Living with Parkinson’s: No Longer Shall I Be Chief Spider Warrior of the House

This is why it’s always better to listen to Momma than it is to fight spiders.

I have always been the Spider Fighter in the family. Gail is deathly afraid of spiders. For me, it’s bees and wasps. Ever since I’ve known Gail, when there was a spider to be dispatched and I was around, it was my job to send the spider to his Spider Hell.

Now, until Saturday, I didn’t feel that the fact that I have been severely hampered by Parkinson’s disease changed any of that. Bill see spider, Bill kill spider.

We had just gotten back from the grocery store (and Five Guys with a bag o’ burgers) and just as the car came to a stop, a green spider the size of a house cat started crawling across the outside windshield. (I exaggerate, of course. The spider was more of a light green than actual green.)

I tried to tell Gail to turn on the windshield wipers, but by the time my diseased brain could force my mouth to utter anything than “tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh…” the beast had made its way to the top of the car. I opened my passenger door and got on my feet, expecting to speckle the walls of my home near the driveway with green (light green) spider gore when I splattered the bastard. But he was gone.

“Don’t worry about the spider,” Gail said.

But I kept watch as I maneuvered my roller walker around the back of the car, then along side the driver’s side.

And there it was. It had somehow squeezed its massive bulk into the space between the top of the door and the car frame. I could see his body, throbbing and heaving with hatred for all decency.

“Give me something to poke him out of there,” I said to Gail.

“Leave the spider alone,” she said.

I reached down and grabbed a fallen leaf. I poked at the beast with the stem. He retreated further into the car.

“Leave the spider alone,” Gail said.

I opened the car door and the spider made a break for it. He scooted across the top of the car. I can still hear his footprints pounding on the sheet metal in my mind.

I turned to spatter him all over 30-square yards of real estate.

“Leave the…”

My left heel contacted the driveway curb. I collapsed like a sack of very large spiders. I smacked my right hand against the curb, only mildly scraping it. But my left knee became the horrible, bloody thing you see in the attached photo.

The spider jumped onto the back of a nearby dog and rode away like Roy Rogers on Trigger. As it grasped the dog’s fur, I heard it gurgling, laughing, shaking four of its fists at me.

“I KNEW IT,” Gail said, her voice oozing sympathy.

I had to rest a moment to catch my breath which, for some reason, had been knocked from my body.

We got into the house. She bandaged my wounds. We ate our burgers. I came into the kitchen to write this. I sat down on my office chair.


Turns out I wasn’t even aware of the Goose Egg growing on the point of my left hip. My tailbone hurt, too.

As the weekend progressed, I began to feel better. Thank God I didn’t mess myself up even worse. But I still have this vision of my bride driving down the road and a light green, eight-legged monster dropping into her lap and wrapping her up in its web.

Well, don’t come crying to me. My Spider Warrior days are over!



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