And hating it anyway

It’s been more than a decade since I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. It’s a disease that people often confuse with osteoarthritis because they both impact the joints and can lead to debilitating disability. And they both have the word arthritis in them. But my version is an autoimmune disease that is systemic. It adversely impacts various body systems and will probably shorten my lifespan by years.

This is not a post where I complain about my lot, though. All told, if you have to have an autoimmune disease, RA is a good choice. There’s a ton of research going on, and although I’m kind of jaded and wonder why drug companies would look for a cure when they garner about $50,000 a year for the drug cocktail I take, many people think there will be a cure in my lifetime. Compare that with the autoimmune diseases my mom has (almost every woman on my mom’s side of the family has at least one): Primary Biliary Cirrhosis and autoimmune hepatitis. There’s no funding going to them — regular old hepatitis gets all the liver money. So they give her immune suppressants and steroids and wish her luck. At least when one drug stops working for me, I have another bunch I can try.

What is hard is that my disease doesn’t leave me looking as disabled as I am. And that makes it hard for people — and for me — to believe I’m not just lazy. There are days when I could sleep all of one day and into the next, and there are days when I do just that. There are days when flossing and moisturizing is the apogee of my activity and I have to be satisfied with that. And then there is the placard.

I have it legitimately. Sometimes, parking close to my destination allows me to do things I wouldn’t be able or willing to do if I couldn’t snag the spot near the door. But I find it embarrassing to use. It forces me to admit to a reality that doesn’t mesh with how I like to view myself. I never used it when I was driving with the first guy I dated after reentering the pool. I figured it wouldn’t help my chances at finding Mr. Right — as if being dishonest about who I really am would.

So here I am, outing myself. I have a handicap placard in my car, and most days, I use it if there’s a space. And sometimes I feel a little cheesed off if there isn’t one. And sometimes, I don’t really need to use it, but I do anyway, figuring it’s this one benefit I get from being disabled. There. I said it. I’m disabled. And it sucks. Except for the part about being able to park conveniently at the movie theater.

For more information about Rheumatoid Arthritis, my favorite resource is the RA Warrior. She has arthritis, so she knows what she’s talking about, and also has links to the best websites.