I’m sitting here with my feet up, reading, catching up on the day’s news and an article caught my eye. A lady with two special needs children found a nasty note on her car because she’d parked in a handicapped spot. It brought to mind a blog post I’d read from a fellow RA sufferer (her blog is no longer available, hope she’s OK). She wrote about needing extra time to get to her seat in the movie theater and how other people gave her impatient stares.
And it made me remember being on a forum a long time ago and reading a teacher’s comments about RA. She wrote that it was very hard for her colleagues to understand how much pain she was in because she didn’t look sick. She wrote that she cried herself to sleep. I responded that my physical pain was so severe in the mornings, I cried myself awake.
That has to be what stings the most from this insidious disease. Unless we use something visible like a cane or a wheelchair, we appear perfectly capable to the naked eye. We don’t look sick.
But we are.
My feet are up after a busy morning. It started out with Tai Chi class, which is worth two feet and more. They didn’t hurt during the hour and a half that I was on them, shifting my weight from one to the other as I went through the moves.
And they didn’t hurt while I hung around discussing the needs of putting together the upcoming Fall Festival Banquet. I signed up for the setting up; I figure both quilts in my queue will be done by then.
Nor did they hurt while I shopped for more fabric. Put me in a fabric store and I’m like a kid in a toy store, or maybe the candy store. Who’s thinking feet?
But once I got home and took off my comfy tennis shoes, my feet said, Time out, Sister! I can walk, but I see stars. And no, I don’t need a cane or a wheelchair just yet. All I need to do is rack up a few hours’ rest and I’ll be good to go.
And there’s the difference between my sore feet and the author of that note. For that person, there might not be enough time for a cure.