Am I losing my joints?

July 30, 2018

First it was my wrists. Then my knees. Then my fingers and then my toes. Every few years some new joints began to hurt. Until this year.

Suddenly, all at once, things are doing downhill fast. In the past several months I have developed pain in my feet, thumbs, and shoulders. The foot pain is from arthritis, and it is especially disturbing because I had x-rays done 3 years ago that were fine. In only 3 years there has been marked deterioration and we don’t know why. The thumb pain is from tendonitis, something I’ve never had before. We don’t even know about the shoulder pain yet.

A few months ago, none of these bothered me at all. Now, walking has become more painful than ever, my favorite hobbies of crocheting and knitting are extremely limited, reaching for things is painful, picking anything up hurts, sleeping is harder, and I am freaking out.

Why is this happening all at once?!? Well-meaning friends suggest that it’s weather-related, but I know my body, and it’s not that simple. And besides, let’s say it’s the weather for the sake of argument. How does that help me? That only means that for months every year I’ll be in extra pain? And over time, as the climate continues to change, it will only get worse. So that’s NOT reassuring. Besides, it’s not weather-related. The tendonitis could be, but that began before the heat and humidity set in. And weather did not cause the arthritis in my feet or the bone spurs that are developing.

I keep wondering: how much worse will this get?

For years I have assumed that eventually all of my joints would be come painful, but I expected things to continue in that every-other-year pattern. I would have been in my 50s before things got really widespread. Now, in my 30s, I’m seeing the progression and it ain’t pretty. What will happen if I can’t use my thumbs? How will I function? What if walking becomes even more difficult? What if what if what if?

What ifs aren’t helpful, but I’m only human, and I can’t help but think about it. I’m following doctors’ orders: stop standing on my toes, limit crocheting and knitting, do handy therapy exercises, wear new orthodics…. but it’s not helping. At least, not yet. And besides, the goals with those are to lessen the pain. The doctors agree that this new pain will be permanent. And that makes it extra difficult when well-meaning friends hear about what’s happening and say that hopefully it will go away. When I say it won’t, that this is permanent, they get uncomfortable. They want to offer reassurances but there are none to offer. I get that. I’m the same way when someone I care about is hurting. Still, it sucks that people keep suggesting it will get better. Haven’t they learned? ALL of my pain is permanent. Sometimes it improves, but it never goes away.

Today is a calm day. Last week I was so upset that I couldn’t even write about this. I’m sure I will have many more calm days and many more upset days. In the meantime, I need to find some rational, logical part of my brain to start figuring out why my joints are suddenly causing me pain so much more quickly than they used to. Then maybe, just maybe, I might stand a chance at slowing things down.


I wish I could stop my fake smile

July 21, 2018

Even at 12 years old, I knew not to milk my situation. If I exaggerated the pain I was in, cried unnecessarily, or complained too much, it would come back to bite me in the butt later. I was right, of course. Even without all of the theatrics, some doctors and teachers suggested my pain wasn’t real, that I was just trying to get attention. Assholes. The thing is, this idea that I shouldn’t exaggerate anything boomeranged, and soon I was pretending I was ok even when I wasn’t.

Sometimes that’s a good thing. For me, faking it until I make it can help. And I hate having people constantly ask me what’s wrong, so looking like nothing is wrong can help to prevent that.

But then, sometimes it’s not so good.

Today a friend stopped by unexpectedly. I was NOT in a good place. I’ll probably right about that another time, but basically, I’m in rough shape. The pain has been worse lately, and it’s spreading to more parts of my body for some unknown reason. I’m worried about the future. I might have to move out of the apartment that I love. I’m frustrated and overwhelmed and, mostly, very scared.

I started to talk about some of this with my friend. I could feel the start of tears in my eyes. But I didn’t want to get too far down the rabbit hole. If I tried to explain everything, it would just lead me to focus more on the thing I’m trying to get off my mind for a while. So I said I needed to stop talking about it. And a second later we had changed the subject and I found myself smiling.

Now don’t get me wrong, smiling is a good thing, especially when you’re happy. But I wasn’t happy. I was smiling because I am used to plastering that smile on my face, even when I don’t want to. It’s what made the LTD and SSDI trials so hard: I was supposed to let them see how I really felt, and I didn’t know how to do that anymore. After so many years of fake smiles, how could I stop?

Before my friend showed up, I was definitely not smiling. I wasn’t smiling after he left, either. But with him here, I smiled. I thought to myself, “I should stop smiling. He knows I’m scared and in pain and he’ll be here for me. I want to stop.” But I couldn’t.

When my grandmother died just a few years ago, I cried during the funeral. Later, at the shiva (a Jewish tradition where friends and family gather to console the bereaved) I found myself smiling a lot. One relative I didn’t know very well even commented on how great it was that I could focus on the good parts of my grandmother’s life and remain so cheerful. Little did he know. I wasn’t cheerful. It was an act. I was smiling, I had a bounce in my voice, and I was miserable.

