I am the definition.                                                           

My maternal grandfather had “the shakes” so bad it was hard for him to drink coffee without spilling. And he loved his coffee. I believe I inherited my essential tremors from his side of the family. They are also called familial tremors and, as my primary care physician has recognized, they are not signs of Parkinson’s disease.

If you ask me to use my right hand to drink something in a cup or glass, stand clear. It is likely whatever it is will spill. It is a challenge to even put something in the microwave to heat up if there’s liquid involved. It’s a nervous condition that is hereditary but limited in its spread. The only other person in my lineage beyond Grandpa Charles that has it is my son. There is a cure, supposedly. It’s called brain surgery but only impacts one side and my situation has a lesser impact on the left side; I can carry a glass of water with my left if I hold it right.

So much for the nervous side of the definition.

On the wreckage side, my type 2 diabetes has put some demands on my body. Starting with my feet, my left leg is impacted by diabetic neuropathy. That means my left foot tends to flop sometimes when I walk. It also impacts my sciatic nerve on that side and creates a challenge for me getting to sleep when it fires up. That symptom I can live with more than one other.

I believe it is my diabetes and lousy eating habits that caused diabetic retinopathy in both of my eyes. The right has dry age-related macular degeneration (AMD). My left, which has been the dominant eye, eye has wet AMD with scarring. That has left me with a blind spot making it difficult to recognize faces and close up functions. I have had three injections in the left eye that seems to have slowed progression but with no cure at the time of this writing, it’s a matter of time before my sight deteriorates to the point where I can no longer drive.

AMD is not something I wish on anyone, especially my children. It changes your perspective on life. You realize there is limited time left to go through papers, spend time with ones you love, travel to see the sights, and do much of anything else, like hunting which I enjoy because it gets me out in the forest with Mother Nature.

By all outward appearances, I look like a normal 76-year-old male in half-way decent condition. Oh, but wait! There’s more wreckage: It’s my heart. This goes back to 2021 when I had surgery to repair a torn meniscus in my right knee after more than twenty-five years of officiating soccer matches. The physician told me there was something abnormal in the EKG taken before surgery; she couldn’t explain what it was until my primary investigated.

I have what is called a bifiscicular bundle branch block (BBBB). To explain: Our hearts have three electrical systems that fire when needed to keep it working. Two of mine do not function as they should, hence the “bi” part. The plumbing still works, though. Dr. J tells me even if I collapse, my heart will keep beating. The solution is a pacemaker to regulate the electrical system. I have it checked regularly and take my blood pressure when I sense a change. Doc tells me I may need a pacemaker tomorrow, a month from now, or never…so I keep on living as a nervous wreck.

The point of this diatribe is when you think you are a nervous wreck, refer back to this and realize you probably don’t have it as bad as some 76-year-old dude living with all this crap that he never lets on to anyone else what troubles him daily.