My rheumatoid arthritis is called Fred.
No, I am not mad I just feel that when I am in pain, am exhausted, brain won't work I have someone to blame. That is where Fred comes in.
Today I sat in the car for hours and Fred is now complaining. Fred needs soothing so it is the head pad, TENS machine, rest in a comfy bed, painkillers and indulgence. Fred gets quite upset when I try and exercise, walk, be independent. But do I give in to Fred? Sometimes, like now, I will rest and let the screaming joints calm down. Other days I will keep going and going and going until I am in tears. I don't have the word pacing in my vocabulary and my husband will keep on about pacing yourself, you know it is best in the long run but I want to finish what I started.
When I get to the stage I am at this evening I need help. Help to undress, help to get ready for bed, help to get into bed; I feel like a baby. My husband cooks the food and cuts mine up to help me. I am very lucky but sometimes I don't show my appreciation.
I don't like asking for help and my husband says I am my own worst enemy. I feel so guilty you see for being ill, for having problems in doing things, not pulling my weight in the house and for having to ask people to do even simple things for me.
When I say this I am told that he wouldn't do some much for me if he didn't love me like he does. He knows how to make me cry!
The worst part is when I have a flare in my rheumatoid arthritis it is preceded by a change in my temperament. The poor man can't do anything right, but he carries on exactly as before doing things for me and helping me.
That is love.
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