WHAT PD STOLE FROM ME, a Thanksgiving Day poem

What did Parkinson’s steal from me?

It crept in slowly, too faint to see,

Stealing pieces, bit by bit,

Until I barely recognized it.

First, it took restful sleep,

Left me waking weak, in shadows deep.

It slowed me down—I couldn’t keep pace,

And cost me my job, my life’s embrace.

I had to retire from being a doctor,

Lost the ability to walk faster and farther.

Running turned to stumbling, a clumsy sway,

Bumping into walls along the way.

It stole my handwriting—lines once so clear,

Became scribbles no one could read, not even me

Even typing became a chore I lost

Those were the skills I needed to work. 

PD clouded my mind; clear thinking was gone,

Left me with brain fog, confusion prolonged.

At times, it brought delusions, strange and stark,

Or hallucinations that haunted the dark.

But even in loss, it offered some gifts—

Dear fellow poets whose support uplifts,

Empathy deepened, free time to reflect,

To read, to write, to introspect.

It taught me grace, to hope and pray,

For something to make it all go away

.I never wanted this disease—who would?

Yet it taught unique lessons I understood.

Though I’ve grown sick, I’ve also grown wise,

Finding meaning where pain resides.