed so full yet he accomplished very little. "Is this what older people feel when they retire?" he wondered out loud. "Have I just come by this knowledge 25 years earlier than most?". All he was sure of was that the holidays wore him out physically and emotionally. He had to get some rest.... The phone ringing brought him back to the land of the living. His meds had long faded as he tried to muster his best diction. "Hello?" he said. "Chris, hi, this is Anne...from downtown.... just a few hours ago". Chris realized then that he'd fallen asleep but how did she get his number? She continued, "I wanted to know if you would like to have a cup of coffee...I'm just finished with my errands and I want to tell you a few things". Chris agreed to the meeting and hung up the phone more mystified than before. "Tell him a few things?" ... Who is this woman? Chris swallowed his meds and changed shirts before heading out the door. He reached his destination five minutes later and searched for Anne. Figuring he'd gotten there first, he sat down at a table. Anne walked in a few minutes later just as the waitress had left to get him a cup of coffee. "Hello again" she said as Chris smiled, or thought he did, anxiously waiting for his meds to kick in. "A mutual friend said you were going through a tough time since your surgery and I wanted to offer an ear to listen". Chris sat there stunned wondering who had informed this woman of his recent events. Yet for some reason, her frank and direct manner of cutting to the chase was.... refreshing. However, Chris realized that this manner of self-disclosure was not easy and told her just that. Though tentative at first, Chris eventually loosened up and began to talk. He talked about how bad it got at times before the surgery and his frequent thoughts of "quitting the game and leaving the playing field". He told her how lonely it was locked inside a body that was hardly recognizable to himself anymore, one that rarely cooperated with him. He told her about embarassing moments in the past when he'd lost control of his bodily functions in public. He talked about life since the surgery, about opportunities that were opened to him. Eating in public or wearing clothes with zippers and buttons was no longer a physical struggle while getting to know new people was. He talked of the type of woman he would love to meet: a woman who could care for him like a girlfriend but who could be relied on as a caregiver when his condition was poor and he felt immobilized. As he continued to talk about all of it, his tears began to flow. Without realizing how it occured, Anne was holding him and saying soothing words as his shoulders shook with uncontrolled sobs. After a few minutes, he composed himself and thanked her for encouraging him to talk about his predicament. Anne looked at him and said "Chris, I haven't done anything today but listen to your words. You are the one who has done the work digging down deep in yourself to root out the demons that have haunted you and the demons you fear still haunt you. The world is no different than before your surgery ... it's you that have changed and you that must remain open to change. No one is going to re-introduce you to the world out there, that responsibility is yours. The women out there who notice you are the same ones who noticed you before. They don't care about your PD, the women who are going to be there for you in your life as a partner are out there waiting for you to strike up a conversation with them, to make them laugh, to see past their own lists of perceived faults and shortcomings and love them for who they are". Chris looked off in the distance as if seeing something for the first time. As he turned back to ask her how she knew so much about him, he discovered the chair across from him was empty. The waitress brought him his coffee and asked if he would like to order anything to eat. "Where did the young woman go who was sitting here a few moments ago?" Chris asked. The waitress smiled thinking he was pulling a prank on her. "I'm here now, will I do?" she said and waited, pencil poised, to take his order. Chris paid for the coffee and got up to leave. He looked down at his watch noting that it was later than he thought. He shuffled down the cold street while holiday shoppers bustled around him, paying no particular attention to his odd gait. He thought about his long day as he finally made it back to his apartment. He sat down in his favorite chair resting and listened to the holiday sounds outside. Life was still available to him; he'd meet somebody someday. Why worry about it? As he felt the medicine beginning to take hold, he drifted off to sleep, feeling calm and secure, as if he were wrapped in the arms of an Angel.