It’s been over a year since I first wrote about living in the Parkinson’s Fun House. Back then I thought the slanted floors, magnetic feet, and random tiptoe buttons were bad enough. Ha! The carnival operators have clearly decided to up their game.
These days it feels less like a quirky county fair attraction and more like a full-blown haunted house running 24/7 with no exit in sight. The humor is getting harder to find on some days, but I’m still hunting for it.
Night Shift: Now Featuring New Surprises
Waking up for the inevitable nighttime bathroom trips is always an adventure. One night I stood frozen for what felt like forever, both feet super-glued to the floor, staring at my reflection in the mirrored closet doors thinking, If I fall right here, at least I’ll have a funny story… and a fresh bruise to add to the collection.
Another night, I could not get my right foot to move. It felt like I was in a three-legged race with a marble statue instead of a willing partner.
The return trip is where the real “fun” begins. I make it through the doorway, take a few steps, and suddenly it feels like an invisible hand shoves me hard from behind. My body pitches forward—bam!!—straight into the end of the bed. It’s not a full fall, but it’s enough to rattle the whole frame, jolt my husband awake, and send my heart racing. I grab whatever I can reach, steady myself, and crawl back under the covers.
Near-falls have become routine. I catch myself on door frames, the dresser, the bed—anything solid. Bruises are my new fashion statement. Wonderful Hubby has become a very light sleeper. Poor guy.
Day Shift: Quicksand and Pinball
Daytime isn’t much calmer. I toddle down the narrow hallway flat-footed one minute, up on my toes the next, bouncing off walls like a pinball that drank six espressos. Carrying anything heavier than a feather turns my feet into industrial-strength magnets while my upper body keeps trying to walk forward like a cartoon character who just ran off a cliff.
Turning around in tight spaces (kitchen corners, in front of windows) feels like I’ve stepped onto a Tilt-A-Whirl operated by a sadistic ghost. One moment the floor turns to quicksand pulling me forward; the next, an invisible carnival clown gives me a two-handed shove from behind just for laughs.
The consolation prize is smaller now. Getting fully outside sometimes helps, but not always like it used to. The Fun House keeps expanding its territory.
Still Here, Still Adapting
The near-falls are the scariest part—they come fast and leave me shaky. But we keep adapting: clearer pathways, strategic handholds, and plenty of deep breaths (plus the occasional dark laughter) when I crash into the bed again.
Wonderful Husband remains my rock, my reset button, and my favorite reason to keep hunting for the funny.
If the carnival operators are listening: I’d like to return to the gentler version, please. Or at least issue me a helmet and knee pads with the admission price. In the meantime, I’ll keep toddling forward—bouncing off walls, surviving the shoves, and refusing to let this thing steal all the joy.
Laughter is still the best medicine, even when I have to hunt a little harder for it these days. 🎡
