- After 13 years of battling Parkinson's disease, Greg Bailey's
world will change Monday. The former helicopter pilot and Winter
Festival of Lights manager will undergo a procedure called deep
brain stimulation surgery in Toronto, in which electrodes are placed
deep within his brain. Only 25 per cent of people with Parkinson's
who apply for the operation are accepted.
At first, Greg Bailey thought it was just stress. He would forget
simple things. Repeat things he had already done. While flying a
helicopter on the weekends, things he used to do without thinking
suddenly took some thought.

But it was the minor trembling in his hand that concerned him most.
Something was up.

A visit with the doctor didn't answer much. "He just said I was one
of those people who shakes," recalls Bailey, 54.

He went back to flying for Niagara Helicopters, a weekend gig on top
of his job with Niagara Falls Tourism. Again, little things would
slip his mind. Nothing that put people in danger, he insists, but
things like checking a gauge he had just checked seconds before.

During a routine test flight with a proficiency pilot - something
all pilots must do annually - the gig was up. Shortly after take-
off, the test pilot ordered Bailey to land the helicopter.

"He said, 'You're supposed to be some hotshot pilot? You're making
some real basic errors here. What's the matter with you?' He didn't
pull any punches.

"I told him, 'I think I do have a problem. I just haven't been able
to discover what the problem is yet.'"

Another visit with the doctor followed. Even when he was scheduled
for a CT scan, Bailey wasn't nervous.

Until he got that call from his doctor at 10:30 p.m. one night,
reminding him of his appointment the next day.

"I hung up the phone, and it hit me - doctors never call me at 10:30
at night for anything else. Maybe there's something more to this
than I'm willing to admit."

He was right. A few days later, Bailey was told he had Parkinson's
disease.

He didn't really know what it was. He was about to find out.

FOR YEARS, BAILEY enjoyed the world from up above. He would fly his
helicopter to geological expeditions. He would accompany wildlife
photographers. He even helped battle forest fires.

A good life, he says, but gruelling.

"I got tired of the travelling. It sounds glamorous, but it's very
demanding."

He returned to Niagara Falls with his wife Babette and took a job
with Niagara Falls Tourism, helping bring the Winter Festival of
Lights back from the dead. On weekends, he would fly tourists over
the falls for Niagara Helicopters.

When he got his Parkinson's diagnosis (July 29, 1994, he recalls),
he sized up his options. Flying was out - he would never endanger
anyone else. But he decided to keep his day job.

As he struggled with the news, he tried keeping it from everyone
else"I was a wreck for a while. I didn't say too much. I didn't even
make it public for a year."

But his co-workers knew something was wrong. Bailey appeared to
fidget during meetings, his arms and legs constantly twitching.

It would come and go. After awhile, it didn't go. He reluctantly
told everyone about his condition in 1995, and asked them to treat
him as usual. He wasn't dying, he insisted.

Parkinson's doesn't work that way. Instead, it makes you appear
drunk, even handicapped. The tremors and twitching have nothing to
do with muscles, they're the result of a deficiency in dopamine-
producing cells in the brain.

These cells act as the circuit to control the body's movement. When
they no longer work, the brain overcompensates, resulting in
involuntary spasms and contractions.

There is no cure. But there are lots of drugs.

At one point, Bailey was taking 35 pills each day as doctors tried
to figure out what worked. Unlike other diseases, Parkinson's is
highly individual, affecting each person differently. Some sufferers
only have minor twitching and can appear perfectly healthy. Others
lose all control over their body.

Bailey was somewhere in between. On 'good' days - days where the
medicine does its job - he's in great spirits and can keep the
spasms under control.

But the bad days are hell. He can't pick up a fork. Can't tie his
shoe laces. Can barely get out of bed. Depression hits Parkinson's
patients especially hard.

Despite this misery, Bailey can crack jokes, even Parkinson's jokes.
He calls himself one of the city's "biggest movers and shakers." He
suggests you don't stand near him at a buffet. It's Bailey's ability
to laugh at his condition that puts everyone around him at ease.

But inside, he hurts. His older brother George has watched Greg put
on a brave face for 13 years.

"Greg's quality of life definitely has diminished, but he has such a
zest for life that he does things far beyond what I think a person
in his condition can do." he says. "He fights this all the time.

"The hardest part is seeing him not being able to do the things we
all take for granted. Just seeing him struggle to do simple things
is somewhat heart wrenching."

