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Thank you for those who posted "additions" to the excerpt taken from a published book. Here is another excerpt. But this time, don't add to it -- except for the first person who starts this off. Check the comments section and continue the story from the preceeding person's comment/addition.
Here is the excerpt:
I stop short in the doorway to my cube. A white envelope is propped on my keyboard. My name is scrawled on it in black Sharpie. My hands are shaking as I tear the envelope open.
3 comments:
I stop short in the doorway to my cube. A white envelope is propped on my keyboard. My name is scrawled on it in black Sharpie. My hands are shaking as I tear the envelope open.
The Parkinson's is out of control again. The meds, which had been working so well, reducing the shake to a mere tremor, were losing the fight.
I watched my hands, tears filling my eyes. Early-onset Parkinsons, the doctor had told. Like Michael J Fox, I replied.
I can't even read the note through the tears. I know it is a birthday card from my well wishing co-workers. I try to get control of my shaking hands. I know it is just minutes before they will waltz into my cube with a well-meaning birthday cake and words of happy birthday on their lips.
id love to partake, but have to work today ... ill catch ya round next time
Damn, these hands, I think, once the well-meaning folks leave. How long can I go on hiding the tremors? The few times people have noticed and asked me about the shaking, I've told them I've recently been diagnosed as hypoglycemic, and if I don't eat at the right time, my hands start to shake.
I used to play piano so beautifully, I used to type so quickly, I used to knit so beautifully. But the Parkinson's has taken care of those for me!
How did Michael J. Fox feel with the diagnosis? Did he feel, as I do, that life was downhill for him?
Snap out of it, I berate myself. This isn't the time to feel sorry for yourself. Today is your birthday, and you're going to smile, damn it! You're going to celebrate tonight and show everyone that at thirty you're sitting on top of the world.
A meek voice drew my attention to the cubby doorway. It was the department's administrative assistant Trina.
"Um, Cassandra...? Someone left these flowers for you at reception," she said in a near whisper. Trina then held out a vase filled with the loveliest arrangement of spring flowers I'd ever seen.
"Is there a card with it, Trina?"
"Yes, here it is...."
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