My dancing days

It gives me great pleasure to think back on when I lived to dance. I loved to dance more than anything. As I was trying to get out of the bed the other morning. I had one hand on the bed pole and the other holding on to the base of my big bed. It took me every bit of 30 minutes to get out of bed. I begin to reflect back on the super dancer, the one that was able to do splits, cartwheels, the bump and everything else. Here I was, moving like a turtle to get out of the bed. Well it gets worse. I have a silk comforter on my bed. I somehow got twisted up and I came off that bed as if I was on a sliding board. I landed on the floor. So, here I am trying to get off the floor. Fortunately I did not hurt myself that bad, only twisted my wrist. The only thing that I could think while on the floor, get up dancer. Having RA, the dancer lost her her moves and she was just praying, Let me be able to get up off the floor. The next day, I felt the fall, my sliding off the bed. Even as bad as my Rheumatoid Arthritis is I can recall that woman who would dance her every problem away. It’s therapeutic to me to reflect on my dancing days. It even lessens my pain. It makes me laugh.

I know now, it is not possible to split somersault or any other move. The more I find it hard to move from A to B, I laugh and know somewhere inside of all the pain, suffering, stiffened joints, the dancer is doing a cartwheel. It is sometimes our fond memories that is our best healing. Laughter is always good no matter what disease you suffer from. I may have turned in my dancing shoes in because of my RA, but I haven’t turned in my ability to laugh at memories that is pleasurable.

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