Unable to continue his job, Bailey retired in 2002. More than ever,
he was dependent on his wife of 27 years.

That, more than anything, crushed him.

"She's really the breadwinner now," he says. "I feel badly that I
haven't been able to contribute more. But my wife doesn't complain.
She works hard. She's wonderful."

Babette Bailey, a special-needs teacher with the Niagara Catholic
District School Board, can barely remember what life is like without
Parkinson's in it.

"Parkinson's is progressive, so it sort of takes something away
slowly," she says. "Every three or four months, we notice a
difference.

"You're constantly in this grievous state. You say, OK, he can't do
this very well any more.' You feel bad that this is what's
happening, but you get that time to get used to it leaving.

"You just have to figure out how to deal with it. You can't get
bitter ... life goes on. No matter what happens to his body, he's
still in there."

In the past few years, Bailey's condition has worsened. More and
more things are slipping away.

What if he could get them back? To his amazement, there is a way.

On Monday, Bailey undergoes an operation that could recover most of
what he lost over the past 13 years.

The problem? It requires two holes drilled directly into his brain.
While he's awake.

IT'S CALLED deep brain stimulation,' (DBS) and to Parkinson's
sufferers it's more than worth the ordeal. It's like going back in
time.

An incredibly delicate procedure, it requires two thin electrodes to
be placed deep within the brain as the patient's head is secured in
a rigid frame. The patient remains awake to answer simple questions,
so the surgeons know which part of the brain they're tinkering with.
When the target tissue is located, electrodes are implanted that
connect to a small pulse generator.

The generator will be surgically placed near Bailey's collarbone.
Once activated, the electrodes deliver a continuous current into the
brain's affected area, replacing the inactive cells.

The procedure has a high success rate. If no adjustments are needed,
patients can notice a dramatic difference within a day.

Karen Dowell, community resources director with Parkinson Society
Canada, has seen the results.

"I have a friend in Toronto who had it done, and her quality of life
has gone back up through the roof," she says.

Most, if not all, the tremors disappear. Drugs are reduced. Mobility
returns. It's no wonder they'll gladly go through a hellish
procedure for it.

"The courage it takes to do this ...," says Dowell. "To lay on that
table while they're drilling these holes in your skull. While you're
awake."

Not all Parkinson's patients are approved for the surgery. Among
other things, doctors consider the lifestyle they're trying to
restore.

It sounds harsh, but the hospital time required means only about 25
per cent of people who request are it accepted. Bailey spent two
years on the waiting list.

"It's like a heart transplant," says Dowell. "If you're a smoker,
you don't get a transplant."

But DBS is not a cure, Dowell explains. The patient still has
Parkinson's, but the brain is fooled into not displaying so many
symptoms.

"This doesn't stop the disease. It's more of an aid to their day-to-
day living."

Which sounds fine to Bailey. He's calm about the operation as it
nears - in fact, he jokes, he's more nervous about the drive to
Toronto.

"I never felt I had a bad life with Parkinson's," he says. "But I'm
looking forward to being a more productive person."

EVEN AFTER the procedure, there's a tense waiting game. Bailey's
surgical wounds must first heal before the device is turned on.

Then, he'll be closely monitored to ensure the impulses are
affecting the correct part of his brain. If it's off even slightly,
it could lead to visual or speech problems.

If all goes well, his life will change. Rather, it returns.

"Even if it doesn't do what he thinks, he'll battle (Parkinson's)
again," says George Bailey, who has been filming Greg's plight over
the past two weeks for an upcoming Cogeco TV special. "He wants
people to be more aware of Parkinson's. It's a disease most people
don't understand."

Babette and Greg have tentatively planned a long-overdue summer
trip. Vacationing has been impossible the past few years.

"We're really excited (about the operation). I'm really happy for
Greg, because he has that hope.

"We talked about it. Within a matter of hours, he'll be who he
really is again. Slowly over time, he became this person with
Parkinson's but now, very quickly, he's going to be able to do all
the things he couldn't do before."

Such as?

Bailey doesn't keep a list. But if he did, it would be simple
things. To tie his own shoes by next month might bring him to
tears. "I think what I want to do is have a normal day," he says,
fighting - for perhaps the last time - to control his shaking.

"I don't want to climb a mountain. I don't want to sail across the
ocean. I don't want to dive 300 feet. I want to get up and have a
normal day."

JOHN LAW
(Osprey Media)