Introduction & Early Stages

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August 2001

Tuesday, August 07, 2001

When all is said and done, I am just not an outdoors person. I was reminded of this over the weekend when I went up to Lake George with Shayne and her parents. There we spent two nights relaxing by the lake, renting wave runners, motorboats and other 'upstate stuff' like that. I had fun -- and enjoyed her company very much. But in the end, the outdoors just isn't my scene.

Needless to say, I had plenty of time to think about why that is the case. Between the medicine schedule being upset by a 'relaxed' eating schedule, the achy joints longing for a long hot shower, trying to avoid the sun and being very careful not to overexert myself, I had a hard time just 'chilling out'. As would anyone in my position.

So I thought a lot about all of the other people that must be out there. People who understand that a typical weekend trip a couple hours away, to a place like Lake George, becomes more and more of a strain on the body. Ideally, the ones that I love and the ones that care most about me would understand, but will they every truly get it? In the back of their minds won't they just think that I'm lazy, or that I'm a little prince? (Not to be confused with the 'Arthritic formerly known as Prince'.) A wobble here or a limp there doesn't mean I can't take the weekend. It just means that slowly the weekend is getting the best of me. And I just have to remind myself that it's nothing to be ashamed of.

That's what keeps me awake at night. Often times it's not the pain in my back or hip. But instead it's wondering if people really do understand. And I know the answer will always be 'no'.

Tuesday, August 14, 2001

One thing I know for sure: I am not cut out to be a furniture mover. I was reminded of this over the weekend as I was promoted to "Captain Obvious" while we were moving my brother into his dorm room. His second year at Hamilton College in upstate NY starts this week while I recover from an aching back and sore hips from an attempted career change to furniture mover. And the funny thing is I didn't even do much. He and my dad were the ones hoisting the TVs here and moving the furniture there. Constructing Yaffa blocks to hold junk hurt my back as much as lugging cinder blocks to make room for junk would. I was a mess and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

But for my brother I'd do anything -- because I know he'd do it in return. What I couldn't stop thinking about was how I have two more weeks left and then the cinder blocks and the Yaffa blocks will have to come out of storage for my room. And who is going to help us? My dad can't do the lifting on his own. My mom certainly can't. But it will get done -- it always does. "Don't be macho" I can already hear my mom call out to us. "Make two trips if you need to" is a phrase you hear in my house virtually every day.

Still, it doesn't stop us from carrying on -- literally -- and dealing with the aches, the pains and the problems that always come after. As sure as the sun will rise is as sure as my back will hurt. The trick is to not let that interfere. To not let that play a role in how the room looks. To suck up the pain and get on with life. If I were truly unable to do anything of the kind, I wouldn't. But because I have arthritis it just hurts when I do it and that's that.

I go to bed wishing my brother good luck this semester. I fall asleep only to wake up one day closer to when my shlepping date arrives. As my back cringes at the thought.

Tuesday, August 21, 2001

There is something about hot, sticky summer days that just make me want to crawl into a basement and die. Yesterday was definitely one of those days. Having trekked all over Manhattan and Hoboken New Jersey, my joints are still aching. The day started at a cool and comfortable 75 degrees. By the time we got onto the Isle of Manhattan, the humidity had steadily risen to about 130%. It was one of those days that everyone was armed with umbrellas and the skies were threatening a retaliation of heavy rain. Though to our disappointment, there was no rain.

Come the afternoon I was really ready to give-way. Between the walking in crappy shoes and the heat, I felt like it was an immunity challenge for "Survivor". Come to think of it, people casting a new ABC reality series stopped me in the middle of the street to see if I was interested in auditioning. But in true New Yorker spirit, I blew right by them without once thinking to give them the time of day. "Not today pal" I thought to myself as I continued my journey.

I thought about uncomfortable situations, and how the brunt of the day ranked among others in recent memory. Was it worse than that time we had to sit in a hot airplane on the runway for 3 hours? Or the time I was working at J-Crew and still had 5 hours left on my shift, when I thought I was going to pass out from exhaustion? The truth is the day wasn't all THAT bad. It just felt pretty terrible because the money in my pocket was wet from sweat and my knees and ankles were swollen to the size of who knows what.

But sure enough a couple hours later I was passed out on the couch; in air conditioning; watching the Simpsons. I began to think about how lucky I was to have a place to come home to like mine…to have a disease that eventually gets a little better from time to time. And to know that even though the experts warn of global warming, it can't stay this bad forever.

Thursday, August 23, 2001

This morning on my way to the office I experienced something that really pissed me off. I actually had pain while I was driving. Or because of the way I drove. I couldn't believe it. There I was on an entrance ramp to the New York State Thruway, and my hip locks up in the position I was sitting. In shock I pulled back over to the right lane, set the cruise control at 45 (okay so it was 55) (okay so it was 65) (okay so it was really 70 MPH) and tried to reposition myself. I was in total disbelief that something I loved to do so much -- driving -- at high speeds -- was something that would one day start to hurt more and more. After a few minutes I got over it…I fixed the problem and sped up to my cruising speed of 54 MPH…but I was still in awe of what had just happened.

It just bothered me, more than anything, because slowly more and more things I do in this life are giving me pain or hurt. I dread the thought of having to reposition my bed in my dorm when I move in on Saturday. It's stuff like that which keeps me up at night. And now I have this to add to the list.

Monday, August 27, 2001

There's no looking back anymore. I am officially back at college. Gone are the home-cooked meals. Gone is the free laundry machines (I don't mind doing laundry, I just hate paying to do it). Gone is the comfortable bed and cozy carpets of home.

And hello freedom.

But the truth is that I have so much to be thankful for. Not only am I going back to school, but I have the chance to go to school in the first place. Then come the non-essential but definite perks of having an organized and experienced mom. As well as a college faculty and administrators that not only care about my condition, but are genuinely interested in how I'm doing. It's good to be at a place where people understand. Well at least people who need to understand do. Everyone else just won't.

It's funny how easily I got back into the swing of things. I'm back at school for three days now and I am already back in that pattern of "over the summer I did odd jobs"…or "I was an office assistant in New York". Because for me to explain to people what it is we did for 65 hours a week, or 16 weeks of the summer would be pointless. They will never 'get' it. Ironic though, considering this week alone the site probably got 48,000 hits. Luckily mostly from people who don't go to school with me.

Being back at school is like a vacation. I am looking forward to 'sleeping in' (until 6:30 instead of 5:30). I am looking forward to one -- maybe two -- classes a day. Tests, homework…that's a walk in the park since nobody's well-being is on the line. Spending an entire day -- an entire summer -- helping other people is what I'm here for. Writing 250 word essays on the history of the French Franc isn't. So school will be a good rest and a challenge at the same time. I can't wait to balance a full-time job growing CreakyJoints, taking my 16 credits of classes and finding time to make sure I don't run my body into the ground.