Been humming the old Sesame Street song, That’s About The Size Of It…
Oh everything comes in its own special size I guess it can be measured by where you put your eyes It looks big when you're close And it looks smaller back a bit That's about the size of it. Oh the big becomes the little When you see it back a bit The huge becomes the dinky Which is just the opposite Of the larger that gets smaller It never seems to fit That's about the size of it. That's about the size It's where you put your eyes That's about the size of it.
Been thinking a lot about how, the way you look at things influences how you see things. Having RA isn’t any different than anything else. It is all, really, about where you put your eyes. The big becomes the little, the small things make up the bigger things… it is all about how you look at it.
I am no more defined by my RA/Sjögren’s/Raynaud’s than anyone is defined by the color of their skin, their gender or sexual preference, or where they are from. I have RA, it doesn’t have me.
I read what some people say about having RA, and they complain and whine and bitch about it so bad all the time. They never seem to have a positive thing to say about anything. I can’t figure out how they can be at all pleasant to be around sometimes.
I totally know I’m not pleasant to be around sometimes. I know I’m cranky and crabby when I hurt. <alert, when I have my surgery, I’m going to be cranky and crabby. It is going to hurt… but in the long run I will be much happier and less ouchy, I hope> but I’m such a small part of even my small corner of the world. There are so many people with things that are so much worse. There are so many people who are struggling to find out just what exactly is going on in their body and who are hoping that they aren’t getting worse in the process of trying to figure out what is going on. There are people who can’t enjoy being around themselves because of the demons that are in their brains (the Insanity in Green lady I watched on Friday is a great example of this). Why should I think that the entire world owes me being bitchy… why should anyone feel sorry for me?
Empathize… yeah, that’s wonderful.
Hugs are great too
Even wrapping myself in my crocheted throw that was made for me with loving patience… especially when I’m feeling down or cold (inside or out)
Bitch slap me when I’m being whiny is good too… it keeps me from taking myself too seriously.
But everybody has something. When you look at what you have in the HUGELY bigger picture of the war and famine and strife in the whole wide world… When you look at your life compared to people just getting started in the world and facing their own shit… When you look at what you have compared to walking through Children’s Hospital, or the Veteran’s Hospital, or the people who sit and don’t have anyone to talk to but the people who are only their in their minds and who they rail at anyway…
Am I really so much worse off?
My knuckles hurt (now more than for quite a while), and my toes hurt… and my knees and hips, and… knees… and back… and ankles (Oh I am SO looking forward to taking my tummy shots again)… and my shots do things that I don’t like… but… so.
I know that other people have way worse side effects from their MTX. I know that a lot of people take loosing even some of their hair EXTREMELY to heart… but there are so many people even way worse off than that. I don’t like seeing pictures of myself with my hair so thin, but, I don’t really dwell on it all that much (until I get a sunburn… then I dwell for a while).
I keep thinking that, If I’m healthy enough to get online to write with a computer of any kind… I can decide I’m going to complain and whine or I can decide I will try to do something constructive. If I do something constructive… maybe I can be a bush by the side of the rill and some highway happier make (Douglas Malloch… The Best Of Whatever You Are)… there is enough negativity in the world… maybe a little sunshine would be good.
A Figment Of Fitness 