The last few months have been crazy. I’ve been busy doing…which is a great way to live. Spring is showing signs of arriving and I’m apartment bound again. The house sold and it will be container gardening for me this year. I’m excited to get back to my roots. Here is some writing that I did recently to address a new addition in my life. It doesn’t have to do with gardening…but it has to do with me. It may be a bit much, but please feel free to comment.
Sitting in the waiting room of the doctor’s office doesn’t feel the same as it used to. Next to me, a silver haired woman is letting out exaggerated winces and moans. I finally look up and meet her eye. She looks at me as if I could never understand the level of agony she’s experiencing. I think, “Trust me lady, I’ve been sharing this room with you for five minutes, I’m beginning to understand how miserable it must be to live with you, let alone BE you.”
I don’t fit in here. The people I see walking in and out of the office are elderly. They are graying and wrinkly, they are old. I am only 30 and look young for my age. I am not about to wince and moan, though my hands and feet are throbbing in pain. I’m not looking for the pity of anyone in this room, this building, or this planet. Maybe someday I will be. But for now, I’m focused on today.
At one point in my waiting, a young woman enters the office and makes her way to reception. She is a fit, twenty-something, wearing yoga pants, Uggs and a chunky scarf. A wave of ease rushes over me, I wait with my eyes trained on her, hoping to catch her eye and give a knowing glance. Finally, someone that I can relate to.
“I have a 2:30 appointment,” she says and gives the receptionist her name. The receptionist looks over her computer, asking more questions, seeming confused.
“Oh, you’re looking for physical therapy, sweety,” she says. “That’s just down the hall to the left.”
I quickly drop my eyes, pretending to check my Iphone. Maybe she’ll think I’m waiting for my grandma.
The truth is that I’m at the Arthritis Center for me, not for my grandma or even my mom. For me. I can make all the uncomfortable jokes I want but this is real. Rheumatoid Arthritis doesn’t care if I’m thinking about the business I want to start, the bike ride to work this afternoon or my next magazine deadline. I guess it decided to be part of all these things and the selfish bastard doesn’t realize that I’m not interested in sharing.
It’s amazing how one day you have nothing and the next day you have a disease. I personally like to ease into things, not just jump without looking. I wish me and RA could’ve had a better courting period like one does while dating. Try each other out, introduce one another to our friends and family over time. I could say things like, “We’re just getting to know each other, nothing too serious yet.” But I didn’t get to choose RA, it chose me.
This isn’t my disease. Yet today, in a pre-massage interview, the LMT and I had to discuss my “disease” after I checked the box next to arthritis on the health worksheet. I felt like saying, “Don’t pay any attention to that, it’s a just a casual thing, purely physical. I’m sure it will be over once the lust wears off.” She probably wouldn’t have seen the humor in it. But, I guess me and RA are in a honeymoon phase that isn’t visible to the outside world. This relationship is a give and take. I give and the RA takes. Well, I plan to give RA hell for as long as I have it in me
This honeymoon (like most others….eehhemm) comes with baggage. Ok, luggage. And, it’s not the cute Louis Vuitton kind that you can carry a chihuahua in. It’s the oversized tapestry-covered kind, with rickity wheels and busting seams. I do my best not to cry each morning as I watch my collection of patented, peep-toed and platformed high heels collecting dust on the top shelf of my closet. I hold in my frustration while struggling with a necklace clasp or taking the lid off a tube of chapstick. Funny, how the little things become daily reminders. I can do a 90 minute yoga class with ease, but ask me to open the peanut butter before 9 am and we’ll have issues. My symptoms improve as the day moves on and by about two, I’m feeling pretty good. I imagine, as we get to know each other better, we’ll figure out how we’re going to live together in harmony (and heels).
If I’m forced to carry this oversized tapestry luggage with me for the rest of my life, I’ll be damed if I’m going to fill it with anything other than exactly what I want. If I want to go wine tasting, marathon running and world traveling, then damn it, I’m going to do it! OK!? Who’s with me? (This is where I tell RA “shut the F up, you’re not invited”).
This disease means nothing and it means everything. The diagnosis was so natural and matter of fact, as if to say, “Yes, your hair is red.” I took the diagnosis in the same manner it was delivered. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m not going to die from this. There are far worse thing that I could be handed. There are people who would lay down to this disease. I guess I’m just not one of them. Yes, I’m going to have bad days, bad weeks, bad months, maybe even bad years. But I will address those when they are here and do my best during the good days to make sure the bad are few and far between.
The biggest commitment I’ve made to RA, is beginning a prescription of Plaquenil, an antimalarial used to treat RA. This is one of the mildest treatments for RA and was described to me as the “anti-steroid” treatment, which I like. When prescribed this medication, I asked the doctor how long I would need to take it. The word she used was “indefinitely.” And my arranged marriage began, just like that, two pills a day, every day. Yoga, running and riding my bike are my other medicine. The worst thing you can do for a RA is to sit still, so the more I move the better I feel. That’s a disease that I can handle.
I think back to some of our first dates and the little warning signs that I should’ve listened to. Weakness, pain, fatigue…yes, yes and yes. I think back even farther and wonder if some signs were telling me years ago that this was coming. I can think and wonder for hours or I can start addressing the future. I’ll choose the future.
All relationships take work right? And, if you can’t make it work, just get divorced (hahahaha…sorry family, bad joke). Since I imagine I won’t get the chance to have the “it’s not you, it’s me” conversation with my RA, I plan to face this disease just like I would any other challenge. I’m going to make feeling good and living the life I want to live, the focus of each day. Just like I did before my uninvited Rhuemy moved in.
