Earlier today I sat in front of my laptop scrunching up my face, sticking my tongue out, sounding raspberries and generally behaving the way I always wanted to do in Zoom meetings at work. Before my faithful reader suggests the benefit of a long rest at the booby hatch I will add that every one on the call was doing the same thing. We are members of a group called the Treble Tremors and our goal is to, as my title says, exercise our tongues and other parts of our mouths and throats.
Last week a friend mentioned that he had noticed that I was not displaying any of the tremors that he associates with Parkinson’s Disease (PD). I explained that those tremors were the tip of the proverbial iceberg. There are so many ways that PD can manifest itself. That loss of dopamine impedes the communication between brain and body and affects behaviour, memory, physical functions, and muscle control.
To be honest until my bout of cancer I hadn’t thought much about my tongue – I mean who does? It’s there; it works – until it doesn’t! I was surprised to learn that the tongue is made up of eight muscles. Muscles that manipulate food for chewing, and swallowing; muscles with sensors for tasting ; muscles that allow us to clear our throats or gargle; and muscles that we use to make sounds and sing, and speak. Muscles that we have used subconsciously since birth that will atrophy if unused.
I’m at a bit of a disadvantage: the radiation appears to have destroyed or disabled the muscle at the base of the tongue that gives food that final push. As a result for the past four years I have difficulty swallowing. Lately there are times when my speech is unclear, indistinct or muffled. One of the things that can help involves doing tongue exercises, vocalizing sounds to ascending scales, facial contortions, singing (our Proud Mary would have Tina Turner in tears), breath control, and neck stretches.
Our sessions are organized by the PEI Parkinson Association and given by music therapist Shona Pottinger. She has been guiding the group since 2016 and her willingness to put up with my off-key warbling of Where Have All the Flowers Gone* will gain her a crown in heaven.
The exercises she takes us through are not just physically beneficial but also emotionally, and help to build confidence. For an hour each week we are together as a group; a community, all facing an unknown; unselfish-consciously spending time with each other making faces, strange sounds, and our own music. It may not sound sweet but damn it we do it.
*Think a Marlene Dietrich impersonation by Buffy Ste Marie.
Note: Every so often I’ll be loading posts about my experiences and activities with PD. It is a way of keeping my mind active and coming to terms with what may be happening. I can understand that for some people this may not be something they wish to read and I ask those faithful readers to feel free to skip the post.
The word for August 12th is:
Atrophy /ăt′rə-fē/: [1. noun 2. verb]
1.1 A wasting away, deterioration, or diminution.
1.2 A wasting or decrease in size of a body organ, tissue, or part owing to disease, injury, or lack of use.
1.3 A wasting away from lack of nourishment; diminution in bulk or slow emaciation of the body or of any part.
2.1 To waste away, with or deteriorate.
Drom French atrophie, from Latin atrophia, from Ancient Greek ἀτροφία (atrophia, “a wasting away”), from ἄτροφος (atrophos, “ill-fed, un-nourished”), from ἀ- (a-, “not”) + τροφή (trophē, “nourishment”).
Willy Or Won't He 