My fake smile was helpful today at the grocery store. I looked and acted normal, so no one asked any questions. But with my family and friends, sometimes I want to stop smiling.

If only I knew how.


Forgetting that I can’t work

July 13, 2018

She was telling me about her search for a part time job that would both meet her logistical criteria and be interesting for her. After years of working just a few hours each week from home, she wanted a change. Just listening, I got excited, and remembered the feeling of accomplishment I got when I worked. I started thinking that I should look for a job, too. Then I quickly came back down to Earth.

Of course I couldn’t work. She stopped working because she could: her part time work from home was lucrative, and her husband earned good money. She was in fine health and there was no reason for her not to get work if she wanted to. I, on the other hand, can’t work. I am too sick. Even my attempts to work part time from home have failed, resulting in worsening health and little money. My only success so far has been dog sitting. I love it, but it doesn’t cover my bills and it doesn’t use my brain the way my former jobs once did.

The strange thing is that this isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten I can’t do something. I had to stop working almost SEVEN year ago. This isn’t new. Yet sometimes I forget. Because I still feel like the old me sometimes, like someone who can go on dates and go out with friends and work full time and clean my own apartment. Maybe I didn’t always enjoying doing all of those things, but I did them. And now I can’t.

I struggle to reconcile who I was, who I feel I should be, and who I am. They’re all me, but somehow, they’re not. My abilities and disabilities alter my personality in ways I don’t expect, but then leave other parts intact, much to my surprise. So I forget. I forget that I can’t go on a hike or swim before heading to a party or get a job. And forgetting isn’t the problem. Remembering is the problem. Because remembering sucks. Remembering brings it all crashing back.

So I will try to support my new friend in her search for a part time job, while also trying to stay grounded in the knowledge that I am unable to do the same. Because right now, that’s my reality.


Feeling too disabled to protest

June 29, 2018

Like in many cities around the country, there will be a big protest in Boston tomorrow, and I won’t be there. Not because I don’t want to be there, but because my health stops me.

At first I thought I might borrow a wheelchair like I did a couple weeks ago for the Pride parade. A friend even said she’d push the chair, and I really appreciated that. That spark of hope lasted for about 45 seconds. Then I remembered the weather forecast.

Until now, we have had surprisingly not-horrible-by-my-standards weather for this time of year. But that ended this week. And tomorrow is supposed to be the worst of them all: 97 degrees and a dew point that the forecasters are calling “oppressive.” The thing is, I struggle when the dew point is what everyone else considers reasonable, so you can imagine how well I do when it’s “oppressive”! For me, that means difficulty breathing, lots of sweating, my already suffering adrenals struggling even more to do their job, more pain than usual, etc. I could end up suffering not just for a day or two. I could have a major health setback. So I can’t go.

I would like to participate in some other substantial way. I can’t donate to funds, since my income doesn’t even support my own expenses.

So I do what I can. I post a lot on social media to make people aware. I don’t know how many people are actually seeing what I post, or how many care, or how many didn’t already know what I’m posting about, but if I get even one person to vote this fall who wouldn’t otherwise, then it’s worth it.

I am trying to humanize the situation for my friends and acquaintances. For most of them, Trump’s and the GOP’s policies are horrible, but don’t affect anyone they know. I’m trying to show them that isn’t true.

Of course, this is harder because I won’t post on social media about being on SSDI or food stamps. My “real” friends know, but I don’t want to share that online. Still, I do talk about how my health insurance is at risk, and the real consequences that could bring for me. I talk about not being about to work, about being queer, about being Jewish, about being a woman, and how these policies will affect me because of those various aspects of myself.

It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

I feel incredibly frustrated and yes, even angry, that I can’t protest tomorrow. Over and over I have had to miss out on these protests. Instead, I am trying to remind myself that maybe what I am doing is helping in some small way.

And in that vein, dear reader, let me ask you to please vote! I know that many of you aren’t in the U.S. but I’m guessing it’s important for you to vote, too. And for those of you in the U.S. with chronic illness, it is especially important for you to look at who is going to be on your ballot this November and what their policies are. Our lives are at risk. We are facing limits to healthcare access, cuts to social security as well as medicare and medicaid, not to mention cuts to food stamps and housing services. There is so much more that I could say, but I will just mention these few things that on their own should worry us all. This November we will see many seats in the House of Representatives as well as the Senate up for grabs, and it’s important to vote in folks who will fight for us, not hurt us. At the same time, many governors’ seats will be voted on, as well as other state and local seats, and those are also super important. If you ever want to learn more about any of this, just let me know and I will be glad to discuss it.

Either way, if you are in the U.S. then put November 6, 2018 on your calendar and be sure to vote! And if you won’t be able to get to your polling station, contact your town or city hall well in advance to get an absentee ballot. You can vote from home!

Even if, like me, you can’t get out to protest in person, you can protest with your ballot. Let’s do this!