I've Only Just Begun

Wow. That is scary, the title of this post. I've only just begun. Begun what? Begun to hurt. Scary. Sobering. Frightening. Sad.

Maybe it's the weather today - it is colder than it has been for awhile, although it's not nearly as cold as it will be.

Maybe my resistance is down today - I woke up with a headache and feel like a cold is coming on.

Maybe it's just my age - and in that, I am very fortunate. My mother, my great-aunt, others in my family hurt like I hurt today at much younger ages.

No - for me, even though I have had arthritis for several years, and even though I have already had double knee replacement - the pain is really just beginning.

I'm having a hard time picking up simple things today. A piece of paper, a dirty sock that missed the hamper last night, the egg shell I dropped because it hurt to hold it.

I have a hero and her name is Olya and I remind myself of her every day. Whenever the pain in my thumbs gets to the point that I actually cry out, I am reminded of Olya.

Her frozen shoulders. Her frozen hands. Her frozen elbow. The arthritis that has eaten away at her body since she was a young child. The bones that are damaged beyond repair. The pain she endures every day, even while taking very strong (and possibly life-shortening) pain medications.

But most of all I think of her smiles. Her bright eyes. Her determination. Her love of life. Her relationship with God (no, not perfect by any means, but real and deep). I think of her determination to live her life as fully as she can. I think of the many times when I have offered to help her with something that I know is very painful for her and she just smiles at me and says, "No thank you, I can do it."

And I am amazed all over again. I love this young woman so much - even though she often exasperates me :). I admire her. She is half my age - but I want to be like her as I grow old.

So, I sit here in pain, my thumbs on fire, wondering why picking up a dirty sock can cause so much pain in one small area of the body and cause me to sit down and actually cry and yell internally at myself for being so 'weak' and 'childish' and 'not able to bear it.'

I think of my mother who has not had the full use of her hands for 25 years. I think of the many times I got impatient with her when she asked me to open a jar, or lift something that was not heavy at all, or wring out a dishcloth, or hang up some clothes or do something else that was 'not hard' or 'difficult' to do at all. I think of the many times she did something, then stood there holding her hands close to her chin, trying not to cry as she cradled them. I think of my mother and I want to apologize to her all over again.

I'm sorry, Mom. I had no idea then - but I am learning now. I am so sorry. You are my hero, too.