by Grace Plummer, LCSW
Hi there.
My name is Grace Plummer. I have been a clinical social worker for about a decade now and practice currently at Mid Coast Medical Group Neurology. I work with Dr. Bill Stamey as a Behavioral Health Clinician; hereafter abbreviated as BHC.
Dr. Stamey invited me to write a piece for his Maine PD News introducing myself and with a greater goal of discussing how the role of a BHC may be beneficial for someone living with Parkinson disease. His offer appealed to the amateur writer in me who initially thought that it’d be both interesting and useful to write about the most troublesome non-motor symptoms noted in patients with early and late stage PD, as well as how we know that there are skills that can mitigate these disturbances. I first thought I would get very clinical and talk about the prevalence of depression in PD, how it is undertreated and how seeing a BHC preventatively or at the onset of symptoms can reduce the burden of this psychiatric phenomenon.
But after tossing my preliminary ideas around for a week or two I reminded the writer in me that I am not a very good scientist or thorough researcher (we’ll leave that to Dr. Stamey, right?!) and so ultimately decided that I’d be wiser to speak organically and conversationally about myself, and then anecdotally about the observations I have made since joining the team here at the neurology practice.
I hope that is okay. Here goes…
In my pre-bedtime thoughts last night as I was reflecting on my day after tucking my twin daughters into bed, I became aware again of this recent theme that has been playing over and over in my mind since becoming a parent just a few short months ago.
My mortality.
My children’s mortality.
The mortality of everyone I love.
I’ve noticed that I spend a fair amount of the free time I have to wander about in my thoughts, which is terrifically minimal since having children, yet enough to capture my full attention when the topic is larger than that of the daily minutiae, thinking about death.
How will I prepare for it? When will it come? How will I teach my children about it as the last stage of development in our short, wild lives?
Some might say that this is premature, or even pathological. I disagree. In my contemplations, and in my work, I have come to recognize that thinking about death is ubiquitous, and maybe even healthy.
We all think about dying, though when it enters our minds and maybe why it is there are variable. That said, I don’t think we are particularly good at talking about it. Now, as mentioned before, I’m not a researcher so I don’t sit with empirical support for this hypothesis in my lap today, but I’d bet that if we looked closely at those of us here in the United States as compared to other cultures in other countries, we’d find that we’re especially ill prepared to talk about mortality. No one’s fault. It just is. We’re scared. We’re too busy. We think it’s morbid to talk about death and dying. We equate dying with serious illness instead of with life.
Curious thing about this observation is that I haven’t met a person yet who doesn’t want to talk about it. In truth I spend a great amount of time helping people sort through their beliefs about life, and their beliefs about death. If words didn’t dilute our hopes and fears, it seems that most of our communication would be about life and death, right? What more is there, really? And what is at the root of depression? Fear, loneliness, sadness. Perhaps worry about our mortality and the mortality of those we love.
It’s relevant to share that I’ve noticed how those of you in the Parkinson’s Clan, (I very respectfully and fondly use the word “clan” to collectively describe those of you in the Brunswick area who have created this caring, connected sub-community to thoughtfully and meaningfully tackle this disease through participation in support group, exercise programming and informal lunch dates) are greatly courageous in your wrestle, perhaps your dance, with the universal , inevitable thing that is death. I’ve sat with you while you’ve cried, begged, cursed, laughed, planned, and celebrated. I’ve watched with enormous regard as you’ve shared your ideas and wishes with me. I’ve truly been honored to be a small part of your clan.
I value this role. My role in the neurology practice as a BHC.
My real work here is to create a space where you can address what matters by uncluttering and removing what may be in the way.
If you’re looking for a place to study and contemplate, whether it be about life or death, I’m here. I don’t have all of the answers but I’m certainly willing to journey into the unknown with you in the hope that living with PD brings you closer to your true self.
And because no one should ever grapple too long alone.
Take good care always,
Grace
