Getting Older with RA and Used Napkins
“Getting old isn’t for the faint of heart.” My grandfather was rather famous for saying that every time he had an ache or pain (or worse), and the older he got, the more he said it. I think it increased every year exponentially and he lived until he was 95, so yeah, to say we heard it a lot would be the understatement of the year. The point is, I never really understood what he meant – or, more accurately, I thought I knew exactly what he meant because I’ve had rheumatoid arthritis since I was nine. Basically, I was born old, so I figured no sweat. Well, as it often does, life has a way of making you eat your words.
Getting RA at a young age
Getting rheumatoid arthritis, or any chronic illness, at a young age is a weird experience. Ultimately though, I came to the conclusion that it was probably better for me to get it young, despite the bullying and inability to participate, rather than getting it as an adult. It was much easier to incorporate it into my daily routine, accept the things I couldn’t do, and cobble together a life around that. Part of that is learning to see some of the good that RA and other chronic illnesses can provide. Yes, there are good things – it’s not all bad.
I have had so many opportunities to speak, teach, and even be honored that I wouldn’t have had without my RA, and that helps to mitigate the downsides. Also, I’d tell myself things like, “you figured out what you were made of early in life, unlike most people,” and “you handle pain better than most,” and the one that we’re here to talk about, “you already know what it’s going to be like when you get old, so you won’t even flinch.” Well, I’m flinching.
Aging2 + chronic illness2 =
You see, as the universe is wont to do, when it heard me brag as a teenager that getting old would be “no big deal” because of my RA, it jotted down a little note on its “cosmic reminders” list that probably said something like “Dan said getting old is a piece of cake. LOL.”
Now that the time of oldness is, let’s call it, no longer a place way over the horizon, I am starting to realize that I made a huge miscalculation. It turns out that instead of the formula for getting older being RA plus aging, it’s actually a complicated formula from a Pythagorean nightmare where aging squared, plus being chronically ill squared, equals seeing more aches and pains than you ever thought possible. Squared. Yeah, it looks like rheumatoid arthritis is going to make aging worse by orders of magnitude and that, well, sucks.
Getting older is tougher than I thought
Look, it’s not like I’m a stranger to being kicked in the n… err, teeth by my RA. I have had this ridiculous illness take so many things away from me at the last minute that even the New York Islanders go, “damn, that sucks.” After thirty-plus years, you can imagine the things I’ve lost because of the RA and its associated conditions. Girlfriends, wives, careers, jobs, money, opportunities, WEARING SHOES – the list goes on and on, and at this point, I’m more or less immune to it. I allow myself an hour or two of grieving and sadness and then move on because I’ve dealt with it so much that now I’m an expert at loss. This aging plus RA thing, though, I’m having a tougher time with.
Normal pain vs. RA pain
Getting old is something that everyone has to come to terms with. If I was a normal, healthy man nearing his mid frmpphs… I might buy a sports car, get a 21-year-old girlfriend, or buy a model train set. You know, all the normal and acceptable things that come with a proper, respectable mid-life crisis. The thing is, I’m not a “healthy” man. Two out of three of those things above might actually kill me. I’ll let you decide which (the model train scene can be pretty cutthroat from what I hear).
So here I sit, trying to decide what to do to deal with the fact that not only do I have RA aches and pains to deal with, I have the “normal” aches and pains of aging to deal with as well. It’s weighing on me and even if I try to escape it, life reminds me.
What's the deal with all these tissues?
Did you know that somehow, there will always be a crumpled-up tissue or napkin in your pocket after a certain age? Seriously, I don’t know how they get there. Maybe there’s a crumpled-up napkin fairy that comes at night to men of a certain age and fills our pockets with used Kleenexes while we sleep. It’s like a much more disgusting tooth fairy (admittedly, the whole giving money for bloody teeth that fall out of your head is pretty gross already).
Either way, though, every time I reach into my pocket and find a ratty old Dunkin’ Donuts napkin, I’m reminded that I’m getting older – older than the age I thought was “old” back when I was 21. That and other little reminders constantly poke my brain and make it impossible to forget that things will probably get worse before they get, well, before they get even worse. In other words, it’s impossible to do what I normally do and distract myself.
Staying optimistic
So here I am, and as of this time, I don’t have an answer for you. I have to figure out, as everyone does, how to come to terms with it and once I do, you can rest assured I will share it with you. In the meantime, though, I’ll try to keep a positive outlook and tell myself that older doesn’t necessarily mean worse. That, and cleaning out the tissues from all the pockets of all my jackets. Seriously, how are there so many? Talk soon.
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