• Embarassed while in Denver International Airport, that’s what. 
• Skinned knees….and sometimes holes in your pants where you scrape the asphalt.
• Ruined pantyhose.
• Twisted ankles that swell and really hurt.

Besides all of the obvious consequences listed above, there is always that little niggling thought, “Is my PD getting worse?”  That cannot be measured by one fall - believe me, I’ve pondered this situation and chewed it over until I can’t sleep.

What did get when I fell?  A wake up call!  Perhaps my PD is not getting worse.  Instead I was forced to take a long, hard look at my lifestyle, my work-a-holism, and my habits of multi-tasking.  That examination showed me the need to slow down…not only in the way I walked, but in the number of tasks I tried to accomplish in a short frame of space and time.  When did I learn to do four things simultaneously?  I’m a fast learner!  These tasks needed to get finished and if I started one and then started another, I could juggle it all….or so I believed.

Falling in the airport was embarrassing.  But more than that it was kicking the door open to show me how tirelessly I pushed through every job, task, errand, relationship and even eating meals.  I didn’t taste the food, I ate quickly so my body would have the nourishment and I could use the last 45 minutes of my lunch hour to finish a project, run an errand or return phone calls.  Perhaps the continued neglect of the simple things I could do for my body and mind actually wore me down and caused my brain to give up on dopamine production?

Oh, I don’t know….the lack of sleep has been happening for many, many years before my diagnosis.  The tremors were blamed on too much caffeine, or sugar, or chocolate.  But what did I get when I fell?  That view of my true self when the door to my behavior was kicked open.  I spent so much time being “productive”, “responsible”, “competent” that I missed my true self, ignored my body sending out yellow caution signals. 

Not too long ago I decided that my value and worth would not be sufficient to continue living if I could not work, or contribute to my community of libraries, or to my family.  Upon sharing this with a wise and wonderful woman I was told that my value cannot be measured so casually, so flippantly.  The wise woman (who happens to be extremely young, beautiful and accomplished) shared a story with me that wrenched my heart. 

Does a parent measure the value and worth of their baby by her ability to be normal?  What if that child has some sort of disability?  Do we cast her aside and measure her as “unworthy to live” because she will never be able to work, to contribute to her community or to be a mother?  Of course not!  The worth of that child is immeasurable, not only to her parents and family, but to the entire world as we participate in her life and watch her develop at her own pace.

So then, why would my worth and value be any less?  By striving to prove myself for years and years, I’ve passed up opportunities to enjoy my life, be with people I love, visit interesting places and eat un-American food.  My value is not less than anyone who lives without PD.  My value is not measured in my work or my performance or the amount of money I make.

Besides the measuring stick that God uses to give me a gentle tap on the head from time to time, my measuring stick should be the joy, the smiles, the encouragement, the love and the gentleness I bestow on myself and everyone around me.

So, what did I get when I fell…..I got my life back, and I fell in love.