Sobbing in the Shower
I am home from a fabulous nurtuing weekend in the desert. A weekend alone with my family, a weekend without obligations, emails or telephone calls. A weekend that marks the end of the High Holy Days, a weekend that left me feeling pure, alive and exhilarated. During the three days I had time alone with my son, and then some time alone with my daughter, and time with just my husband. Everyone had one on one time with one another. And it was good.
As my second week of using Celebrex began, my hand was fairly nimble and my hips and knees only hurt after walking on stone floors, or when walking down flights of steps. Up, I’m okay, down, I’m weepy, because it’s the kind of pain you had when you were a kid. It stings like hell, and it’s a direct insult, it’s something you can’t do.
So the weekend was full of things I could do. I could enjoy my family, I could move well in a swimming pool, and I could observe my son, who never stops moving.
We visited my Mom and Doc, and it was a wonderful few days. And then I returned home this evening. There was no glass of wine at the end of the day, because tomorrow morning I’ll be taking Methotrexate, Folate and Tramadol (I’m still not convinced I’ll fill this one). Today is my last day that I’m just sort of a stiff achy lady with pains. Tomorrow I become a Rheumatoid Arthritis patient.
Being an RA patient probably means that I’ll feel an awful lot better tomorrow than I do today, but at that same time being an RA patient means my body doesn’t work properly.
Which makes me sad. It makes me mourn the body I once had.
I’m not mounring a slender waist, or better breasts. I’m not mourning a jawline that isn’t jowly, or arms that aren’t flabby.
I’m mourning a body that didn’t attack itself, I’m mourning a body that was trainable. I’m not sure that if I tried I’d be able to run a marathon again, even with the drugs.
I’m mourning my good heath. And I’m sobbing in the shower, where no one will see or hear.
Because I’m supposed to be really fucking grateful that there’s a solution, and I’m sure I will be, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. But today, right now, I’m inconsolable because my whole body is broken, and it’s been hurting me for so long.