The Thriving Heart: Daily Words to Encourage and Inspire

By Thomas Millner

For those who dont know, PD stands for Parkinsons disease. I could think of other names right now as well, but Ill stick to the subject. Technically, theres a portion of my brain that produces dopamine, a chemical necessary for nerve conduction (and a bit of sanity), where cells have died. Theres a technical term for those cells as well, but this is neither an anatomy lesson nor a pharmacological treatise, so Ill forgo the technical details. I want to talk about what its like for me to experience this depletion of dopamine and the nuances of daily life therewith. I have no intention of keeping this totally rational. I can do that, but it would be dishonest and not be helpful as I work through each day genuinely. Fortunately, I stay neither in the rational nor irrational all the time. The irrational side of me says, No one wants to hear your bellyache about whats going on with you. Theyre too busy with their own stuff to care. The rational side says, If one person who reads this is helped or inspired to go on one more day, this expression has been worth it. So damn the irrational and on with the rational. Here go both!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543428148

Thomas Millner

Tom Millner is a retired Pastor, and former teacher, trainer and Pharmaceutical executive who believes it is possible to live a thriving life fueled by gratitude. Diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in late 2006, he found himself challenged by the tension in grief brought on by what he perceived as the road ahead. With a foundation of faith and a prayerful practice of giving thanks, Tom began to experience a sense of thriving that superseded mere survival. In 2013 Tom and his life partner and spouse retired to the family farm in the rural piedmont region of North Carolina. With wonderful memories of their life in New York City, the Connecticut shore, Philadelphia and the delightful village of Chadds Ford, Pa, followed by the blessing of South Florida, they now enjoy the wonder of their grandchildren as they embrace the rural life. They have traveled the world and look forward to even more possibilities in each day that is the gift of life!

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Day 2: Getting Real

The challenge of walking, with my right leg and foot flopping without intention (characterized by inattention), presents a level of frustration that ignites my right hand into a tremulous frenzy. When alone, I simply focus on the destination and call that tremulous hand any number of not-so-friendly names. When in public, I try squeezing my hand as though holding a rubber ball or stick my hand in my pocket. I recognize self-consciousness as embarrassment when in public. Often, my anger builds at having to deal with this stuff. Seems the simplest things sometimes turn into major physical challenges. Turn too quickly, and I can lose my balance (no falls yet) or seemingly trip over my own foot when not consciously focusing on picking it up. The rationality of the anger is one to be questioned, but the reality of its frequency gives me pause to accept that it is a part of the process. The more I walk, the more I walk; meaning there is no significant improvement resulting from distance walking. I attempt walking a good distance every day to keep myself from becoming sedate in the comfort of my recliner as I type away. Walking is often painful, but I am thankful for a few doses of anti-inflammatory pain relievers that help diminish the pain in walking. By evening, my legs have been consumed by a throbbing ache that is often more inconvenient that downright painful. I find it irritating and often experience fits of anger over this as well. After all, aren’t I supposed to be experiencing the best of retirement, pain free, flexible, nimble, and quick as a bunny? I guess that’s the other movie I was supposed to star in! Don’t take yourself so seriously, Tom!

Sometimes, bouts of anger subside to periods of (brief) melancholy. I don’t call it depression because it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel lost or hopeless, just sad. A statement someone makes about a life challenge, a victory won, or a life lost may send me into an emotional sobbing mess. I’ve learned to go with this flow as well, truly believing this too shall pass. In many ways, this thing called PD has helped me grow up in a way I might never have done without her. She has in some ways made me stronger and, in others, more vulnerable. Both experiences are real, raw, and revealing. Today, I am okay!

