The Miracle of the Arm that Moves (Miracle #2 in the miracle series)

 June 14
When the ear hears a piece of music that moves something within the heart or touches deeply in the soul  dopamine production kicks in.  This is especially interesting to music lovers with Parkinson's Disease.

Lets have a little in neurology as it relates to Parkinson's.

Normally, there are brain cells (neurons) in the human brain that produce dopamine. These neurons concentrate in a particular area of the brain, called the substantia nigra. Dopamine is a chemical that relays messages between the substantia nigra and other parts of the brain to control movements of the human body. Dopamine helps humans to have smooth, coordinated muscle movements. When approximately 60 to 80% of the dopamine-producing cells are damaged, and do not produce enough dopamine, the motor symptoms of Parkinson's disease appear. This process of impairment of brain cells is called neurodegeneration. 

So, by the time I was diagnosed with Parkisons 7 years ago, I had already lost most of the dopamine producing cells.  I had also lost an ability to play guitar.

About the time I was diagnosed and retired, educators were retiring from the Hermiston School District due to a wonderful perk for insurance.  I attended a retirement party and ran into fellow teacher Ron and Anne who were bluegrass musicians. I just knew they would help me get going so I invited them to dinner and tagged on "bring your instruments." They started me on the Bluegrass journey that night and jams and festivals followed. I l oved that fast paced driving music.  It affected me a drug, like dopamine.

I had played on and off for  years and even for  church services.  But its different now. Sometimes my right arm does not move,  My wrist feels locked and my fingers cannot hold a pick.  Fingerpicking is a struggle.  One day I tried to explain to Ron what it felt like to have to "WILL" your fingers  and wrist to move through a bucket of hardening cement to pick and strum. I dont t hink you can understand it unless you have experienced it.

When my dad died, I packed away the guitars and  didnt get them out.  I don't know why.  He hated blugrass so maybe that's what I played when he was alive.  He didn't come to hear me play, but he could complain. Maybe I needed to grieve myself out of what he hated and into something I loved.

Important influences and experiences in my musical life include my brother John.  On my sixteenth birthday he gave me what had been his first acoustic guitar.  I played it until it was no longer playable. And when he visits he  has a car full of instruments to try.  We sit up for hours playing beatles and eagles and whatever and he makes me sing and it evens sounds good...at least to the two of us.

 Bob Swobaoda worked with me for awhile.  He was truly a music teacher and band instructor. I learned some theory. But I just wanted to play.

 Mike Benton was the music director at Camp, and I was the activty director.  We had the opportunity to play together at alot of camps..and I will always remember when Mike left me  in charge of the sing-a-long, a reach in skills for me, and a 14 year old Jeremy Berka stood up by my side to give me support and lead the singing.

Margaret was the toughest teacher.  Of course as a college professor she wanted her students to learn it right. I practiced  each bar of each song until it was perfect.  And if the arm and finger were pulling through that bucket of cement, she made me practice harder.  Margaret loves guitars and found a nice Taylor for me when I was ready for my first big girl instrument. I am thankful for that.

Mike  Kellison gave Luke lesssons and then I took over from Luke.  Nicholas was kind, caring and fun and always so poilte and helpful...one of the finest guitar players I have met. Jon Wambeke was great with  kids but this 57 year old woman  had a frightneing time at the monthly performances.

Fred helped me some with the blues, as did Mike Benton in more recent times. All of these fine people influenced my skill development.

A few weeks ago we found out that help was needed over the summer for music at church.  I asked Pat if I could play alongside her a week or two prior to our turn.  The first week was so much fun.  I played loud. smooth, clear.  Pat said "I dont remeber you ever playing like that Carol"

The next week it was back to old cement arm. I got over to the Sacajewea Blue grass Festival and into a jam.  I sat through that great jam frustrated,  holding on to my guitar, not being able to even strum.  

Saturday I had to run home to play at Mass.  Cement arm made it through.  I came back to the jam one campsite over from ours.  I announced the Miracle of the Missing Guitar picks and then said "The 2nd miracle tonight is...' and I sat down and played.  And with a little help from Ron and Jack  the strings of  my guitar were soon smoking, keeping perfect rhythm for the leads.

Its like that with Parkinsons.  Sometimes people don't think you have the disease because the symptoms are not as apparent.  There are many non-motor symptoms that most people do not even know about.   The disease is always there, hidden or not, neurodegenerative, eating away at the few remaing dopamine producing cells. 

I cherish the miracle days.  Those magic moments when I am laying down the rhythm and joking with the guys.  I can't  wait until another "Miracle of the Arm that Moves"