Thought for the day: I announced myself at the front desk at the breast imaging center, informing the receptionist that “I’m here for my manicure.”

Once upon a time there was a Parky. For the unitiated, that’s a person with Parkinson’s Disease, PD for short. This particular Parky – yes, she adored alliteration, perhaps a bit too much – was also fond of spending time with members of the opposite sex.

So she did what most yearning souls did these days – she re-upped on match.com. After a few weeks, nada, and then… a ray of light! Or is it a ray of hope? An X-ray? Anyway, a ray of some sort appeared on her screen embodied by one David. David was exactly her type- a globe-trotting scientist, with a nice, friendly punim (Yiddish for face). She sent a witty enough introduction and soon they were enjoying a bit of banter over email until he suggested they meet. .

Location and outfit had been determined, and now the elephant had taken up residence in her living room. How should she handle the PD revelation? She wasn’t visibly afflicted most of the time. Her left leg tremor, while quite painful at times was mostly under the skin and under the table. Her step remained sprightly, not counting the occasional lurch into a wall or a parking meter. Hey! Was the PARKINg meter her cousin???

She recognized her good luck in her slow pace of disease progression, and gave a brief shoutout to all the Parkies whose struggles were considerably more advanced than her own. In any event she determined to remedy the gap in her otherwise pretty full life.

Her principal concern: whether and when to reveal her condition. She knew that she mght anticipate years of reasonably able-bodied life - the operative word being “might” – there was no predictable disease trajectory, though most people’s minds probably headed straight to Michael J. Fox when they heard PD. She decided to engage in a little crowd- sourcing, i.e. the PD Facebook groups. Consensus was reached swiftly: Do tell. Not immediately of course but soon enough that the other person

wouldn’t feel misled. She decided she’d keep an eye on the blind date weathervane (if only there were such a thing) during the date in search of the the appropriate moment.

And it came two hours into the meeting. Usually, on these get-acquainted coffee dates, one of the parties would be surreptitiously watch-looking 20 minutes in. After two hours of learning about each other’s kids, travels, hiking, family, work, and more hiking, during which he was determined to learn about her next trip/hike, they decided to call it a day,…and then chatted for another half an hour. He asked about her passions, and Parky threw caution to the wind and confessed, “I write a blog and I’m working on a podcast about living with Parkinson’s.” He didn’t bat an eye, but now he wanted to know how she might fare on a strenuous hiking vacation. Parky had actually been on several outdoor activity trips before Mr. P. taught her, if nothing else, “Your life won’t be the same.” No more up and down mountain trails in search of the most unforgettable view,

She remembered one long-ago day in Paris where she’d not exactly hiked, unless one counts window shopping in the Marais, but she had been on the go for 12 hours without a break. Nowadays, on the streets of Boston, she can sometimes be counted on for a ninety minute walk, but on other occasions, after 15 minutes with a stiff leg, she was done for the day. She tried not to think about what she’d be able to manage physically in one, two, ten years.

Just before they parted, David gave her a quick hug and muttered something about getting together again. Parky was savvy enough to know that hugs and suggestions of future meetings were often empty promises so she wasn’t about to indulge in some romantic fantasy. She did the calculus and declared it a quite pleasant afternoon with a good guy and at least the possibility of a second date.

So here’s the end of Parky’s tale: a note from David the next day. “I enjoyed meeting you but i don’t think we are a good match. Part of it is that I am much more physically active than you, but part of it is just the chemistry. I wish you the best of luck.

Chemistry schmemistry. He’s taken the easy and what he probably believes is the kind way out, the PD dating version of “It’s not you, it’s me.” Parky would never know if it had been the Parkinson’s that had put him off, or the hiking deficit, or really and truly a chemistry imbalance. 

Did Parky regret having told David she had PD? if she hadn’t, and they’d gone on to a second date, it seemed highly unlikely that she could have tricked him into falling for her given his deal-breaker fitness requirements.

This experience didn’t seem to provide a definitive directive for future dates; she’d just have to learn to play it by ear. Even at 72, she would continue to dip her toe in the romance river; the desire for an intimate human connection may never fully leave us.

Bye, Parky. Andi’s come to replace you,

And in thinking about this whole “dating while older” business, I wonder if most people’s requirements in a partner have changed over the decades. It seems to me that seeking a partner who is, like you, an avid tennis player, hiker, or bridge nut may have made sense in your forties, but I honestly don’t believe it is even realistic in your 70’s. The pool isn’t as large as it once was, and holding out for a partner who shares your passions might just be an exercise in futility.

And if you do insist on retaining those same old requirements, you might just miss out on a terrific person to spend time with. They might not find, as you do, the spectacle of men moving a ball through space in some stadium or field at all interesting, but that’s okay. While you’re watching the playoffs, they’re in the darkroom printing the most gorgeous travel photographs ever.

And now, here I come! I’ve begun to speak to groups about my experiences with the blog, and with the disease itself. If you’d like me to visit your support group, residential community, or club, check this out. I’d love to share stories with you.