Read Online A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future: Twists and Turns and Lessons Learned by Michael J. Fox - Free Book Online

around the countryside, to schools and government buildings, farms and festivals, and while I wouldn’t say that PD was completely gone and I was back to normal (if I can even remember what normal felt like), something was definitely happening. I waded through rice paddies, sat cross-legged for hours while taking a meal with local families, and wandered through Thimphu’s crowded marketplace, investigating the myriad sights, sounds, and smells. I was able to do all this in inexplicably effortless fashion.
    On the penultimate day of the trip, our producers and camera crew scheduled a demanding three-to four-mile hike up a local mountain to film one of Bhutan’s most important religious sites, a monastery they call “Tiger’s Nest.” Originally, the idea was to capture background footage, what we call “B-roll,” but I surprised myself by volunteering to come along. A week earlier, the prospect of successfully completing such a hike would have been optimistic even for me, but the physical change in me had been that dramatic.
    Armed with a walking stick and accompanied by my intrepid guide, Tshewang, I set off on a slow and steady pace up the steep, winding trails. Just short of the monastery site, a flutter of prayer flags announced a small teahouse clinging to the mountainside. One of our cameramen trained his lens on me, and I related, for the documentary, my happy bewilderment at what I had done and how I had been feeling during my time in the Himalayas. Maybe it was the altitude that had brought about this change, or perhaps it was the medicine that I had been given to prevent altitude sickness. Whatever it was, I was grateful, though I had no delusions that it would remain that way once I returned to the States.
    On my descent, in an act of hubris inspired by my improved sense of balance and fluidity, I strayed from the marked trails and attempted a shortcut down a ninety-degree rock face. Overwhelmed by momentum, I found myself skittering down the mountainside, toward certain injury and possible death. Flashback to Mexico—only now I had the advantage of being sober. Or was it a disadvantage? Flinging myself sideways to the ground seemed the only sure way to arrest my progress. Somehow I managed the maneuver. This little flurry of excitement resulted in scrapes, bruises, and a bloodied and mangled finger.
    The next day, we flew to India to make our connection back to the States, and on the plane, I noticed something disturbing. I hadn’t been able to remove my wedding ring because of the swelling, and now the cabin pressure was causing the digit to balloon and discolor even more. The wedding band was constricting to the point of strangulation. An Indian doctor, sitting in the row across the aisle, calmly informed me if I didn’t cut that ring off in the next couple of hours, they’d be cutting off my finger. And so I made a detour to the hospital in New Delhi, and after a frantic search for the correct cutting implement, the ring was removed, the finger was saved, and I was on my way home.
    Almost immediately upon my return to the U.S., the Parkinson’s symptoms returned, and it was as if that mysterious and magical reprieve had never happened. But of course, it did. I carry a reminder with me every day. I only have to look down at my homely and still-misshapen ring finger on my left hand.
    Of course, I also have a filmed record of the entire trip. Personally, I didn’t take a single photograph while I was there, but that’s not all that unusual for me. I suppose my aversion to snapping pictures may have something to do with shaky hands and blurry results, but there’s another reason: The act of lifting up the camera and positioning it between me and the object of my interest separates me from the experience. The memory exists on photo paper, or is stored digitally and ready for download, but the emotional resonance is lessened. It may sound strange, but I know by the time I fumble out a camera (okay, PD