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When my husband and I promised,
"in
sickness and health," little did we anticipate what might
befall us 40 years later. I doubt many newlyweds do. We had enjoyed
excellent health until suddenly, the rheumatoid boom was lowered. For my
husband, Ken, the onset of the wretched disease seemed inevitable. His
father and paternal aunts had languished in nursing homes during their
"rheumatic years." I was adopted and knew nothing of family health
history.
Ken was in his late 60s, and I was seven years
younger, when after sudden extremity pain, we were diagnosed with
rheumatoid arthritis
at the same time. Good Lord – was it something we ate? Our
rheumatologist quickly and aggressively plied us with combinations of
the usual anti-inflammatory drugs and pain reducers. His chief
admonition was that we
"Keep It Moving!"
My darlin' and I met twice daily at our pill
drawers to swig down all manner of size, number, and color. Although the
buddy system surely made our plight easier, we nearly came to blows over
healthy eating. As the relentless caregiver, I donned my wifely nagging
hat and we managed to lose a few pounds, despite Ken's fast-food lapses.
However, keeping the old bodies moving resulted in
further parting of the ways between me and thee. While I strained and
winced during simple aerobics, Ken embraced lethargy in his big chair.
There was no moving him until his toes eventually turned up and under,
residing atop one another. A foot surgeon broke down Ken's metatarsal
joints and pinned his toes on one foot, and he was able to walk for
another few years. Fortunately, although my feet are crippled, I walk
well. I live with a left hand that sits at right angles to my wrist
called drifting, but it remains tolerable with daily exercise.
Ken had refused to retire, longing to remain active
in our insurance adjusting business. To avoid taking a chance falling
off weak and painful ankles, Ken used his many canes to see clients to
inspect home and auto damage. He looked distinguished rather than
decrepit, stating to one and all that he was just a bit stiff. (But
tired-looking and lopsided super-wide tennis shoes stood in sharp
contrast to his fancy canes and business attire!)
Sadly, further joint swelling and another painful
foot took its toll on our proud Pops. He refused to remodel tennis shoes
with strategically placed holes and considered sandals dangerously
flimsy, so our local ski shop came to the rescue, stretching the
leathers and manmades time and again. As for me, I remain happily in
vogue with my sloppy, oversized men's sandals worn with socks to hide
misshapen, but happy toes.
We both worry about our three grown children, none
of whom have shown alarming arthritis symptoms in their 40s and 50s.
Would Pops and I be dealing all three a certain RA hand? After inquiries
with numerous experts, there appeared a small light at the end of our
family tunnel. What
can be inherited are only the genes that may make someone
more likely susceptible, including those genes that control the immune
system. Scientists believe there's probably a 25% chance of inheriting
the disease. This suggests that most patients with the gene never
develop any clinical rheumatic symptoms of significance, but how does
that leave our children when both parents carry the gene?
Now, our 79-year-old Pops undergoes physical
therapy in typical good humor, and uses his walker cautiously. His
auto-immune system now gone, infectious side effects are hospitalizing
him often, and he relies on serious antibiotics. I, too, have weaned
myself from the newfangled bimonthly infusions, due to just plain
fright. After six months, so far, so good. At 72, I still move
vigorously and ingest only 1 mg of the anti-inflammatories.
Our supportive children refuse to give up on us. We
joyfully celebrated our 53rd wedding anniversary by driving our
snowmobiles on the annual 45-mile family excursion upon the serious
snows of
Yellowstone. Ken will now take refuge in his electric
wheelchair, downing meds, and caring for his daily diabetic needs, while
reflecting on that glorious weekend. Me, I'll keep on truckin' and thank
the Lord for these simpler twilight days as we put a whole new spin on
togetherness!
(c) 2007 Kathe Campbell |
