Little scares me.
Fearless I am not. Fear I do.
Osteoarthritis. Puffy fingers. Inflamed tissues.
Some have knobby knees. I have knobby knuckles.
I fear not the appearance. Such is vanity--pure vanity.
I fear the knobby knuckles--its killing paralysis.
I fear loss. I fear loss of my voice--loss of my voice through my left hand. I fear not the loss of my right hand--the loss of my right hand as the instrument of my voice. My right hand has never had such muscle power.
My osteoarthritis affects my left hand, my left hip, and my right ankle. God only knows as to its selectivity within my body.
I do not ask--I have never asked--"Why me?" I abhor that question. What possible answer could serve anyone or any good end.
Rather, I ask, "What lesson am I to be learning."
I take this as no punishment for any action I have taken. Some, extreme in their thinking, take that tack. I never have. I never will.
Rather, I ask, "What preparation am I being called to make?"
A lifetime ago my answer to a call seems. Just one year ago, I was counselled to look ahead,
"Think of your needs beyond the next year--beyond the next five years. I advise you to get a power wheelchair with a joystick on your left armrest. I advise you to get a head rim. At the point when you need it, a head rim will control the movement of your chair when you cannot."
I do not torture myself--I cannot--with the prospect of using the head rim. Yet, I know that I have learned that lesson--made that preparation.
Osteoarthritis. My left hip? A simple four-legged cane. Common sense born of experience--carry no heavy packages, such as groceries, any distance. A fairly easy solution. For vanity, two canes. One is multiple shades of dark blue. The other is colored in shades of brown. It looks like wood. One must be color-coordinated, of course. Living alone, one must be prepared. Though not needed today, I need to have the tools at hand--the tools for as independent a life as is possible.
Osteoarthritis. My right ankle. Zoomer, my power wheelchair, is my antidote. Should she not be enough, I have been told that it is a matter of time--ten years perhaps--that I might need ankle surgery, an ankle replacement, perhaps.
Osteoarthritis. I do my best not to torture myself with eventualities. Osteoarthritis is not a condition of steadiness or control. Osteoarthritis is an amoeba, a chameleon. Some days, people may wonder, "I don't understand. I saw her in her wheelchair yesterday, now today she is walking just fine." I wonder too.
Osteoarthritis. A snake, who lurks in the bushes, waiting to catch me unawares.
Osteoarthritis. Exercise. Not a physical cure. But a wellspring of mental, and emotional energy. Exercise. A keeping at bay of inflammation's paralysis.
Osteoarthritis. My right ankle. My left hand. My left hip. My color-coordinated canes. Exercise. Osteoarthritis.
Osteoarthritis. A keen ear. An accommodating spirit. Osteoarthritis.
Patty, you capture the vagaries of arthritis so well. Who knows why one body part is "chosen" as a trouble zone one day, and another the next? I watch my mother, newly diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, wonder about the same ins and outs. Perhaps this condition magnifies what all of us dimly grasp and may not want to grasp at all: that you never know what body you're going to wake up in, or what it will be able to do that day. I celebrate with you those powerful swims, in which your right arm defies all expectations, and cheer you for your attitude in dealing with the rest of it.
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