Chronic ailments are an odd thing. They're like dormant volcanoes. People go about their business on the slopes of Etna or Vesuvius, blindly ignoring the slumbering beast beneath them as it hasn't given them any trouble for so long. Then suddenly one day there is an ominous rumble and a cloud of smoke and all at once they don't feel so safe any more.
My arthritis has been like that. Aches in my fingers, but staying pretty much the same until suddenly, a few days ago, I had a flare-up and suddenly my already stiff fingers wouldn't bend as much as they had done the previous day. I panicked. If they stuck in that position, with all the joints seized up, how would I be able to pick things up, fasten buttons, do all the normal little tasks you don't even think about? All at once, that dormant volcano was threatening my whole livelihood. My supplier of strong arnica has shut up shop on the web and the other varieties I've tried haven't been nearly as efficacious. Did you hear the sick joke that was doing the rounds during the Olympics? It went: Did you hear that one of the Paralympic competitors has tested positive for WD40? Now, there's a thought.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
That's a very vivid way of putting it, Hydra. Well done!
I've always had a dread of ending up crippled with arthritis like my paternal grandmother did. My old boss from years ago lives in the next village to me. She used to be an accomplished pianist. Last time I saw her, her hands weren't so much claws due to arthritis but deformities; the fingers being bent all many unnatural angles.
My left little finger's got a little big and clicky, and slightly painful at the knuckle. It's scary. I know just what you mean about the WD40 and have often joked about using it on myself when things creak or crack.
Post a Comment