We use our hands to function well in the world; to put on our clothes, to feed ourselves, to care for those we love.  I have used my hands to help mamas bring their babes into the world. I was honored to work as a midwife “catching” babies for over 15 years. I had a collection of photographs of old weathered hands hung on my office wall.  Hands fascinate me; what stories might hands hold? What special touch were they a part of? Hands of the aged showing their wear intrigue me, drawing me into what stories they hold.  My dream that one day my life, and the work done with my hands, might hold a story worthy of sharing.

After leaving my practice as a midwife, my hands have been busy in new ways– I call this part of my life “Act Two.” In Act Two, they have learned to mix and play with watercolor. They have learned to jab, cross, hook, and upper cut; boxing with the heavy bag, speed bag and mitts. They tend a garden, make jams and can tomatoes; craft wreaths and sew.  They move when delighted or excited by lively conversation. They also shake and are weakened by Parkinson’s Disease. New skills and challenges for a new time of life. I have been learning acceptance.

painting in Japan

It is a new issue, a new diagnosis, that I am struggling to accept.   Both hands are now changing as the muscles spasm and do not work with each other.  My fingers, especially the middle fingers, fail to close into a fist.   When I sleep, they might clench and are hard to open when I wake. In the car I often appear to be giving people “the finger” while driving because I can’t curl my fingers around the steering wheel. I am beginning to explore adaptive tools to let me continue to drive.

Dystonia– abnormal contraction of muscles.

Since being diagnosed with Parkinson’s I have been attending boxing classes that use high intensity interval training to provide a workout  which elevates my heart rate  and focuses on balance. We box, jump rope, do push-ups, run stairs, use the treadmill and swing battle ropes. In the last few months, it has been difficult to put on my boxing gloves and punch the bags. Using the jump rope has become nearly impossible because I can’t hold the handles properly. Exercise is a lifeline for those with Parkinson’s disease. This high intensity work out is one of the only things that is proven to help slow the progression of the disease, I consider it my “medicine.” Dystonia is painful and it is becoming more difficult to exercise.

I love my hands and treat them with respect and kindness. I soak, stretch and flex. I slather them with essential oils and rich lotions. I get massage and acupuncture as often as I can hoping to make them feel better.

All this care and they do not work as they used to.

I have made a living with my hands. My second act has been empowered by things I CAN DO if my hands work.   I have loved the symbolism of hands and now it is my hands that are the most disabled part of my body.

I understand intellectually that it is the lack of dopamine in my brain that is causing dystonia. Dystonia is a diagnosis separate from Parkinson’s. It can happen to any muscles in the body.  My hands, arms, shoulders and torso are affected.  Many people with Parkinson’s get dystonia in their feet.  It is more common in Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease.  The irony that I have used my hands in my profession, I have learned to paint and to box in retirement and now I am slowly losing the ability to continue is devastating to me.

I do not feel ready for this challenge.

It is only in the last year that I have been more comfortable with my new role, retired midwife and empty nester. How long will I be able to use my hands to paint?

I am not ready to give up the use of my hands.

I am stunned by feeling….. disabled. I am grieving.  I want my function back. When will it stop?  Is this the end of many dreams?

I desperately want to someday cradle grandchildren, to take care of my loved ones, to continue to care for myself into old age.  I want to make baby quilts, teach my grandchildren to paint, build sand ca

stles and crochet.  I am 52 years old and not ready to need help cutting up my food, carrying my cup of tea, getting dressed and driving.

I feel despair. I am trying to continue to move my body and use the parts that hurt and don’t work well. I’ve started new medications but, have yet to feel relief. Perhaps they will work soon? Maybe new medicines will be developed? Maybe the cure will be discovered? Hope is a powerful ally. However, the reality is that dystonia is affecting my spirit to feel hopeful.

Pain is a constant partner and a challenge for me – deep aching and prickly hot nerve pain that starts in my hands and radiates up to my shoulder and neck.  Many nights I take a dose of muscle relaxants to help me sleep. I am actively practicing meditation and mindfulness. I work to accept the sensations.  It is a new challenge to not REACT to or JUDGE  but to simply BE with the sensations. I work very hard to avoid the dark place of “this will only get worse.”


I try hard to remember that each day that I wake is an opportunity and I am grateful to be here.  But sometimes, the dark sets in and the waves of grief overtake me.

Today is one of those days.

9 thoughts on “Hands”

  1. Kat, I love your hands, but even more, I love your heart! Do you remember starting my induction with Zoey 10 years ago? She’s a strong minded 10 year old now!
    I’m amazed at all the things you have been doing to maintain yourself, and am sad that it is hard. I have confidence that your strength, humor, and all the millions of units of love that you’ve dispensed will lift you up.
    Karen and Zoey


  2. I’m sorry. For you. For me. For all of us. But, YOU are SO MUCH MORE than hands that won’t cooperate. You amaze me with all of your talents and your beautiful mind&heart. xoxo S


  3. As I sit here reading this my heart is beating … my soul hears your pain and my hands want to reach out and give you a hug. I deeply admire you, your strength, your words, your world. Being brave is a hard thing to do… living our lives with all that life gives to offer… you my dear sweet friend I am glad and so proud to call you my friend.


  4. Love you, Cousin. You aren’t flipping off the traffic, you are flipping off the disease! Love your strength even on the dark days. I’m here for you whenever you need to talk and happy to make you a cup of tea and have a chat.


  5. Dear Kat- Your an amazing soul. Your journey is solitary but you’re not alone. I feel the invisibility of your struggle. Know that I see that. Sending you love and light. I’m so glad I met you ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Sarah


  6. Kat – I am so moved by this post. Thank you for being so candid and vulnerable. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to find acceptance of this next hard thing on your health journey. I am sending prayers and healing thoughts and hoping with all my heart that the medications will help, and that all the care you are providing your hands will make a difference as well. Hang in there my dear friend! MK


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