Labor on Labor Day

My mother went into labor on Labor Day when I was born. Telling you that is kind of like bringing veggie hotdogs to a Dallas Cowboys pregame, tailgate barbecue. It sounds like a special addition, but really, no one cares. Many are annoyed because I keep talking about it but really, it adds little to the barbecue. Come to think of it, going into labor on Labor Day adds nothing to this blog post. Most relevant is that even though she went to labor on Labor Day I was born a day later. So I have a long history of being late to things going back to my original birthday.

Parkinson’s definitely affected my timeliness. Let’s start with this blog. I handwrite it, edit it, transcribe it into my computer, edit it again, and post it. The whole process can take up to three hours with most of that time spent preparing the hand written words into a post. I used to type in to my computer editing as I went along and then post. It took about 60 minutes and most of the time is spent in his writing not getting it ready for posting. Parkinson’s has made typing near impossible and has doubled the time to get a blog post written and published.

This affects me and no one else, really. I have bradykinesia, which is a slowness of movement common with Parkinson’s. Everything takes longer to do. I used to be able to shower and dress in 20 minutes and be out of the door in 25 minutes. Not now, I have to plan an hour to get ready. Which is fine, but I always think today I can do it in 30 minutes. So I read the newspaper, do a crossword, have something to eat, and then I head off to the shower. An hour later, not 30 minutes, I am finished.

Now is when it starts to affect other people because I will tell them I need to get ready and that it will be about 30 minutes plus 15 minutes to drive to wherever entertainment, dining or recreational activity we have chosen. As I have already admitted to you, it really takes most of an hour to get ready so I have misled my friend and I’m always 30 minutes late. You would think by now my friends would give up on me and either not invite me or confront me. I think they just feel sorry for me because of my Parkinson’s. So they are stuck…waiting. Much like my mom on Labor Day, minus the contractions and childbirth.