Scenes From A Mall

11/1/99

Scenes From A Mall

"Do you mind if we stop at the mall on the way home?...I need to pick up some photos" she asked tentatively. He was too "off" to reply and instead gave her a thumbs-up gesture as she changed lanes to take the next exit. "You're awful quiet this morning, about time for your meds?" to which he repeated his thumbs-up gesture. "I'll get you a cold soft-drink to take them with" she replied knowing that he often tried to swallow them without the benefit of liquids.

As she pulled the van into a handicapped spot near the entrance, he pointed at his watch and tried to raise his eyebrows. She said "Ten minutes at the most" which got her another thumbs-up from him. "I'll leave the keys here if you want to listen to the radio" she said as she got out of the van, locking the door behind her.

He didn't really care one way or the other as long as he could get home and lie down soon. PD had changed him from a young to an old man over the last several years as the disease progressed and his abilities had been taken from him one-by-one. His neurologist had spoken with him earlier that morning asking him if he would consider surgery in the near future to help relieve him of some of the horrors of his life. He felt his neuro was close to understanding what he was going through but knew that only someone with PD can really know the score. He tried to convey what it was like to his wife but he could tell she didn't understand.

She truly hoped they had done the right thing by selling their farm and moving closer to his doctor and the hospital. It seemed like he was totally dependent on her lately and she hadn't planned on assuming that role till much later in his life when aging naturally begins to wear the body down. She tried to sound positive when they talked about his condition but the neurologist had told her that hope for a cure was still years away and that she would have to "be strong".

The chest pains hit her as soon as she had entered the mall and she had to grab a passerby as she stumbled forward. The man helped her to a nearby bench and yelled for someone to call an ambulance as she felt the pain intensifying and her right arm went numb. "My God" she thought "this is really happening" as the pain continued to spread and the darkness closed around her. The last thing she heard was her good Samaritan screaming something about CPR as the crowd gathered.

Time seemed to be dragging as he sat in the van awaiting her return. He had let too much time pass and his body was pleading with him to take his medicine soon. He felt like someone flipped a switch in his body to the "OFF" position reducing him to a zombie-like state awash in waves of negative thinking, trembling and wobbling in the front seat of the van. He heard the sound of an ambulance and turned as best he could in his seat to see where it was headed. Maybe she saw it and will tell him about it on their way home. First things first, he thought as he reached over to where she had laid his meds on the edge of the driver seat.

As he leaned over, he pitched forward knocking the bottle to the floorboard on the driver's side and pinning his left arm beneath his uncooperative body and his right arm barely a foot away from the medicine lying there. Silently cursing, he tried to raise himself as he realized he didn't have the strength. As he lay face down across the front seat, he tried to reason through this predicament. The horn was less than a foot above him but it may as well have been a mile with one arm trapped beneath him and the other unable to perform the required contortion.

Too weak to lift himself and too weak to yell for help in the crowded mall parking lot, he started to panic. She'd be back in a few minutes and they would laugh about this later that night, he told himself. Yet it seemed like more than ten minutes had passed since they parked. he fought to control that part of his mind that had gotten him out of similar situations in the past. He even chuckled to himself trying to imagine what somebody watching this scenario unfold might have going through their mind. He needed to do something soon because his left arm was losing feeling and the effort he'd exerted in trying to raise himself off the seat had used up almost all of his reserves.

If he could grab hold of the steering wheel, maybe he could pull himself up. He pictured this in his mind as he raised his right arm off the floorboard causing him to slide farther beneath the steering wheel. Now his face was a mere inch or so from his medicine bottle and his right arm was twisted behind him. His left arm almost freed itself but remained wedged underneath his immovable weight. Not even thinking of laughter as an option, he began to cry. He cried because the easiest of tasks turn themselves into massive efforts (often futile like this one seemed to be).

"She'll be back any second now" he told himself, trying to keep his mind clear in this inverted position. She'll pick me up, retrieve my medicine, and drive us both to our new home with its warm bathroom. His bladder, compressed under his slumped posture, began signalling to him that familiar urge that he no longer took lightly. He felt lightheaded from being trapped beneath the steering wheel and frustrated from staring at his bottle which he could not grab.

He heard voices outside the van as they went by.."she was walking into this photo place when she apparently had a massive heart attack....once they get her to the hospital, I'm sure they'll try to call her relatives". He tried to call out to the strangers walking by their van but his voice was too soft and weak to be heard as they continued on. As the blood rushing to his head caused the darkness to descend upon him, he heard one last voice. "I heard it's supposed to go below freezing tonight..better make sure and bundle up".