Day 3: The Destination

Today is Saturday. Slept in just a half hour longer, so I’m feeling pampered! Pain is sharp in my right leg but will forge ahead with plans and chores for the day. Have some house cleaning (which I have never adored) and some work pulling grass in the garden. The rain this season has yielded an abundant crop of unasked-for grass in the garden. This task will once again be the product of good old leftie that serves to strike the computer keypad as adeptly as she rips the grass from the garden bed. Thank God for leftie. I used to take rightie for granted, assuming she would always be available. I have always given rightie preferential treatment. Of course, she’s there—stiff, trembling, and at times just plain cramping—but not the greatest helper. To get her to do something, I must slow down and focus concentration on what it is I desire of her. Even then, her flexibility is somewhat wanting. Guiding the electric razor over the right side of my face embraced by rightie can be a gruesome task. She refuses to flex at the wrist and requires the attention of her attached arm to move her intently over the growing field of whiskers. What is she afraid of? If only she were not so resistant! Impatience wins the day as leftie grabs old rightie firmly in tow and guides her more rapidly over the whiskers. After all, shaving is not about the journey but the destination—smooth, baby-faced skin! I wonder how many other journeys are sacrificed for sake of the destination. My friend PD is making me take stock of the journeys I’ve been speeding through for the sake of the destination. The walking journey has become the most prominent these days. Thank God for the lure of the desired destination, or I’d never have the joy of the journey. Before PD, I would take destinations for granted. Clean shave, rapid shower, buttoned shirt, zipped pants, underwear quickly in place were no brainers. Now, with diminished brain producing dopamine that results in PD, each destination requires attention to the journey in a way never before appreciated. I’ve taken to talking not so kindly to the slow member who is always there to remind me that I have a journey to take before I secure the destination. My cheering (jumping and shaking) hand must be reeled in occasionally to tasks done intentionally, simply because she can’t go on willy-nilly forever (or can she?).

Day 4: Pondering Still

Well, glory be! It’s Sunday, and church is the destination this morning. I look forward to the Sunday school class and lesson as well as the time of anthem preparation in the choir and, of course, the worship service itself. But first, I must tackle getting dressed in a bit slower and modified manner than I’ve whizzed through it in the past. I’m none the worse off for it, however, since I’m learning what it means to embrace the journey. This whole destination thing has set me thinking that life has an ultimate destination. For me, that looks like joyfully fulfilling my role in service worship in the presence of God, at peace in Him. Your version of your ultimate destination may be very different depending upon your faith construct (or lack thereof), but you can count on the fact that you have one. What you’re doing along the way tells where you think you’re headed! Yeah, I’m preaching now, so if you’re turned off, see you later; but if you’re interested even a tad in what an old preacher with PD might have to say, stick around! I submit that the actions we take right now, today, this week are integrally tied to where we think we’re going to wind up. Some say they think only of the day, others the week, others to retirement, others to the task, and still others utter the desire to just stay in the moment lest they fall ominously into the throws of addiction or another form of self-indulgence. Here comes my sermon now … If you believe (talking to myself first here) that God’s love, as shown by His grace, has set you free from self-condemnation (and other), then you will act gracefully each moment of each day. This means you’ll be giving as good as you believe you’ve gotten from God. Sounds so simple, huh? Not so fast there, Gladys; if it were that easy, life would be a bowl of cherries or whatever fruit floats your boat. Instead, it seems that life is a working out of our understanding of our version of the destination we think we’re headed toward. Enough of the preaching now! We’ve got enough of the journey steps to take right now. Brushing teeth and getting dressed will do just fine as appreciative acts accomplished this morning!

Day 5: In Praise of the Happy Hand

Back a few years ago, I took on the direction of a couple of cantatas at church. Music for me has always been an emotionally moving experience. What I call lousy music is no different, except the mood isn’t nice in me. That aside, I approached the cantatas with eagerness and dutifully reviewed over and over the timing and phrasing that needed to coincide with the prerecorded accompaniment. As a right-handed person, I attempted to use my right hand to direct. Well, wouldn’t you know? Old happy hand on the right, my otherwise cheering section, would have none of it. She lagged behind, required a shoulder and arm fling to direct an upbeat, and was otherwise uncooperative. Good old leftie came to the rescue, however. I began to appreciate my left digits in ways I never thought I would. The hand was precise—in rhythm—and totally responsive to my brain’s command. What a blessing! Thanks to Mr. Happy; Ms. Lefty got a chance to shine like a newly minted penny on a sunny day. You see, back then, I thought the well-performed cantata was the purpose. I discovered that Ms. Lefty’s stellar rise in the performing arena was just as meaningful to me as the cantata itself. Others enjoyed the performance; I enjoyed the performance and the discovery of a new friend—Ms. Lefty.

