On Da Mend

I’ve been wondering why my arthritis chose this winter to reignite. I may not understand completely why it’s back until it’s gone again (one always hopes, right?), but I have some ideas. This life is about learning, and as far as my bones go, I think I failed grade three the first time.

The first time around, I declared war. I fought to be as normal as everyone else in my world. I didn’t always make it, of course. I had a ton of sick days during those years. I was deeply, truly angry when it beat me, and I used that fury to redouble my efforts, sometimes successfully and sometimes not so much. There were no trippy hippy platitudes for teenaged Ru, that’s for sure. I was locked in mortal combat with a monster and one of us was gonna die.

When it finally burned out, my relief was overwhelming. I had won. I was alive and my nemesis wasn’t.

I was also wrong. Oh, I was most certainly alive, but the bones—and my terror of their return—have haunted me to this day. The trouble with your worst fear is that it can manifest in ideal conditions. I have no idea what those conditions are, but something went haywire last fall.

Welcome back to grade three, Ru.

I’m a quicker study these days, though. This relapse happened for a reason. I hope it’s a short term stint, but this time I’m doing my homework between meltdowns. (I still have them, those opaque moments when the fear of indefinite hurting immobilizes me.) Anyway, here’s what I’ve learned so far:

Living with chronic pain is not a competition. It’s a process. If I didn’t know it before—which I apparently didn’t—I know it now. Rather than a battle for supremacy between me and my compostable container, it’s a cooperative effort based on mutual respect. I give it what it needs to feel better, be it ice, rest, or the occasional Aleve, and it stops hurting so much. Who knew?

Some days are easier than others. As my Scottish mum would say, you’ll be “up one day and doon the next.” Accept this and move on. Down days are frustrating, and sometimes you’ll weep anguished tears. That’s okay. Tears are not a sign of weakness. Tomorrow will be different. Sure, it might be worse ... but it might also be better.

Stay in the moment. Some of them (many of them) will hurt like the dickens, but not every one of them. Occasions do occur when the pain is overshadowed. Laughing with a friend. A hot cup of tea. Cuddling a teddy bear. Sun breaking through cloud. Watching a favourite movie. Even wrangling with a math problem can provide a welcome distraction. Cherish those moments by embracing, welcoming, savouring and otherwise being grateful for them. (There is always space for gratitude.)

Do not look too far ahead. Contemplating a future of non-stop coping will make you want to cut your throat. This saps strength better applied either to the present moment, if necessary, or spared for a moment when you really need it.

Rest and rejuvenate. Fighting pain while operating in day to day life takes more energy for you than it does for your healthy friend/neighbour/co-worker. I resisted this notion in my teens, when all I wanted was to be as normal as my buddies, but as a middle-aged adult, if I have to, I nap on a weekend afternoon. Sometimes I can’t keep my eyes open; at other times, I doze while listening to my silly jazz station. It’s nice for most of us to lie still once in a while. For you, it’s imperative!

Admit when you’re not up to par. It takes courage to say you’re unwell. I wish it didn’t. As with tears, pain is not a sign of weakness. It’s frigging pain. When you’re in it, it’s okay to say so (just try to maintain your dignity while doing it). At my worst last November, I discovered how much my co-workers care for me when they rallied to make my life easier during a particularly trying phase at the office. My honesty gave them a chance to be as kind and generous with me as they claim I am with them. Win-win!

Wash dishes by hand, in purely hot water (no cold), and wearing rubber gloves. Aching finger joints love the heat and the gloves ensure you don’t strain them further by gripping too hard on wet stoneware.

Remind yourself that, though pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. You may not have a choice about when it hurts, but you can certainly decide how to handle it when it does.

Finally, you may be alone with the pain, but you are not truly alone. Each of us is loved somewhere, by someone. You are no exception. It may be hard to remember this when you’re living your day one breath at a time. That doesn’t make it a lie. Reach out. Someone will answer.

With love,