Balance

On June 23 2005 a fellow hiker got a request from The Balance Disorders Lab of Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU) to find males from ages 52-73 to join a balance study with the goal of better treatment of Parkinson’s disease.  At that time I was a male of age 62, and it sounded interesting to me.  I had not had much knowledge of Parkinson’s, but another fellow hiker had died of it.  Another fellow hiker joined the study as well.

How bad is Parkinson’s?  In American 60,000 are diagnosed a year.  Men are 150% as likely as women to get it.  More people have it than MS, MD or ALS combined.  The annual cost is $52 billion in the U.S.

The response to my request to volunteer:

The purpose of this research is to determine how deep brain stimulation
(DBS) and levodopa influence abnormal patterns of walking and balance
movements in patients with Parkinson¹s disease. You are invited as an
age-matched control.
 
You will be asked to undergo clinical tests of your balance and walking
(e.g., standing with your eyes closed, standing on one foot, walking,
turning, etc.). You will also be asked to stand on a movable platform.  On
some trials you will be asked to simply stand quietly or asked to take a
step.  On some trials, the platform will move and you will be asked to try
to keep your balance without stepping. During all these trials, your body
movements will be recorded by small movement sensors that will be attached
to your body.  Small self-adhesive electrodes will be placed on the skin
over selected muscles of the leg, thigh, and trunk to record muscle activity
as you move. 

Some criteria that would make you not eligible for such a study would be
past orthopedic surgery (hip, knee, back) or any sensation loss in your
feet.

I found out later that Levodopa is synthesized into dopamine in the body and is a common drug for Parkinson’s because loss of dopamine neurotransmitter is the cause of Parkinson’s disease.

I passed all of the criteria and set up my first appointment for August 22.

The initial study was at the main OHSU facility at “Pill Hill” because of its location on a hill and its medical facility.  The proper name is Marquam Hill after some early Oregonian.  I have been told that a railroad bought the area before finding that it was a hill, and then donated it knowing that it was not a good place for a railroad line.

My invitation to a mouth motion study:

Wed 7/27/2005 3:23 PM

You



Dear Mr. Hawley,
 Thank you for interested (sic) in becoming our control… As you might have heard from xxxx about the DBS study for the Parkinson’s patient, we are a part of the study.. We focused on jaw & facial movement… I am working for Dr. xxxx.. This study has been going on for about 8 years or so… We are testing to see whether the Deep Brain Stimulators (DBS) implanted in the Parkinson’s patient is helping them or not. In doing so, we need control subjects that age & gender matched with our Parkinson’s patient to compare the results… The testing should be done within 1 to 1 1/2 hours..  A small piece of magnetic (sic) is placed on the lower jaw with the head frame around the head to dectect (sic) the jaw & facial movement with the electromagnetic field.. We are asking you to perform the basic jaw movements such as open & close your mouth, bite on cotton roll, chew gum, and bite on carrots…These tasks are easy for normal people, but can be very difficult for Parkinson’s patients… If you are interested in becoming a control subject,  I would like to schedule you for August 3rd or August 10th (after August 22nd is okay, too)… I am looking forward to hear from you.. I can be reached at (xxx) xxx-xxxx..

The session was much as described.  The interesting part was the apparatus attached to my face.  I asked for and got a picture of me during the study.  I looked like Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter when he was imprisoned.

There was another study on “Pill Hill” which tested reaction time with something like a simple computer game on a computer screen.  Both hands were tested and unsurprisingly my non-dominant hand (left) was slower to react.  Everything else was at the balance lab.

The balance studies were much as indicated:

            They pulled the rug out from under me (actually moving a steel plate without warning).  I had a harness on, but didn’t need it.  I found that my reaction was to step forward with my dominant right leg and go into a semi-kneeling position.  That was completely involuntary; there was no time to think.  Digression – I had not thought previously about leg dominance.  Most are right legged and right handed.  You can test leg dominance by testing which leg you would naturally kick a ball with.

