To our Prime Minister, Mrs. May.
I find myself wracked with disgust.
Your team’s letter arrived here today.
The contents are simply unjust.
Your Government must simply not know,
Parkinson’s Disease has no cure.
Many symptoms are hidden from show.
Each day is a trial to endure.
My neurologist saw me last week.
He assessed my symptoms with skill.
He observed my movement and my speech.
Examples of how I am ill.
My partner joined the consultation.
For Care-Givers share this despair.
I recounted with trepidation,
Of the day I fell down the stairs.
Your PIP team has asked me to attend,
Their assessment where I must prove,
That my symptoms are real, not pretend,
Despite how I struggle to move.
I can dribble or slur when I speak.
Sometimes I twitch, tremor or freeze.
I may need an unexpected leak!
I may fall on my bum, back or knees.
I may sleep at the drop of a hat,
Though seldom when I’m in my bed.
Hellish migraines that hit like a bat.
It’s the pain and vomit I dread.
I scuff my boots so I must buy more.
Only sometimes I prepare food.
Crockery that I drop to the floor.
I fall in the bathroom, while nude.
Confusion with my medication.
Unable to easily dress.
Repeated bouts of constipation.
My social life has become less.
My symptoms and pain are relentless.
Now a beard, for I cannot shave.
Reducing work, so now I earn less.
Occasional thoughts of my grave.
With shopping far too heavy to lift.
My clothes rip when I bump a wall.
Some relationships now have a rift.
Self-confidence can become small.
My handwriting is now so unclear.
My voice often weak and quiet.
Muscle tension and cramping, severe.
Reflux, no matter the diet.
I can’t drive far, for I have to rest.
Restless legs incessant with shocks.
A grabber for reaching things is best.
I struggle to put on my socks.
This list is not exhaustive, by far.
Yet I sit here, feeling perplexed.
Your team’s letter cuts right to my heart.
To reassess me, makes me vexed.
Parkinson’s Disease only declines.
I just become more disabled.
PIP assessments cost resource and time.
My disease must seem a fable?
Degraded and judged is how I feel.
While PIP seeks to prove I am well.
They don’t accept Parkinson’s is real.
The disabled are put through hell.
Known as the ‘Nasty Party’, you are.
In defence you say “We spend more.”
Yet PIP is how low you set the bar,
The disabled have to endure.
This poem evidences my strife.
The Government must now decide,
While another will take their own life.
Since your policies just deride.
End PIP reassessment, I implore.
For Parkinson’s gets no better.
End the judgement and shame you cause.
Each time we receive PIP’s letter.
(C) Dean Parsons. 2018.