“…My hands are small, I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own…”
-
“Hands”
by Jewel
RA
hands. Kind of like jazz hands. But not.
Not even close. Just the
opposite.
Jazz hands are excited, fingers splayed and moving
fervently.
RA hands
are hands that can barely be splayed at all.
They are stiff, bulbous, sometimes deformed.
It’s only
recently that I’ve begun to notice the occurrence of bulbous joints. And to me, not only do they feel bad, they
look gross. My fingers look like little
sausages, no definition at the joints, just puff.
I think
that for those who do not have RA, they take for granted all that their hands
do. And you don’t realize how much they
do and how important they are until your function becomes limited. Then you realize that your hands are a key
instrument in daily life.
Hands are
also a measure of time.
There’s a
Celtic wedding tradition, The Blessing of the Hands, or Hand Blessing, the
origin of which I am not completely sure.
I’m not Celtic, but I love the words and the meaning:
These
are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your
future.
These
are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the
years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other.
These
are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.
These
are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of
sorrow, and tears of joy.
These
are the hands that will tenderly hold your children.
These
are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one.
These
are the hands that will give you strength when you need it.
And
lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be
reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a
touch.
Like I said,
I love the words and the sentiment, but at the same time, it makes me sad. If you look at my hands, at least with respect
to the fingers and joints, they look beyond their years, like I’ve been toiling
laboriously for many, many more decades than I have actually been alive.
In reality,
my hands tell a story, the story of RA. It
starts at the tips of my fingers and moves along, taking stock of the changes
that have taken place in the rest of my body.
Wrists that lock and pop, elbows that do not have full extension
anymore, shoulders that balance the weight of
the world, hips that lock and smart, knees that support this body, just
barely sometimes, and toes that are genetically defunct. But it all begins in the hands.
For now,
my hands function despite the bulbous joints, but it’s sometimes hard to hold a
hardcover book, I struggle with doing and undoing buttons, and opening
jars.
A writer
needs her hands to write, and I won’t let that get taken away because that is
all I have. The pen is mightier than the
sword. The person is mightier than the
illness. I have to stay one step ahead, or
one finger ahead.
I had a Celtic wedding ceremony - we had the reading that you quoted above, and a handfasting. Ironic, since I didn't know I had RA yet. Who knew what problems those hands would have!
ReplyDeletelove that blessing!
ReplyDeleteWe took some shots of my sister's hands and mine on the weekend (more on that later) and I saw what my hands would have looked like without RA. She has really beautiful hands. It hurt a bit to see it.
Still, my hands offer love every day and they get me through the day. And they helped write a book, although my voice did most of the work. Remember that being a writer is about more than typing - you can get around that. And you have everything else you need.
I loved this post. I feel the same way about my hands - they are starting to look deformed and "swan" and I see the toll my RA has taken everyday right in front of me.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing.
What a beautiful story you share and I love that blessing. Although all my tests come back "within range or slightly elevated" my doctor keeps saying no I don't have RA but I remember what my grandma and aunt would say about how their hands felt before they got diagnosed with RA and I am going through the same. I wish I knew a way to better express what is going on before the damage is beyond help.
ReplyDelete