Thank God I am just passing through

 

 

 

These last few weeks I have been in so much pain thanks to my fibromyalgia that I sometimes cry. 

 

Added to all the usual pains of fibro, my hands have now succumbed to arthritis to the point that they are bent like a claw.  My rheumatologist took bloods and an Xray and told me I have osteoarthritis in the hands.

 

It  is progressively getting worse and the pain is overwhelming. My thumb is so sore under the base and I can no longer pick anything up as my thumb will not bend at all.

I have so much pain these days that I often become depressed and cry for just one day of no pain. But that day never comes. I go to bed in severe pain and I wake even worse as the morning stiffness so common in fibromyalgia takes hold of me.

My rheumatologist confessed to me that she there isn't a lot she can do for me and I find my self in despair.

I love the scripture verse in the picture above. It reminds me that this world and therefore, this pain, will pass one day. That thought gets me through some days.

There's a better place in the horizon for all believers and I am grateful for that. LORD knows, I am ready to enjoy a pain free life.

I thank God I am just passing through this sad old world.

 

 

When I do, I don't!

 

When I was a young woman, I ironed clothes as soon as they were bought in from the line. It was something as regular as clock work.

Gradually as the babies came and later on, spinal problems, it dwindled until I only ironed what was strictly necessary, that is- what was seen.

Twenty three years ago, my iron was kept in the linen press and only saw the light of day for service on a high holiday such as a wedding or funeral! 

As fibromyalgia overtook my life and abilities, my iron was boxed for posterity and now serves as a door stop to keep my back laundry door open when the dryer is in use!

Life for a sacrificial home keeper is difficult enough with what absolutely must be done to keep a home. There are things that must be done daily and goodness knows, there are little enough spoons or energy to do that, let alone lift a heavy appliance and stand or sit to iron clothes.

With sleep a precious but scarce commodity, coupled with tearing sore muscles, we must keep our home making simple. Ironing is simply too taxing on the chronically ill woman to seriously consider as part of a daily routine.

At first, I was particular about how I hung my washing out, in order to leave no creases and so minimise the visual effect of unironed clothes. But over recent years, polymyalgia rheumatica and arthritis vyed with fibromyalgia for first place in pain stakes.

I could no longer lift my arms to peg the washing out, and I was forced to make use of my dryer every time.

By doing just a load of washing a day, it doesn't build up and I find with less clothes in the dryer, that they come out almost wrinkle free. I try to grab them as soon as the drying cycle is over. All they require is a quick shake as I fold them and put them away.

Don't get me wrong! The OCD and perfectionist in me baulks at having to do this, but the practical and pragmatic inner woman says it is OK. It is simply my new normal.

There's plenty of tasks each day vying for first place in sucking on my limited spoons, so when I have a few spoons and I am tempted to drag my iron out of its' box: I don't!

Today's lists are:

• Clean kitchen
• Do a load of washing
• Cook chicken garlic breasts and mashed potato for dinner

The last stitch

So I decided to do some knitting recently. As a knitter all my life, I have a considerable stash of yarn and knitting needles. 

Vying for my attention are a large assortment of crochet hooks, needles, cottons of a myriad of colours, embroidery cottons and buttons. 

Dragging my knitting bag out of storage, it was like a greeting of old friends. I have been knitting since the age of 6 when my grandmother taught me both to knit and crochet.

We have 15 grandchildren and 2 great-granddaughters and I made my customary jacket, booties and bonnet set in blackberry stitch for all of them- except the little great-granddaughter. Goodness knows, I tried to make her a mint green shawl that her mother had requested, but halfway through, it got too heavy and I had to abandon it.

I refused to be beaten and decided to do it in squares, but alas, my deformed arthritic fingers could not manage to crochet. We moved out of the RV and with plenty of time at home, I decided to give knitting a go again.

As I cast on for a little jacket, I suddenly was overcome with tearing pain and searing muscles, and my fibromyalgia screamed, "Enough! How dare you think you can enjoy yourself by being creative!?"  Tearfully, I put the wool and needles down, went to the kitchen and took some paracetamol.

I rummaged through my knitting bag, the memories overwheming me. Leftover wools from all the previous baby clothes I had ever made, a remnant of the shawl I commenced but couldn't finish and buttons- every colour and all the same little pearlised look. 

A haunting memory of the endless baby jackets over the last 54 years of expecting children then grandchildren assaulted my brain, leaving me with a certain sadness for happier years and then years gone by so quickly.

Fibromyalgia and chronic pain have taken away so much from me, and it was hard to put that bag away again. But I will keep it to remind me of happier times when my muscles didn't hurt just keeping my arms up to knit or my neck didn't feel like it was breaking as my arms moved in quick rhythm to the casting on. 

I know this probably isn't blogging material, but I think we Sacrificial Home Keepers need encouragement. So, enjoy what you can still do, because with fibromyalgia and other chronic illness, we never know when it will be the last button we sew, letter we will handwrite,  or like me, what will finally be the last stitch.