Our family attended a large public display. We’ve made it a tradition the past six years to take our kids to a minor-league baseball game and stick around for the post-game fireworks. All the fun without any of the work and expense (other than remembering to pack earplugs).
One drawback to huge events is the limited parking. We arrived early to be sure to get a good spot. Unfortunately, my definition of “good spot” means “near the ballpark entrance” but my husband’s definition is “near the parking lot exit so we’re not blocked in.”
I’ve been hobbling around for weeks now, but my husband still forgets, and was nearly race-walking across the parking lot. I motioned the kids to go ahead with their dad and promised that I’d be along eventually. Next thing I knew, our daughter was tugging on his arm and reminding him that mommy can’t walk that fast.
It’s ironic that he forgot, because it usually seems that he’s incredibly overprotective. We had the opportunity to walk in an Independence Day parade this year, and my sweetheart announced that the way my feet have been lately I shouldn’t participate. Since the kids wanted to be in the parade, they weren’t too happy about this edict (thinking that we’d either all participate, or none of us would). After acting like a disgruntled teenager for a few days, one child created her own fireworks by announcing to her father, “I don’t think you should be telling Mommy what to do. She should get to make her own decision about the parade!”*
In this case, however, she didn’t realize that I had made my decision. He was right about my feet not being up to walking at a specified pace (can’t wait for the ssz to kick back in like the rheumy said it would). I stood on the sidewalk and watched friends and family take part in the parade. The only thing that would have been better is if I’d thought to take a chair.
And you know, I’m really looking forward to feeling better like the rheumy said I could expect. It’s summer. With the warmer weather everyone feels better. Right?
Not this little grey duck.
Ever since I pulled weeds from the strawberry bed, my hands have been swollen. In the grand scheme of things it might not matter, but I really want to wear my wedding ring, and I hate when I can’t. It took some doing, but I managed to remove my rings (it was either that, or have someone remove the fingers).
It’s not just my hands and feet. To keep it short, let’s just say that nothing above my neck hurts right now. The elbows are bad enough that I’d like to ask my doctor about PT to see if that would help, but my shoulder’s appropriated all my insurance allotment for PT this year and thanks to the economy, we’re not really in a position to pay out-of-pocket.
And I’m just ready to say, enough already. Enough. I’ve tried to stay positive, look on the bright side, focus on the things I can do instead of what I can’t. Enough already.
Somehow I’ve thought of it like making a bargain: I agree to take all these pills (and now shots) because that will slow the disease, hopefully sending it into remission, and allow me to continue to live my life how I want. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, and RA isn’t holding up its end.
On the bright side, between the cortisone and PT, the pain in my shoulder is less frequent. My range of motion is improving, and I’m hoping that it continues to improve, instead of deteriorating after the cortisone wears off (as has happened repeatedly over the past year).
How ironic to be celebrating independence,
when I can’t even open a jar without help.
Hope you had a great 4th of July!
*Just to be clear, my husband knows that I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions. He also knows that I try to do too much, so helps out by reminding me when needed. My wonderful husband likes to fix things, and it’s really hard for him to not be able to fix this. I appreciate that he has my back.