MARIAN PAVÚK

Good day, Mr. Maroš,

my name is Parkinson, and I will be living with you in your body for the rest of your life.

I apologize that we are only getting acquainted now. But you know how things work with us. First, we trouble you a little — with pain, strange symptoms — and then we send you to various doctors. Specialists examine you, investigate you, but they do not tell you the real diagnosis. You see, we are very good at camouflage. Do you remember your vacation in Croatia, when the pain was so bad that you could not even take off your shirt? They thought it was an old injury from your youth. But by then, we had already moved in.

For three years, you went from one examination to another, until one day the head doctor from Brezno came to a jazz concert that you organized in your club. One brief observation was enough for her to say: “You have Parkinson’s disease.” She sent you directly to the neurology department. But at that time, Mr. Parkinson had already gained the upper hand in your body. During the summer, they had to drive you home from the town square several times because you were unable to walk. The cramps in your legs were so severe that at night you moved to the bathroom on all fours.

One day, your daughter told you that a new neurology department was opening in Zvolen. And it was a good thing that you went there. After the examination, they sent you to the University Hospital in Košice.

That is where everything changed. Young, kind doctors who spoke with me like I was a partner. The day before the surgery, the doctor asked me: “What playlist would you like to listen to during the operation tomorrow?” So the next morning, with the music of Led Zeppelin and The Beatles playing, I went into surgery for deep brain stimulation, the so-called DBS. It is not a cure for Parkinson’s disease. More like a crutch. A way to outsmart that handsome fellow who lives inside me for a little while.

I was lucky. In November, they examined me, and by December I was already lying on the operating table. It was just in time — for two-thirds of the day, I could no longer walk. Fortunately, things are better today. The cramps still return from time to time, Parkinson makes himself heard, but it is weaker now and more bearable.

Every now and then, he nudges me as if to say that I cheated him.

And maybe he is right...