Seeler
Well-Known Member
Checking back to this thread, I see that the most recent post was made in December. I intended when I am in this thread to make semi-regular posts following my progression and living with Parkinson’s. Things happen. The busyness of Christmas preparations. And then Crazyheart’s death. I needed to take time off to mourn my friend rather than thinking of my own problems. Before I knew it we were into a new year, and the busyness started up again. A childhood friend in real life had a heart attack that required a triple bypass; other friends had health problems. And then Northwind’s bad news. My complaints pale in comparison.
But I never meant this thread to be a negative, whining about my lot in life. Rather, it is simply to record my progression and reflect upon it, and possibly to share that with others who may be interested. Perhaps this short essay which I wrote for my Writers’ Group might explain why I called it ‘complaints’.
Seeler’s Complaints
Many years ago, there was a book and/or a movie about a teacher named ‘Miss Dove’. She had taught grade two in the village school for several generations. Almost everyone in town remembered passing through her classroom. Miss Dove was sensible. She almost never missed a school day. She looked after her health, ate a well-balanced diet, kept fit by walking to and from school. She had a medical checkup each year with old Dr. Bates whom she had known all her life. If she did get a cold or an upset stomach, she somehow managed to do it during the Christmas holidays or the summer break. Therefore, she was somewhat annoyed with herself when she realized one day that she hadn’t been feeling well for some time and she needed to take a day off and see the doctor.
She was surprised when, instead of the old doctor, a young man entered the examination room.
“You’re not Dr. Bates,” she exclaimed.
“Well yes - and no,” the young man answered. “No, I’m not old Dr. Bates. I am his son, young Dr. Bates.”
She looked him over carefully. Yes, she could see the resemblance to the old doctor but when he smiled, she could also see the bright and mischievous seven-year-old boy who had sat in her classroom. Uncertainly, she prepared herself mentally for the examination. When he began talking into a little gadget on his desk, she questioned but he him and he explained that, rather than making notes as his father would have, he would and be dictating the results of this examination. He started off, “the patient presents as a middle-aged woman who complains of …”
“Just a minute young man,” she interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘complains’? I have never complained in my life. I’m just telling you that something is wrong. I don’t feel well. I have this problem ...”
The young doctor laughed and explained to her that there was nothing negative in his use of the word ‘complaints’. It simply was a technical term used by doctors meaning ‘reports’ or ‘explains’. If she wished, he could change it to ‘the patient tells me that she is experiencing …’
That was my intention with the use of the word ‘complains’ when I started to write about my Parkinson’s disease.
I didn’t want to complain, as in, ‘Oh poor me’ ‘what did I do to deserve this’. I simply wanted to record, and share, my experiences as I live with Parkinson’s.
But I never meant this thread to be a negative, whining about my lot in life. Rather, it is simply to record my progression and reflect upon it, and possibly to share that with others who may be interested. Perhaps this short essay which I wrote for my Writers’ Group might explain why I called it ‘complaints’.
Seeler’s Complaints
Many years ago, there was a book and/or a movie about a teacher named ‘Miss Dove’. She had taught grade two in the village school for several generations. Almost everyone in town remembered passing through her classroom. Miss Dove was sensible. She almost never missed a school day. She looked after her health, ate a well-balanced diet, kept fit by walking to and from school. She had a medical checkup each year with old Dr. Bates whom she had known all her life. If she did get a cold or an upset stomach, she somehow managed to do it during the Christmas holidays or the summer break. Therefore, she was somewhat annoyed with herself when she realized one day that she hadn’t been feeling well for some time and she needed to take a day off and see the doctor.
She was surprised when, instead of the old doctor, a young man entered the examination room.
“You’re not Dr. Bates,” she exclaimed.
“Well yes - and no,” the young man answered. “No, I’m not old Dr. Bates. I am his son, young Dr. Bates.”
She looked him over carefully. Yes, she could see the resemblance to the old doctor but when he smiled, she could also see the bright and mischievous seven-year-old boy who had sat in her classroom. Uncertainly, she prepared herself mentally for the examination. When he began talking into a little gadget on his desk, she questioned but he him and he explained that, rather than making notes as his father would have, he would and be dictating the results of this examination. He started off, “the patient presents as a middle-aged woman who complains of …”
“Just a minute young man,” she interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘complains’? I have never complained in my life. I’m just telling you that something is wrong. I don’t feel well. I have this problem ...”
The young doctor laughed and explained to her that there was nothing negative in his use of the word ‘complaints’. It simply was a technical term used by doctors meaning ‘reports’ or ‘explains’. If she wished, he could change it to ‘the patient tells me that she is experiencing …’
That was my intention with the use of the word ‘complains’ when I started to write about my Parkinson’s disease.
I didn’t want to complain, as in, ‘Oh poor me’ ‘what did I do to deserve this’. I simply wanted to record, and share, my experiences as I live with Parkinson’s.
