Parkinsons Disease.  That's what R has.  What a relief.  Of course it's not good and it would be better if he didn't  have it but the alternative is dire.  Because naturally, despite best intentions, I sometimes thought the worst; alzheimers, dementia, wheelchairs, aged care, death.  But Parkinsons?  Parkinsons we can live with.  Even R is relieved. 

It was all getting so depressing.  R was aging before my eyes; shuffling along eyes down, stooped, his right hand convulsively opening and closing, his rich deep voice reduced to a whispery old man's voice.  I broke down once in front of him, my fears for the future overwhelming my usual good sense (and I usually do have good sense about things that aren't here yet).  And that breakdown, standing with the dogs in the causeway where R turns for home and I carry on with the dogs for another kilometre or so, was so unfair.  He pretended nothing was happening but he was frightened too.  Who wouldn't be?  We'd done quite well being strong for one another and I let the side down.

But that was then.  This is now.  He's on medication, the weakest dose to start which has made little difference so far - but a difference nevertheless.  On Saturday he gets to double it and that should make a discernible difference.  He's also taking St. John's Wort.  We've read that helps.  So we'll see.  At least the waiting, the ignorance, the fear is over.