When I despair, I remember that
all through history the way of truth and love has always won….Think of
it--always.” ~
Mahatma Gandhi
On the
day the Robin Williams took his life I was very sad as were many. Early in the
morning when it was revealed that he was not only struggling with depression
but he was undergoing the early advanced stages of Parkinson’s that exasperated
his condition a lot of friends sent me messages. The first I received was from
a friend, Melissa, who said, “I didn’t want you to hear about this on the television.” I
thought that was very kind of her. I
then went to the news channels and watched the reports. Again, it made me very sad. Throughout the
day many people called and I assured them I was fine. Here’s why.
When I
was six, while we were living a bit in Florida, my older sister, Melissa and I
took our swimming lessons in a lake near our house. Melissa wore a bathing cap
but I did not. The bacteria in lake gave me massive bleeding ear infections
that resulted in me losing most of the hearing in my right ear. Over time I
lost it all. When I was in high school
my friends Mike and Kevin used to come to my house and tune my stereo speakers so
I could listen to music properly. Still
no one likes to ride in the car with me, and my neighbors often tease me about
leaving my music or TV up too high.
When I
was nine and we had moved back to the Chicago area I had what I will call my
first nervous breakdown. During a short
simple math quiz I freaked out because the numbers made no sense to me. I couldn’t figure out how to arrange them and
solve the puzzle. I started shaking and
crying, and my teacher took me out of the room.
I had the same problem with reading.
I couldn’t make the letters get in line.
My mother, who was an artist, but had been an educator, took me to a
place where I did a lot exercises and they not just being hard of hearing but
also dyslexic. She being the good woman she was took me back there on frequent
weekends for boot camps on how to overcome and manage my issues. It was always referred to as “special errands
with Tom.” I still repeat myself a lot and flip letters when writing or
speaking but it hasn’t really slowed me down. Then at age 16 I had my first
stroke.
It was a
day when we were supposed to do an endurance test by running on the upper shelf
of our high school gym. “How many laps can you do?” A friend of mine, Shawn,
who was known as a stoner, really wanted to show people something about
himself, so I ran with him. Together we completed the most laps of the class. Afterwards
when I was walking through the hallways I noticed my head hurting and I started
seeing things in tunnel vision. At the time I was acting in a high school play.
I exited the dressing area starting to descend the steps to the stage and then
I fell unconscious. My friend, Alan, came to my rescue and then an ambulance
came. I wasn’t out for very long and
didn’t want to go to the hospital but it was insisted. On the way the paramedics tried to make jokes
to put me at ease. Then at one point I lost all feeling in the left side of my
body; they on the sirens, and put me to sleep. In the six weeks after I got out
of the hospital I was so far behind in classes that I had my second nervous
breakdown. At that time I was a
high-performing student and I thought this would destroy everything I worked
for. There would be no play, no being
student council treasurer, no dances, nothing.
One night in the family kitchen I fell into my father’s arms crying and
shaking again like in fourth grade. My dad did the right thing. He hired a boy
named Joe Rausch, a brilliant senior at school, who came to tutor, talk to me,
and get me back on my feet. And that is what we did. Through the years I never learned to write in cursive or to type, but that year the play was a hit, I won the
election, and went to a very nice dance with a very nice girl, who also gave me
a great goodnight kiss.
My
second stroke happened when I was 48. I had gone to a late night Cubs game with
friends I met in the Metro Deli and Bar in Union Station. The next day around lunch I again felt that
head-throbbing sensation and the tunnel vision. I called my wife and went home.
She met me at the hospital emergency room.
They started treating me for a heart attack but before they could get
too far I again lost all feeling on my side. I couldn’t speak. They rushed me
into another room for a CAT Scan and I don’t really remember much after that
until I was in the cardiac ward. Apparently, there was another blood clot but
they resolved it very quickly. The one thing that was unusual during the blood
and stress tests was that they had neurologist come see me. The nurses had noticed that I shook a lot,
especially in the morning and while I slept. Jennifer said I should keep an eye
on that given that my dad had Parkinsons but I laughed her off a bit. The next year, after my dad passed, I was
sitting in her office when she confirmed the diagnosis that I have Parkinsons
and Essential Tremor.
I was a
Vice President of Sales, Marketing and PR when this all happened and tried to
keep up but eventually I couldn’t anymore after a couple of years. I got bought out from the software company I
worked for and now I do a lot of other things on my own pace. I work with a children’s museum, a wonderful
community center called Alive as an art mentor, I volunteer at my church and in
the community, I teach now and again, I advocate actively with Parkinson’s
groups, and mostly I just write.
During
the course of my life I have gone through a lot of things; lost a lot of
things, like people I love, and have gone through a lot of changes, but the
thing is I don’t ever despair. I now walk on a cane. Who cares? I now look
distinctive.
I am sad about Robin Williams but
despair is a ridiculous emotion when you compare it to hope. It’s not for everyone and apparently was not
for him. Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers
/That perches in the soul -/And sings the tune without the words -/And never
stops - at all… “ Robin had a great life and people who loved him, but also his
struggles with depression and addiction. He chose what I call “The Night Train,”
and despite everything I have been through and struggled with, I always choose
the thing with feathers.
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