wrist pain is back

or perhaps this should be called "apprehensive about Friday"

My wrist is achey. In Buenos Aires it reminded me that it still existed, when I was doing a lot of transfers in and out of Martin's car. He has a GOL, smaller than a GOLF, and it's a tricky transfer - read: harder on the wrists with a danger of bopping my head. My wrist didn't hurt then, so much as remind me at moments with strain.

Now, it's worse, but not as bad as it once was, it clearly needs attention. It aches and my hand tingles. So, I was all prepared to write about the wrist pain, and speculate on the cause of it. What am I doing or not doing now, that I didn't do on vacation? It didn't hurt during vacation, why? etc.

But I can't do any of that till after I see the rheumatologist on Friday. I'll find out results of my blood work, and they will do a wrist ultrasound. And I admit I'm anxious about this. I really really don't want to have rheumatoid arthritis. Sure, it won't be the end of the world, but it would make my life more difficult. I rely on my hands so much. The fear of breaking an arm or wrist, even the fear of inflaming a tendon or shoulder, stops me from taking a lot of risks. Though I have been known to miscalculate the risk at times, oops. I abuse my upper body so much as it is, that the idea of an autoimmune disease to battle as well feels daunting.

But I don't know yet, one way or the other, whether I have RA or not, so I just have to hold on till Friday. If I have RA I'll deal with it, as I deal with everything. My life won't stop. But if not, then I figure out what all my stressors are, and try to fix them. Either way, I think I'll go for a super lightweight wheelchair this time, because I just can't afford to lose use of my right wrist. I should make pushing my wheelchair as easy as possible, maybe even use power assist wheels. It's one stress I can absolutely do something about.

And in the meantime I need to think about other things besides this one persistent memory: In Rehab, my first roommate was a woman, who at the time I would have just described as middle aged, though now I'd guess she was in her late 30s or early 40s - younger than I am now. She had rather advanced rheumatoid arthritis, and her body was quite deformed. I forget her name now, but I remember that she was very pleasant company, a nice person. She had the bed by the window, mine was on the inner wall. She was having a rough time though. Her joints were not working well at all, and she was very limited in being able to do anything for herself. She had open ulcers on her legs as well.

I had just gotten into rehab myself when she arrived, and I was still very weak. But my condition was stable, I was healing, and I was young. My disability wasn't a disease, or progressively getting worse. Slowly I was getting stronger, and learning to be independent. I was learning how to get in and out of bed, get dressed, take a spin about the place. One night after going to bed, through the curtain dividing our room, I heard her crying and I asked her why. Her answer was that it was hard for her to watch me getting stronger and leaving, when she was never going to get better again.

She wasn't in the hospital very long, by the standards of that day. Perhaps it was 2 weeks, maybe 4. I don't suppose rehab was really that useful to her, I don't know. And a few years later when visiting the rehab center, I heard that she had died. And she's the only one I've every known with rheumatoid arthritis.

I know a bit more about rheumatoid arthritis now, even if I don't know anyone personally. Many people have it for years, and can be in remission much of that time. There are a lot better medications now. All the same, I'd prefer not to have RA, just as I'd prefer not to be a paraplegic. Sometimes in life though, you just don't get to choose.