I Am Not a Hobophobe

I am not a hobophobe. People without a place to live in which to do their drugs and not comply with their psychiatrist’s recommendations, deserve the same respect and fair treatment as anyone of us who have a home in which to do our drugs and not comply with our neurologist’s recommendations. With this equality in mind, I was not worried about the crack whore walking toward me while talking - no, yelling - at the unlit cigarette she held between her fingers. As she approached I politely stepped aside as she gestured toward the cigarette and proceeded to ask me, “did you hear what he just said to me?!”

Let me stop here a minute. This happened on the streets of Phoenix. Arizona, on my last day at the World Parkinson’s Congress. Usually by now, I would have posted about the conference as I have done in previous years. Maybe I would tell you about the latest and greatest research or the newest treatments. Perhaps I would have told you about the water polo player in the Netherlands who has the PD. I might have even told you about the 5-2-1 formula for determining the need for advanced treatments. I would definitely share my “takeaways” from the Congress. Which leads me back to the crazy crack whore.

As she yelled at me, she took one giant step toward me and coughed 3 times. As her germs rained down on me, all I could think about was a shower in my hotel across the street and quarantining the clothes I was wearing. Also, I immediately knew what my “takeaway” from the conference would be. And by the next evening it started from a sore throat, to a head cold, to a chest cold, to a bronchial infection, to a finally declining cough today. So, almost four weeks later I can breathe and maybe laugh at what happened. But out of respect and equality, if you ever cough in my face I will also call you a crazy crack whore.