            I failed miserably at walking in a straight line while blindfolded.

            I was fairly good at walking in a circle and ending where I started while blindfolded.

            While walking I counted backwards by threes from a number announced as I started.  Example – Researcher 88 go.  Me 85, 82, 79, … .  This was to test multi-tasking which they said was more difficult for a Parkinson’s brain.

            Another test of multi-tasking was starting walking and saying names of either males or females in alphabetic order.  Example Abe, Bob, Carl, … .

            Staring at a wall or a picture showed in one case that I could fall asleep standing up.  Their electronics confirmed my impression.  I later used that skill in the fiction “Court” about someone listening to a really boring speech.

            Besides the electrodes, light reflectors were attached.  They could be used for motion capture like films to aid motion analysis.

            There was one quiz about physical abilities such as walking across the room.  Every they asked was easy to do except opening a foil packet.  After the quiz they told me that it was a test on the quiz taker’s honesty.  Everyone has difficulty opening one of those foil packets.  Digression – in the last years of my mother’s life, I was in charge of opening jars and other containers.  Some were very difficult for me, a fairly healthy sixty something at the time.  How are old and weak people supposed to deal?

            I had to skip one session because of a very painful foot.  Another time I kept quiet and suffered though the session.  In 2014 after my part was concluded, I had serious foot and knee problems for months, which were helped by what I call bracelets around my knee.  None of my foot or knee problems were caused by the study.

Age, height and weight were used to match me with me with a person with Parkinson’s.  I believe that my experience with yoga and as a hiker and a park steward probably made me better than average with balance.  Those activities require a lot of experience balancing and falling.

Occasionally there were interns who helped and learned.  They were from different countries, but all were young and attractive.  The Italian was complimentary about my muscle tone and conductivity.  I would have been more pleased if it had been a she rather than a he, but still good.

A part of the study took place outside of the lab.  For several months my wife and I kept a falls diary.  It was for detailing all of my falls and near falls for the time that it was maintained.  At first I was very careful not to fall, but I was told to behave normally.  With my park stewardship and hiking, I was frequently on vine covered hillsides which could be wet and slippery.  As a result, I fell a lot.  I inferred that they were looking for falls around the house, so results surprised them.  Every time that I reported my many falls, they would ask what drugs I was taking.  My most extreme report was on a hot day when I was dehydrated.  The terrain was treacherous and I had a very painful foot.  I had three falls in half an hour.  My reports would have more extreme if I had reported “near falls”.

There was a get together which included both controls and Parkinson’s people.  I made the insensitive mistake of introducing myself to a victim of the disease as a “normal” rather than a control subject.  The investigators summarized the results of the study.  It showed that, despite many benefits of DBS for signs and symptoms of Parkinson’s disease, jaw movements and balance are not improved, and may worsen after surgery.

I missed out on a potential brain study because of scheduling and equipment problems.  When I was available, the equipment wasn’t and when the equipment worked, I wasn’t available.

At the end of the study we were treated to review of the results.

After my participation in 2012, I ran into a few people who had Parkinson’s.  One was in my high school class.  He had stem cell treatment, but died about a year ago.  The husband of someone in the same class had DBS.  Because he was bald, the implant on his head was easily visible.  Both a grade school crush of mine and a neighbor attended specialized Parkinson’s classes at our gym recently.

I’ve done several volunteer things – flower basket hanging, China Camp docent on the San Francisco Bay, wheelchair jockey / unpaid escort / pusher at a local hospital and the aforementioned park stewardship.  The balance study was the most entertaining – I never knew what would happen when I showed up – and the best potential for helping mankind.

After all these years my remembrance is a bit fuzzy, but I have consulted all of my correspondence with OHSU and talked to my live in editor.