Day 6: A Grief Moment

A restless evening, an aching morning, and a reflective mood give pause to ponder the loss of some stamina. Sitting firmly in the throes of lost muscular flexibility and energy, I grieve the times of physical fitness and agility that I took for granted. The gym was a ten-minute walk to the subway; discovering the ancient landmarks of Rome was a daylong stroll through the eternal city, and a five-block walk was a snap of a journey. Now, a stroll through the grocery store is enhanced by the cart on which I hang as I am reminded step by step of the resistance from muscles and nerves these days. Sometimes, I curse the pain, as though it were the enemy of my desire to do all things expediently. The thought that it could be worse, though true, is not helpful. At the moment of recognition of the pain, I find calling it what it is—pain unwelcomed, unwanted, unmitigated to help the process of grieving the lost, left then to embrace the remaining! What is the remaining? Discomfort but not disability; distaste for medication but not for its outcome; and discovery of what may be possible, even if the discomfort gets worse. Occasionally, I am tempted to throw a pity party with the honored guests being my pride, my ego, my grief, and my dearly beloved self-centeredness. I tried it a couple of times but found the guests boring and without any substance. I’ve since dismantled my party platform in favor of a soapbox.

Day 7: Five Practical Points

Point 1:

You are greater than your diagnosis! You are not a freckle, you are not a hangnail, and you are not Parkinson’s disease. You may have to contend with one or more things that may or may not annoy you or inhibit you, but that thing does not define who you are.

Point 2:

Grieve it! PD is real, and it is progressive in diminishing actions we’ve taken for granted all our lives. Grief is a part of living and is natural. Dead people don’t grieve; only living ones do! Grief doesn’t have to be your soul mate but can be your friend in balancing your life.

Point 3:

Talk about it! Get the grief, the fear of the unknown, the ego, self-image, or whatever else is bugging you off your lips. You’ll get a multitude of different responses, some positive and encouraging, some patronizing, some awkward, but all reflective of the person who reacts. You just need to get it out and off your chest, sometimes more than once. If no one will listen, write it down. If pen is not you friend, say it out loud.

Point 4:

Move it! Action speaks louder than words, we’ve heard, and the same is true living with PD. You’ve got to keep moving. Whether you walk, skip, jump, or run, keep it up. It sometimes isn’t pretty, but it’s necessary to help maintain independence and flexibility. Movement is your friend!

Point 5:

It’s your choice! Now that you know what PD is and that it’s going to be a part of your life from now on, you are the one who must decide how to live with it. Most folks are ignorant about PD. Ignorance is curable. Find out. Decide what works for you and what doesn’t. The blame game or being the victim neither serves you nor preserves you!

Day 8: Who Are You?

I want to talk about a point made in yesterday’s post, the one about you are greater than your diagnosis! I’ve often thought of myself or even others in a single-minded fashion. I said to myself, I’m a country boy, or I’m a singer, or I’m an animal lover. Lord knows, I’ve said a lot of other things about myself that aren’t so flattering too. None of those things define me or who I am. They have each had a role to play in the way I have chosen to navigate life, but they have not defined the sum of who I am. Likewise, PD does not fill this jar of clay called Tom to the exclusion of all else. There is much, much more to me (or others) than a few dead cells in the substantia nigra resulting in diminished dopamine.

Early in the diagnosis, I was emotionally consumed with what it meant (more of what it didn’t mean but what I thought) to have PD. This added to my grief, which has to be experienced, but it went far beyond that grief. I was perched precariously on the precipice of personal pronunciation that I was a victim of Parkinson’s disease. Then I went even further to define what that must be in me. It wasn’t enough that there had been a diagnosis of PD; I was about to have that define me. Fortunately, that misguided tour was short-lived, and I returned to the land of get a grip. The map of that terrain is drawn from well-documented travels over many hills and through numerous valleys; none of which have been a destination called Tom. Instead, they are a part of the intricate tapestry that is me. Leaving the prison of singular definition means taking a deep breath in the air of endless possibilities.

Day 9: In Praise of Today

Today, this moment, is filled with a sense of hope about what is to come. Tomorrow will be another story. Perhaps it will be as blessed as today, but as of now, hope for today is sufficient. A restful evening and awaking to a crisp dawn crowned with the glistening of sunrise bring a sense of wonder and thanks. As I face the east while penning these words, the light breaking through the leaves reminds me how precious and blessed we are to be alive in this magnificent world. The mocking bird is chirping his song loud and clear, welcoming the presence of a new day of possibilities. As I experience the wonder of this moment, I desire to take in every element possible as a foundation for the day to come. Experiences of the day may not be pleasant or seemingly fulfilling, but this foundation is here to remind me that unpleasant and unfulfilling moments do, not the sum of the day total! Thank God for these moments that set the foundation. They are all around if we are open to seeing them.

