My Hands

Hands. I took them for granted for a full 30 years.

I need them to pour water, unscrew my toothpaste, grasp my crochet needle and to give a firm handshake.

For six months I woke up with pain shooting through my knuckles and left wrist. I pretended it didn't exist. As I winced slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I told myself that surely it was something weird and would go away soon.

Nope.

After a foot surgery to remove a mass and foot discomfort, my doctor recommended I see a rheumatologist. I balked at the idea. I'm just thirty years old, active, fairly healthy and always had control over my body.

My roommate encouraged me to keep the appointment the doctor had scheduled. The specialist ordered blood work and confirmed my fears - I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. I didn't know what that meant. But a quick google search revealed that I had an auto immune disease. The worst part; I couldn't make it go away. Yes, I'm learning there are ways to manage the pain, address the inflammation, but that's different.

This is the beginning of a journey I wish I didn't have to travel. Sometimes my heart is at peace, other times I'm angry at God. There are days where I love the challenge of tackling this from a functional medicine perspective and other days where I just want the pain to be gone. 

Pouring water, unscrewing my toothpaste, crocheting, now these basic activities aren't without pain. I'm hoping it'll get better. I'm actively working with a doctor. I pray for healing. But I have to be ok with this. I have to learn to trust my Jesus in a whole new way. 

I'm still learning, but I have a patient Teacher.