		11/1/99 Scenes From A Mall "Do you mind if we stop at the mall on the way home?...I need to pick up some photos" she asked tentatively. He was too "off" to reply and instead gave her a thumbs-up gesture as she changed lanes to take the next exit. "You're awful quiet this morning, about time for your meds?" to which he repeated his thumbs-up gesture. "I'll get you a cold soft-drink to take them with" she replied knowing that he often tried to swallow them without the benefit of liquids. As she pulled the van into a handicapped spot near the entrance, he pointed at his watch and tried to raise his eyebrows. She said "Ten minutes at the most" which got her another thumbs-up from him. "I'll leave the keys here if you want to listen to the radio" she said as she got out of the van, locking the door behind her. He didn't really care one way or the other as long as he could get home and lie down soon. PD had changed him from a young to an old man over the last several years as the disease progressed and his abilities had been taken from him one-by-one. His neurologist had spoken with him earlier that morning asking him if he would consider surgery in the near future to help relieve him of some of the horrors of his life. He felt his neuro was close to understanding what he was going through but knew that only someone with PD can really know the score. He tried to convey what it was like to his wife but he could tell she didn't understand. She truly hoped they had done the right thing by selling their farm and moving closer to his doctor and the hospital. It seemed like he was totally dependent on her lately and she hadn't planned on assuming that role till much later in his life when aging naturally begins to wear the body down. She tried to sound positive when they talked about his condition but the neurologist had told her that hope for a cure was still years away and that she would have to "be strong". The chest pains hit her as soon as she had entered the mall and she had to grab a passerby as she stumbled forward. The man helped her to a nearby bench and yelled for someone to call an ambulance as she felt the pain intensifying and her right arm went numb. "My God" she thought "this is really happening" as the pain continued to spread and the darkness closed around her. The last thing she heard was her good Samaritan screaming something about CPR as the crowd gathered. Time seemed to be dragging as he sat in the van awaiting her return. He had let too much time pass and his body was pleading with him to take his medicine soon. He felt like someone flipped a switch in his body to the "OFF" position reducing him to a zombie-like state awash in waves of negative thinking, trembling and wobbling in the front seat of the van. He heard the sound of an ambulance and turned as best he could in his seat to see where it was headed. Maybe she saw it and will tell him about it on their way home. First things first, he thought as he reached over to where she had laid his meds on the edge of the driver seat. As he leaned over, he pitched forward knocking the bottle to the floorboard on the driver's side and pinning his left arm beneath his uncooperative body and his right arm barely a foot away from the medicine lying there. Silently cursing, he tried to raise himself as he realized he didn't have the strength. As he lay face down across the front seat, he tried to reason through this predicament. The horn was less than a foot above him but it may as well have been a mile with one arm trapped beneath him and the other unable to perform the required contortion. Too weak to lift himself and too weak to yell for help in the crowded mall parking lot, he started to panic. She'd be back in a few minutes and they would laugh about this later that night, he told himself. Yet it seemed like more than ten minutes had passed since they parked. he fought to control that part of his mind that had gotten him out of similar situations in the past. He even chuckled to himself trying to imagine what somebody watching this scenario unfold might have going through their mind. He needed to do something soon because his left arm was losing feeling and the effort he'd exerted in trying to raise himself off the seat had used up almost all of his reserves. If he could grab hold of the steering wheel, maybe he could pull himself up. He pictured this in his mind as he raised his right arm off the floorboard causing him to slide farther beneath the steering wheel. Now his face was a mere inch or so from his medicine bottle and his right arm was twisted behind him. His left arm almost freed itself but remained wedged underneath his immovable weight. Not even thinking of laughter as an option, he began to cry. He cried because the easiest of tasks turn themselves into massive efforts (often futile like this one seemed to be). "She'll be back any second now" he told himself, trying to keep his mind clear in this inverted position. She'll pick me up, retrieve my medicine, and drive us both to our new home with its warm bathroom. His bladder, compressed under his slumped posture, began signalling to him that familiar urge that he no longer took lightly. He felt lightheaded from being trapped beneath the steering wheel and frustrated from staring at his bottle which he could not grab. He heard voices outside the van as they went by.."she was walking into this photo place when she apparently had a massive heart attack....once they get her to the hospital, I'm sure they'll try to call her relatives". He tried to call out to the strangers walking by their van but his voice was too soft and weak to be heard as they continued on. As the blood rushing to his head caused the darkness to descend upon him, he heard one last voice. "I heard it's supposed to go below freezing tonight..better make sure and bundle up".