Day 10: Acceptance Is Not Defeat

I just tried five times to button the cuff on my left wrist. After removing my watch and sitting back in my recliner, the sixth attempt was the charmer. I smiled broadly at the change that has come. Not at the loss of dexterity but at the loss of anger over being challenged by this menial, previously taken-for-granted exercise of dressing one’s self. Acceptance is considered a part of the grieving process. I’ve had some issues with the notion of acceptance. At one point, I felt acceptance would mean defeat. I believed that PD meant X outcome; therefore, I was not going to surrender to that outcome lest I disable myself entirely. Within the process of talking through and reasoning about what I am experiencing, I’ve come to make friends with the actual experience rather than the self-judged sentence of what that means about or for me. A challenged walk, an intermittently trembling hand, occasional stiffness, and a few aches and pains when taken individually and accepted as a hill to climb or a slope down which to ski is nothing more than what each is—a singular challenge to be lived within. The anger over these experiences is subsiding as I accept each in the moment and recognize I have nothing more pressing than that moment in time. I fully recognize that this is not my destination but rather another leg on my journey, and I am thankful for the opportunity to be traveling. Thank God for teaching me how to live in the moment. The reward is not my scholarship but a blessed peace of mind!

Day 11: This Is Now

I grew up in a household with an elder sister who was a bit of a hypochondriac. Okay, those who knew her will attest that she was more than a bit. I’ve always suspected it was her way of garnering attention that was sympathetic and consoling. Although I lived in that household for only seventeen years (until I went away to college), I still carry with me a reluctance to share how I’m feeling when I’m not feeling well. It’s been a process over the years to learn how to express myself regarding a few aches and pains without sounding to me like my sister. Saying bless her (his) heart is a Southern way of excusing whatever you throw someone else’s way. So my sister was a consummate pain-in-the-butt complainer, bless her heart! I’ve learned through this process of coming to grips with what PD does and does not mean that an honest acknowledgment of feelings is a step in the direction of healthy living. Just as pains and aches are not generally permanent or of the same intensity, neither is the need to share with everyone else what is going on. What I’ve learned through this process is that a pain is not a pathway, a limp is not legacy, a tremor is not a territory, and stiffness is not a state of being (although some would argue that last assertion). These are occasional visitors that need acknowledgment but not allowed to be a singular graft that redefines the vine. Whether stiff or spry, limping or leaping, shaking or straight forward, the breath I have today whispers thank you for all I’ve had and now have that makes this beautiful tapestry I call life. Those things are not my possessions, but rather they are those things that possess me, like gratitude, hope, faith, joy, occasional grief, and a sense of abiding love that has me securely enveloped. What a blessing!

Day 12: Memories Are Made Today

The first time I saw my daughter was when an attendant brought her to me at an ashram in India. As she placed that precious and beautiful six-week-old angel in my arms, I could not contain the tears that refreshed my cheeks as I was virtually overwhelmed with joy, gratitude, concern, and fear. There was joy over the peaceful beauty of the precious child in my arms. There was gratitude I felt to God and those whom He had guided to that very place where I was then standing with my soon-to-be daughter. There was concern for her health since she had not been under the care of a physician since birth. There was fear that the navigation of the bureaucratic morass would be insurmountable, and the adoption might not happen. I chose to embrace joy, gratitude, and concern and to relegate fear to a compartment somewhere beneath the realm of possibility. Had I done otherwise, fear would have taken its place center stage and rendered the episode a one-act play. Instead, joy and gratitude fueled the engine that allayed concern with attention to what was needed for the health of my daughter. Today, she is a healthy woman in her midtwenties, a dedicated mother of a beautiful daughter, and filled with dreams of what possibilities lie ahead. Had that day in May of 1987 not been one on which I made a conscious choice to relegate fear to its proper place, today’s memories would be vastly different. Today, I choose joy and gratitude. Memories are made of that!

