After thirty years of Parkinson’s, I have established a sort of détente with the disease. We’ve had a history together. I’ve long realized that control is out of the question; instead, I’ve settled for an understanding that requires adaptability and resilience. PD is like the persistent and cutting jab of a boxer, manageable if I’m willing to do a little feinting and weaving. But then came the check hook; the blow that put me on my knees for a while. Unrelated to PD, a tumor had been found high on my spinal cord. The mass was benign, but constricting, and well on its way to leaving me
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