Since I wrote this OHSU has solicited me to have my head examined in another study.  This study asks the question “Do social contacts, particularly conversations help the brain”.  I’m probably qualified for this study because I don’t have many close contacts, avoid long conversations, hate phones, and never text.  The study involves lots of phone or video conversations, so maybe I’d get a better brain,but I could not schedule all the calls so it didn’t work.

Appears in Wilderness House

THE POET 

When you read my poetry,

If you see me nothing 

Except me,  my frailties

Which I proffer as great strengths

If I talk only about 

My achievements, my cap 

Which wears many a feather 

If I have nothing else to talk

Except what I have said 

In my this poem and that 

In my this book and that 

Branding about what I say 

If from my text you are missing 

He is missing, she is missing

The pain of the earth 

Is missing 

What use is my joy 

In what I have written

Which you must know

And I brandy about.

The highest peak 

Proud  in its singular glory

Bends in humility 

When a powerful soul touches it

Lofty minds are humble 

Because from a high cliff 

They can see 

The shallows and the heights together.

Who does not want to be remembered?

Loved and desired?

What if 

I too harbour that wish?

Oh! How I was filled with myself

In my text I find my own pain, 

My own joy 

And nothing except me.

I touched none 

Who could weep over my death,

Who could feel my loss 

And remember me when I am gone.

THE EGOTISTICAL SUBLIME 

Water can be stiff in its constitution

And steadfast in its nature 

Who can complain

When it overrides you

Or just underwrites you 

And takes your breath away?

But a river is to blame 

If it does not negotiate its way

It handles naughty waves

And does not mind 

If someone from the bank

Jumps in to have a bath

Water has an exalted ego 

And it won’t let anyone 

Play with it 

If it finds something fishy, 

It loosens vampires

And brings down empires.

Stiff like water, humans precious 

Their egotistical sublime

Unlike a river, 

Like a horse of a long race,

Leaves a lot of space

For kindness and grace.

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand is an Indian poet and scholar credited with 170 plus books of English literature, philosophy, and spirituality. He won a great Serbian Award  Charter of Morava and his name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He was honoured with the Seneca Award LAUDIS CHARTA by the Academy of Arts & Philosophical Sciences, Bari, Italy 2024. He is the Founder and President of the International Academy of Ethics and was conferred a Doctor of Philosophy (Honoris Causa) by Univ of Engg & Mgt, (UEM), Jaipur. 

Links: 

ethicacademy.co.in

 (Biblio-link

https://sites.google.com/view/bibliography-dr-jernal-singh/home)

Four One-line Haiku

pinpoints of light in the foothills I’m down here with a lantern

—

car alarm car alarm car alarm last night of summer

—

most of the Big Dipper first night of autumn

—

in the hills above the city approximations

—

bio/graf

J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

Mother…

       In the cold days of winter, in the heat of summer, even in the rain and hail, an old mother sat staring at the tree that had started to rot on the old bench in front of Uncle Toshpolat’s shop.

Day after day, I pass by this corridor and ask her how she is doing. I liked how the very old mother smiled with kind eyes.

Then I thought that if they sit in this position all day, if they don’t have children, when they are old, if they don’t stand in front of them, they would sit the same way in the cold and in the heat.

I always tried to talk to them, but I didn’t have time because I was busy with work. Days passed. One day, when I was hurrying, I saw them again, unfortunately, they were unconscious. I quickly took her to the hospital. After 2-3 days of treatment in the hospital, they started talking to me. They laughed when I asked why you didn’t talk all this time.

 “My child, why did you save me? I have no right to live in this life. I don’t want to live,” they said.

“Don’t say that, Auntie. You will live a long time,” I said.

They said, “Would you come out of the hospital and take me to my place?” I shook my head.

 The next day we went together, they sat down and started talking. 

“Hey, my daughter, we mothers are giving up ourselves as children, but they don’t call us,” they cried. “Since I was young, I did less than anyone else, I fed without eating, I wore without wearing, it’s not thanks at all, but I didn’t think that my work would be so lowly appreciated,” they said. 