Day 13: The Stream of Life

The fog is lifting, and the sun is beginning its glare upon the day. The heat will rise soon as the remnant of summer pleads its case. The last vestige of vegetables lingers in the garden awaiting the harvester’s hand, and the fields of green glisten in their pride before the frost to come. The season will surely change, but with it comes its own unique blend of opportunities, some challenging, some graced with the kaleidoscope of nature’s colors that signal yet another change on the horizon. At times, life seems like a river. It meanders through the valleys, flows over the ledge to the pool that waits below, teeming with life. And through its flow, it passes by its banks in each season, giving as much as it takes. Where squeezed, it flows more rapidly to overcome its impediment. It adapts, it changes course, it meanders, it flows, it pools gently, and it runs its course. The stream is fed from the rain above and the springs below. Today, I am thankful for the course of this stream that I call life, blessed with the shower of God’s love that bubbles up in my heart of appreciation. Although a squeeze or fall may come, this stream I experience, as life will continue its unimpeded flow toward the ocean called eternity. The experience is astounding, the journey magnificent, and today is ours to embrace!

Day 14: An Old Friend

The days are becoming shorter. Darkness will soon equal the time of light on its way to overtaking light’s duration. I’ll miss the light because with it comes warmth, vibrant growth of all things green and a sense of freedom from the confines of layers to maintain warmth. I’ll miss my old friend called Summer, but old buddy Time has proven that Summer will return full of new life and new things to discover. This morning, my old friend pain has been absent. Believe me, I haven’t been looking for him, but I have been fondly mystified as to his departure. I don’t recall having changed my routine to account for any insightful conjecture as to pain’s demise. I wonder if it was something I ate, a medication regimen I completed, a response to the workout I had at the gym the day before. Had he not been omnipresent over the last few months, I might not have noticed his abrupt departure. Pain has shown me that old friends can be a mixed bag. Sometimes they are demanding, sometimes they interfere, sometimes they remind you of what living is all about, and sometimes they give the blessing of just being quiet. Trust me, I have no vested interest in keeping him around, but he has befriended me in the sense that he has taught me to take one moment, one step, one action at a time. He reminds me to be thankful in the victory that has been garnered in spite of his presence. Today, thankfulness over his departure overshadows the wonder of his absence. Unlike the summer season, I do not look forward to pain’s return. Instead, I cherish this moment that embraces my being and say thank you, God.

Day 15: But How Will You Live?

Life was changing. Focus was shifting from developing a consulting business to preparing for the ministry that had been a lifelong calling. There were some bothersome physical impediments to my usual agile maneuvers. A limp, noticeable first to others, was becoming more pronounced. My right hand was becoming stiff, causing more than the usual mistakes on the computer keypad and the treble clef at the piano. My primary care doctor had recommended a visit to a neurologist to get a clearer picture of what might be going on. I was after a quick fix to get on with my life as I then had it planned. The visit with the neurologist was cordial. He asked me a few questions, requested that I walk to the end of the hallway, turn around, and walk back to the starting location. He asked that I follow his pencil as he made movements left to right, right to left, and then up and down. The request to tap, tap, tap middle finger to thumb met with some resistance in my right hand. He paused, looked down as he jotted a note in the file, and then looked at me and said, You have Parkinson’s disease. I honestly didn’t hear anything after that. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I knew about Parkinson’s and the usual progression of the disease. I had not even thought of it as a possibility since I was not experiencing any of the classic symptoms. Suddenly, I was thrust into the morass of negativity; that cauldron of fear that I would now experience what I had so astutely observed about others back when I was in the pharmaceutical business. Grief overtook me there in the neurologist’s office. He recognized my plight but was ill equipped to do anything more than simply look away as he completed a prescription for what turned out to be a not-so-helpful elixir. After leaving the office, I sat in my car weeping, feeling sorry for myself, and thinking, Well, now I know from what I will die. It took a day or two of wallowing in my pit, mostly in my silence, before I began to emerge with the understanding that fortune-telling was not a spiritual gift and that what I could be sure of was God’s eternal presence and the feast that was set before me. I decided then to dine at the table of life rather than gather the scraps tossed on the floor of death. The pressing thought then moved from how I would die to the more challenging one of how I would live. That movement was a blessing. The question never grows old; it has eternal significance and establishes the priorities of the day. The question is: How will you live?

Day 16: All the Pieces

The carport is strewn with unused or discarded pieces from the latest construction project. The structure is magnificent and will bring enjoyment to friends and family for years to come. The task of sorting the sawn pieces has begun, and the first and easiest was