This is a rant post about arthritis, so if you don't want to read a lot of whining and whinging just skip it.
Some backstory: I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in both hands back in 1983. There were no treatments except physical therapy and a lot of drugs I didn't want to take. That diagnosis put an end to my military career and my hopes of going to medical school and becoming a surgeon. At the time I was an award-winning writer and artist, too, but I also faced losing the ability to write, sketch and paint.
It was a very bitter pill to swallow, but there were many more challenges to follow. On top of the diagnosis I developed a rheumatoid nodule that rapidly grew into the size of a baseball on the back of my dominant left hand. It took two surgeries to remove it altogether, and because the surgeries didn't go well I was left with only about 10% use of my hand. I had to relearn to do everything my right hand, and while I taught myself how to write again, sketching and painting were gone for good.
It didn't seem fair. I grew up poor, and had to deal with bullies and toxic family members while living in deplorable conditions. I had a really rough time of it until I escaped and was able to thrive on my own efforts far away from those people. Why was this happening to me just four years into my new life?
Like all the tough things that have happened to me I grieved for what I had lost for a while, and then I accepted my lot and moved on. I finished my enlistment, got out of the military and found jobs in the corporate sector that accomodated my disability, and did well there. Computers came onto the market, and I found voice recognition software, which allowed me to begin a new career as a professional writer.
As an artist I still had hands, one of which worked okay, and I could do other things to create. Physical therapy at home included learning how to quilt, which took me in a new direction. I also had crochet and sewing. I developed a new love of sewing by hand. I was a good sport about everything life threw at me, I think.
Forty years later, I'm losing the ability to quilt and sew by hand because arthritis has now severly damaged the joints in my right hand. I've strengthened my left over the years, but not enough to compensate. Both hands are very weak and becoming quite fragile. I can still crochet, and sew and quilt by machine, so it's not a huge loss. It just stings.
Until the other night I got out a dollar store crochet kit that came in a lot of thrifted yarn, and tried to make it.
These kits are not the greatest -- the instructions are badly written, and the stitch diagram is about the size of a quarter -- but I thought I'd try it anyway. While I was working on the head I stopped to take a shower. While I was getting out I propped my right hand against the shower wall for support, and nearly broke one of my trigger fingers.
I had to splint the finger and hope that it wouldn't turn into an emergency room visit. That also put an end to my crocheting for the night, and made me see clearly maybe for the very first time the day that is rapidly approaching when I will never again be able to create by handwork.
I try not to hate anything but I hate this disease. I hate it.
I have managed to be a good sport about all this pain and disability, and I don't intend to stop that. When I can't do anything by hand anymore I will find other ways to do it. There are looms, knitting and sewing machines. I might try painting again; I can't hold a brush but I could strap one to my former dominant hand and practice until I improve. Tile mosaics are another art I've always wanted to try.
The day I stop creating is the day I give up and give in to my disease, and that's not happening.
Comments