.. that a certain someone decided to make a life changing decision.
Bill Schmalfeldt announced he was un-retiring. His Parkinson’s Disease had gone into remission a few weeks after the magistrate in the US District Court of South Carolina had dismissed his federal lawsuit, affectionately dubbed “LOLSuit VIII: Avoiding Contact”, for lack of jurisdiction. At its recurring peak, Parkinson’s Disease prevented him from traveling to Westminster, Maryland, to appear in court despite two orders from the judge. Ultimately, it worked into his favor in that, he couldn’t torpedo his own defense as he had been doing all along.
He announced that he and the future missus (she’s still a future missus in need of dental work) were departing west to pursue a position with the Department of Veteran’s Affairs. Over the next couple of days, he posted his progress on Twitter. He ended up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. A couple of weeks later, it was all for naught as he returned to South Carolina.
The week prior to his departure, he threatened me for my posts regarding his fake Parkinson’s Disease. During the next several months, he’s proven me right. In fact, I hear he has a Montana drivers license right now.
Take note of what he said here in 2018:
Explain what you believe to be the reasons I gave up driving in 2009. Was it because I could NOT drive? Or was it because I noticed the impairment in reaction time and decided, as long as my wife was able to do the driving, that it was best to allow her to do so?
And what he said here in 2012:
As of January 25, 2012, “normal” is not being able to get off the treadmill because my legs refuse to move. Well, that’s not quite accurate. They move. But they’re shaking. My body is bouncing up and down.
My walker is right there by the treadmill. But I can’t make my hands reach out to take it. I can’t let go of the handrails on the treadmill. Gail says something to me. I look at her, but say nothing. That’s because, as of this morning, it’s “normal” for me not to be able to speak when frozen.
Gail is nothing if not a good reader of faces. She came around to the treadmill, took my hand, and that unfroze me enough to grasp the walker. But it wasn’t enough to get me walking. I stood there, bouncing. Gail put her hands over my hands and together we took step after halting step to my desk chair.
I could speak now. But typing was out of the question. So I dictated an e-mail to my neurologist to update him on the latest meaning of the word “normal.” He called me as soon as he was finished with the patient he was seeing.
By then, I was in my recliner. We discussed the situation. Rather, he listened as I stuttered and stammered and started crying. See, that’s “normal” for me now. Big, rough, tough, he-man, former Sailor, former football player, former lots of stuff. When I get emotional or frustrated, I cry. It’s “normal”. And the frustrating thing at the moment is the fact that I cannot string two understandable words together. Me, one of the original broadcasters at XM Satellite Radio with golden pipes and a gift of gab that put food on my family’s table all those years… stammering, babbling, crying.
None of this is for me to explain, but rather him. His Parkinson’s was so bad he could barely walk on a treadmill in 2012. Three years earlier, he gave up driving because he couldn’t trust his instincts. In 2016 he got a driver’s license and a car. He’s been driving ever since. This flies in the face of accepted medical science that Parkinson’s Disease is a progressive neurological disorder. He wasn’t supposed to get better. He did.
A medical miracle!