It’s been thirteen years since my husband Peter learned he had Parkinson’s Disease.  Because Parkinson’s presents itself in many different ways, we didn’t know then how it would proceed.  We did know that there was no cure.

Until the winter of 2018, our life stayed close to normal although we had to give up some things.  But that February, Peter tripped on a piece of irregular sidewalk and broke his femur. Although he made a good recovery, he became slightly more tentative in moving around.

After that, his condition remained quite stable until just two weeks ago when his mobility took a sudden drop.  Until he’s had some tests and his neurologist has figured out whether this drop is fixable or just a “new normal,” we are keeping our fingers crossed.

Throughout this illness’ long run, Peter has not complained. 

Last week when his order of two new pairs of badly-needed blue jeans arrived, Peter was so pleased with them that he asked me to keep a record of the style number so he could order the same style when these wore out.

He will wear these jeans until they look like what the kids buy new now—full of holes.  So, if he is planning to buy jeans that far in the future, I figure that his optimism remains intact.