Good Morning Pain
Good morning Pain, Did you sleep well?
Yes? Well, not me. The humidity was a nightmare. The sticky heat enveloped my body making it impossible to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Waking up every hour covered in a slick film of sweat, finding no relief in the fan pointed towards you, or having every window in the apartment open. Feeling so hot from inside my body that it felt like I was choking on nothing.
Good morning Pain, Did you hurt in the night?
Yes? You made every single one of the joints inflame and seize up, didn’t you? Watched as the skin around the bones grew tight and shiny, almost like there’s not enough skin to cover the affected area. My left knee swollen and enlarged, squishy to the touch, you can feel where the infected water around the joints is camping out.
Good morning Pain, Would you like some coffee or tea to start your day?
Well, you’ll have to get it yourself. My hands won’t grip anything today. I have to use dictation just to write my blogs or send a simple good morning text to my mom. I’d love to be able to pull the Keurig down from on top of the fridge, but you’ve taken the strength from my hands. They shake as I pick up something as light as my medication bottle. I’d love a strong cup of Irish Tea, but to fill my hot water jug I need filtered water from the fridge, and I don’t have strength to open the door.
Good morning Pain, Would you like some breakfast?
Well, you’ll have to skip it again today. The cereal and milk are both in the fridge I can’t open. We have canned fruit in the pantry, but my hands are too weak to open the pop top. I guess I don’t need to eat this morning.
Good morning Pain, Would you like to take a shower and get dressed?
I’m sure it will take you no time at all, for me it’s a different story. I struggle with turning the nobs to hot and cold, it’s an old building and I suspect they are a bit rusty. I must slowly and carefully climb into the shower, bending my knees are difficult, and I don’t want to slip. After getting shampoo/conditioner/shower gel out of the bottles then it’s the next task of administering them. It’s hard to lather my hair up when my hands are flat, and my arms don’t want to raise above my torso. It takes time. Shower gel on a loofah is so much easier, at least I can use something else to lather. After 15-20 mins under the cool water (hot flashes mean only cool to cold showers are acceptable) I also clean and can attempt the worst part of my day, getting dressed.
I still don’t have clean clothes, Pain. I haven’t been able to do my laundry. No summer dresses to don easily. I don’t have to leave the house today, so maybe I can find something lightweight and comfortable. Underwear first. I sit on the bed, and then must painfully maneuver one leg into each hole. This requires some bending and stooping, and I’m quite exhausted after it. I really need low maintenance clothing today. Gaucho pants in the drawer catch my eye, perfect! Loose tank top and I’m ready for my day. Which thanks to you, Pain, will just be a series of events I try to live through without hurting.
Good morning Pain, Would you like to take a walk?
You know I hurt everywhere, but my Dr says exercise is important, I must remain mobile. I can’t seem to get my shoes on today, my feet are too swollen to fit inside my specialty stretch Skechers that’s bought for this very reason. Touche, Pain. You’re trying to win. Don’t you see how you’ve thwarted every step I’ve taken since waking? Can you let me have just one thing to enjoy today?
Okay, it has started to rain, so I will wait on my walk. I will limp (my knees won’t bend) into my living room and bypass my seemingly useless kitchen, and deliberate on the couch on what to do today. Netflix it is. I look at my body and sigh. Everything is swollen thanks to you, Pain. I won’t have a very productive day because of you, Pain. But hopefully the swelling in my hands will go down so I can hold my colored pencils and do my artwork today. Hopefully you will let me have something to hold onto in my life, Pain.
Just let me have something.
If you would like to help, please visit my campaign page where I am still accepting donations to pay for my rent and medical bills:
Posted on September 3, 2015, in The Journey and tagged alone, chronic illness, chronic pain, demands, help, helpless, invisible illness, loneliness, pain, rheumatoid arthritis, Rheumatoid Disease, sickness. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.