The Parkinson's prescription… and a panacea for all ills

sidered a future involving the navigation of a motorized wheelchair.

Having abandoned tennis and found that to merely walk a hundred or so metres was agonizing unless I stopped and rested every few yards was not my idea of fun.

Earlier, still attempting to play tennis, I realised that I had little or no control of my pins. If I tried to attack the net, my legs would work but not in cohesion and accord with my 'grey matter' instructions.

That's when I had to give up; my leg motivation powered me to the extreme edges of the court, totally ignoring my head's guidance which included rushing to the net and clouting hell out of the ball. This might sound fantazmagorical but this lack of co-ordination did occur on more than one occasion.

When I was not finding myself clinging to the court's chain-link extremities I was spread eagled a la pista on my backside lucky to be shaken up but uninjured. Even a headstrong prat of my ilk knows when to give up… so I did. Needless to say, my ego didn't! With angst and envy I watched lesser racketeers pirouetting about. I mentally died a thousand deaths in the process.

My hesitant ' scrunched up' slithery walking was also getting worse; I was hunched up like something out of Grimm's fairy tales, depressed and disheartened.

Additionally I developed a case of the ' shakes'… my right hand seemed to be waving goodbye to everyone before I even said hello. So I was persuaded to visit a neurologist who instantly diagnosed me as being in the ' not so early' stages of Parkinson's disease.

This proved me wrong; my problem was not too much vino tinto after all! Cheerful bloke, the neurologist, as was his successor and another one who followed him. I became an experimental subject for three of the buggers in quick succession.

The first one did a runner with a question mark protruding from his cranium but the other pair were more optimistic. I had think tests and stink tests and received a prescription and instructions on how to take pills.

Pills - called SINEMET - were the answer they implied and a regime of these, up to five a day, would safely get me into the mid-nineties.

Seemed good to me and the only adverse effects of any consequence or danger it seemed was their tendency to exaggerate sexual desires. GET THIS YOU NONAGENARIANS!

Now comes the exciting bit (yes, another one); after a month's course I was asked to describe my reactions. Like… did they work and did I feel better. Now that was a difficult one. Perhaps my shaky right hand was less shaky but I also got similar results from vino tinto.

What else, I was quizzed. And then I dropped the bombshell. "My walking has improved," I said. "I can walk better, longer distances and in a more upright manner."

That got me some ' What's that got to do with it?' looks and 'You must be joking' comments. However, I insisted. "Come back in a month," the latest neuro-wiz demanded and we'll check again… adding (in Spanish) ' Keep taking the pills'.

He might have been curious or even amused at my replies but I was quite chuffed. To be able to walk in other than Quasimodo style pleased me no end… and without having to stop and start was a bonus.

Several weeks elapsed and I was back at the Levante hospital facing the doubting specialist. He asked the same questions and got the same answers.

That he showed a quizzical form of disbelief made me feel I was in the wrong game. "Tell me more about this walking," he asked, so I went into it in detail. "It's got even better," I said. "Not quite doing a Nadal but I'm back on the tennis courts and not falling over."

He still wore a ' dubious' expression. I bragged that I could now gently stroll the odd kilometre painlessly and control my leg movements. When I told him that I was still getting the occasional arthritic pain in my back he raised his eyebrows almost grinned.

"Well, if what you've told me is not verbal 'basura' and you keep taking the pills you might be in for another pleasant surprise." He was enigmatically elated; you'd have thought he had just invented penicillin.

Last week, I played an hour's tennis and although I was tired at the end, I had little pain. Even the backache was minimal.

I don't know how my Parkinson's is progressing though. After all I did not know what to expect elsewhere but the bloody pills are great for the leg muscles. At this rate - at a couple of euros a hundred - I'm going to live to be a 21st century manic dancing dinosaur!