 “Look, my dear, this tree was beautiful and strong 5-6 years ago. Year after year, this tree was not paid attention to, even water was not poured under it. In time, it dried up and became firewood. Unfortunately, the same is true of mankind. It’s been a long time since my only son, who didn’t take me to heaven, kicked me out of the house until my death.” – he said, his eyes were sparkling with coral tears. “Auntie, go, I’ll take you with me,” I said. When Asta shook her head: “No, my child, I will sit here and wait for my death,” Yuring said.

 I was afraid, emergency help came, but her aunt was dead.

The true meaning of the incident that taught me throughout my life, 15 years later, when I came to this village to rest with my grandchildren, the same mother and her son were sitting at the same table, wearing old clothes, leaning on the same rotten tree. Sorry….it’s too late now

The truth I realized is that if you carry your mother on your head, your child will also carry you on his head. Do you despise them? Your children will despise you in time. Don’t forget that this world will give you back. Appreciate everything in time.

Nurullayeva Mashhura was born on December 12, 2006 in Sariosia district of Surkhandarya region. In the same year, she graduated from the 11th grade of the 3rd general education school in Sariosia district. During his school days, she took pride of place in many science Olympiads and competitions. The owner of several international certificates, her stories and poems have been published in international newspapers and magazines. There are many goals in the future.

The Fog                                                                                             

The fog came furtively in the night and slumped heavily upon the fields. At dawn I wondered, though this mantle is beautiful in its transformation of landscape, will it truly depart, relenting with the sun or will it remain this time, blinding us permanently to our vistas – so that we see only our own hands and nothing else before us? Its impenetrability deafens us, a pall muting the sounds of my small world, stifling dear familiar voices. I am inclined to whisper as there is uncertainty in what I might be missing. I surmise it is for this eventuality that pianists memorize an entire concerto, why actors rehearse lengthy monologues, why we weep over an aria.

            I was not acquainted with Aunt Aurelia’s voice as she died, a young woman, of appendicitis, twenty years before me. All that is left of her is a receipt for a dress for $2.35 bought in Akron, Ohio, her grave in Saint Luke’s Cemetery, and a few photographs. From her image I’d like to believe I may have enjoyed a memory of her voice. There’s now no one left to remember her conversations around the kitchen table with her mother and sisters.

            (True, gratefully, I’ve nearly gotten my mother’s shrill voice out of my head – a finality to her mania. But this preference is the exception.) I have a cassette recording of my therapist’s voice, my surrogate big sister, reading The Velveteen Rabbit. When I was a lost young man, it was a simple and effective (though somewhat embarrassing) tool in soothing long empty evenings in empty rooms – saving me from my own desolation. She died of cancer this year. This remnant, this flimsy ribbon cannot be all that’s left of her voice.

            It is my terror that a fog will surreptitiously descend upon my memory – that I’ve nearly forgotten my father’s voice – that I may somehow misplace my beloved’s. If I cannot recall the subtle wit and intimacy in her tone, how may I hope to navigate my days? I comprehend the inevitability of my annihilation. I embrace the certainty. However, I am plagued by the horror that my wife and children will forget my timbre, my tenor, my laughter – that my voice will fade over time, unintentionally becoming too wearisome for anyone to recollect. There is no other aspect of my mortality that frightens me.

David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.

Haiku

_______

after New Fairy Tale by Nikolay Bogdanov-Belsky (Russia), 1891 C.E.

for Nikolaos Karfakis & Cameron A. Batmanghlich

     Mayflies and fireflies—

Fables will need re-scribing.

Who shalt volunteer?

***

after Lotus by Martiros Sarian (Armenia), 1911 C.E.

for Nashwa Y. Butt

   Moon-baskin’ red pine!

Wood owl orchestrates a hoot:

     Star lotus shies, swings.

