Whitney Mackintosh knows firsthand the profound impact a neurological condition can have on one’s life. When she was 44 years old, she was diagnosed with a brain tumour in her occipital lobe following a period of low-frequency hearing loss. The shocking diagnosis marked the beginning of decades of regular MRI scans to monitor the tumour’s progression. Whitney describes the tumour’s arrival in her life as an unwelcome intruder, one that brought with it a tremendous amount of trauma.
Years later, an unrelated medical appointment would lead to another unexpected diagnosis. In December of last year, Whitney visited a new gastrointestinal doctor who noted rigidity in her movements. Having trained in the United Kingdom’s National Health Service (NHS), the physician recommended that she see a neurologist. After the neurologist’s exam, he suggested to Whitney she may have Parkinson’s disease (PD). The diagnosis was confirmed in February 2026, when she was 72 years old.
Although the news was unwelcome, she felt validated and reassured that the symptoms she had been experiencing were not just aging. A lifelong nature lover, Whitney always enjoyed long walks outdoors, but prior to her diagnosis, she would come home from these walks telling her loved ones that she felt a weighted and jerky sensation, as though there was an invisible resistance in her body. In addition to fatigue and apathy, she had resting tremors and pain in her left hand, arm and shoulder, compromising their strength and use in recent years.
At the same time, Whitney finds it disheartening to know there will likely never be a day when she walks into her doctor’s office and hears, “Congratulations, you are in remission from Parkinson’s,” as it is a chronic condition. Unlike her brain tumour, she describes Parkinson’s as a companion that will always be with her, one she is learning how to live with. She believes the people she meets at the Parkinson Wellness Projects (PWP) in Victoria are some of the bravest and most resilient, demonstrating how to live with the uncertainty, an inherent characteristic of the disease progression.
Whitney’s family, including her two daughters, daughter-in-law, two sons from Zambia, two sons-in-law, and four (soon to be five) grandchildren, have been a strong source of support. Her husband, in particular, has been a loving and dedicated carepartner, while her children check-in regularly from three continents. However, because PD is an invisible force in her life, much like the brain tumour, Whitney says it can be difficult sometimes for loved ones to fully understand its impact and her needs, something she is still trying to figure out. She is currently working to put PD in perspective, within the context of her otherwise active life.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, Whitney started writing about her experiences with her tumour in a memoir she is currently completing titled “The Intruder,” under the guidance of Alan Watt (alanwatt.com) from BC. She discovered Alan’s signature approach to writing fosters the creative means to explore her experiences around pain, suffering, and choice. Following her Parkinson’s diagnosis, she picked up the pen again in March 2026, this time turning to poetry. She hopes that her poems will resonate with others who may be struggling through grief and experiencing isolation with their diagnosis. For Whitney, poetry offers a way to move through the grief around the diagnosis, empowering her to accept her full spectrum of emotions. She hopes to one day have a collection of poems for publishing.
Below are two of Whitney’s poems, offering a personal glimpse into her experiences of living with Parkinson’s disease. In sharing her poetry with you, Whitney is fulfilling a personal challenge to be more vulnerable, reaching out to others instead of withdrawing with her PD diagnosis. You are invited to connect with Whitney at whitneymackintosh@gmail.com
I Am In Awe
I am in awe
Of you
This body, effortless
Moving
Without thought
Before
Of muscles, tendons, joints
Gross and minute connections
Coordinated, in unison
So complex a beautiful dance
Truthfully
An art
Now taut
Pulling intensely
At odds, trembling
Jerky
In a painful sort of angry alliance
Mocking memory
Taunting what was
Haunting the ‘before’
With what remains
Of cells
folding in upon themselves
Surrendering ancient codes
Incoherent errors
Now replicating
I am in awe
Longing to go back
To feel, deeply
If only to appreciate
Even momentarily
What was
What I had
What I long to have
Again
What I cannot grasp, yet
In present moments
Revealing
Yet another lesson
A means of discovery
The possibility
Both bravery and fear
Can coexist
Holding
A divine tension
Creating grace
To glean from confinement
Some kind of limitless reckoning
Feeling disapproval
My lifelong companion
Meeting my compassionate self
For the first time
Exhale
My sad truth
Inhale
Acceptance
I am in awe
Again
Whitney Terry Mackintosh
March 2026
Harbinger
That February morning,
when fog lays a shroud over instinct
and a fierce wind gathers intuition in its wake,
Parkinsons forces herself
through every entry of my home,
even those I thought to secure years before.
Insistent, she unearths my fragile heart,
finding it under years of debris
from the early sting of condescension.
Then, only she discovers
my mind has built a barricade
for the young one,
who knew too well
the familiar eyes of judgment.
And, no, she does not leave me be.
She moves on through my refuge,
unstoppable now,
breaking doors and windows
that once shouldered versions of me.
I hear her in my hoarse voice
mocking inadequacies,
while I grasp the shock from exposure of my selves.
Such a false lifeline I once assembled
with these now shattered barriers.
A masterful mosaic I crafted,
oh so carefully,
to hold my wayward shards.
But, with her, these odd and broken pieces of me
now serve their edges to reflect
my foolish delusion of exceptionality.
My disbelief confirms
no barriers I construct
can spare me that illusion.
And, all the while,
this unwelcome force continues,
bellowing her pernicious claim
on everything that was once mine.
She rushes through rooms in my home
with an urgency I have yet to understand.
Her woolen scarves dragging behind,
surely to sweep my floors
of any dusty remnants of me.
Once my strength to birth babies
lays down to serve memory.
I force to reclaim it,
to somehow find and draw from
but she prevails,
feeling her straining my muscles rigid,
each pulling at another and the next
in jerking opposition.
I rally in frustration,
softened by compassion for my innocence,
yet I still try, fatigued.
The weight of her registers heavy,
taking up residence now,
she grips one foot then the other,
all while I confront her to ask,
“What do you want from me?”
As she rounds herself up,
fierce winds swirl and rise
while a terrible roar tears through my walls.
Gathering strength, she lifts the fog
pronouncing what she came to do,
what she expects of me.
Her words slap my ability
to comprehend such cruel intent
as they lay their claim on me,
“I’ve come to stay!”
Whitney Terry Mackintosh
May 2026