t was 3 December 2020 when I found out. For months I had been battling stiffness in my right arm. Now, the test results had come back from the lab. “You do know what’s going on here, don’t you?” my neurologist inquired, peering over the top of his notes. I could feel all the air being sucked out of the room. Suddenly I was hovering between a life lived and a new life to be faced. “You’ve got Parkinson’s.”
Fast forward to my living room a few weeks later. I was perched over my guitar and in a tailspin. Playing should have been as easy as breathing; instead, I was paralysed – unable to play a note. The voice in my head screamed “play, play” but my hand wouldn’t move.
It felt like a fast descent. Just 44, I was barely able to tap my right foot in time, complete basic tasks such as whisking an egg or get consistent sleep due to increasing stiffness and pain in my shoulder. There was no choice but to get on the right medication – five pills a day – and wait it out.