Hay(na)ku

_______

after The Meeting of the Illusion and the Arrested Moment – Fried Eggs Presented in a Spoon by Salvador Dali (Spain), 1932 C.E.

for Ayesha A. Khan

     Water-Beetle—

Your love.

Gracias, I’ll pass.

***

after Interior with a Bowl with Red Fish by Henri Matisse (France), 1914 C.E.

for Maraam Pasha

     fish;

glass bowl—

transparent: inside, outside.

One-Liner Aphorisms

_______

(Geo-sociopolitical) Paradigmatic Shift

after Geopolitical Child Watching the Birth of the New Man by Salvador Dali (Spain), 1943 C.E.

for Meg Pokrass

The onset of the A.I. Age will render the Homo Sapiens (‘Thinking/Wise Man’) a museum artifact (?)

***

The Absurd Brachyura that got Clasped in the Chelae of Metaphysics

after The false mirror by Rene Magritte (Belgium), 1928 C.E.

for L. Jacobs & E. Rahim

In the very essence, both the prefixes—mono ‘n poly—bear the same in/ex/trinsic value!

Saad Ali (b. 1980 CE in Okara, Pakistan) – bilingual poet-philosopher & literary translator – has been brought up and educated in the UK and Pakistan. He holds a BSc and an MSc in Management from the University of Leicester, UK. His new collection of poems, Owl Of Pines: Sunyata (AuthorHouse, 2021), is an homage to vers libre, prose poem, and ekphrasis. He has translated Lorette C. Luzajic’s ekphrases into Urdu. His poetry and micro/flash fiction appear in The Ekphrastic Review, The Mackinaw, Synchronized Chaos, Lotus-eater, two Anthologies by Kevin Watt (ed.), and two e-Anthologies at TER. He has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology. His ekphrases have been showcased at the Bleeding Borders, Art Gallery of Grande Prairie in Alberta, Canada. Some of his influences include: Vyasa, Homer, Attar, Rumi, Nietzsche, Dostoyevsky, Freud, Jung, Kafka, Tagore, Lispector et alia. He enjoys learning different languages, playing chess, travelling by train, and exploring cities/towns on foot. To learn further about his work, please visit: www.facebook.com/owlofpines.

The Doorman Cometh

Put it down to the
weather. I was heading 
out to the garden when 
some lines from John 
Donne opened the door 
for me. Death be not proud, 
though some have called
thee mighty & dreadful. 

Heavy shit for such a 
mundane activity, a holy 
sonnet where what I 
wanted was something 
more along the lines of
Whistle while you work.



Why I became a painter

Only if they
could also sing

were rhythm
guitarists part

of the bands
of the sixties.

 
A Crime of Podiatry

My big toe is
bitten off by an 
angry word. It
swallows it, then 
runs away. I

call the police who
take a statement &
then take me down
to the station to 
look at mugshots.

The words they 
show me are all 
single syllabled.
I tell them that 
none of those

could have done 
it —to get pur-
chase on my toe 
the word would 
have to have had  

at least two syl-
lables. The police 
now realize they 
might be dealing 
with a master 

criminal so send 
me off to the major
crimes squad. They
have dictionaries
to look through.
 
The sight of

seen things going 
past in the air. Not 
even. The sound 
of. Enough. Comp-
rehension is akin to 
pregnancy. Not. Either. 
No need to know 
the exactitudes of
shape, of surface 
texture. Half-guessed 
sufficient. Why try & 
grasp, catch hold of, be 
weighed down by?

 
A game of Pelota

The whiter the light
the higher the 
temperature. It was
the proper name
of the Sphinx & 
could not be expiated
even though its orbit 
lay within that of 
the earth. Gods crouched
before it like dogs as the 
war dragged on, during 
which time the embryo 
refused to grow. Finally
transferred to parchment
it was then cut
with a jagged edge
so that the two parts
could be matched later
for authenticity. So true 
to nature as to preclude
alternative treatment.