Changing Seasons

In traditional Chinese medicine the closest translation of Rheumatoid Arthritis is fengshi bing, literally "wind-damp disease".
It's actually been fairly warm, here, despite the season. It will get cold for two days and then be 80* for the next solid week. The rheumy cat and I would just like it to settle on something so we can put the correct number of blankets on the bed and turn the heat on or off for more than six hours at a time. We wouldn't mind, really, if it wanted to be cold. We own three heating pads and an electric blanket, and this pile of old love letters scrounged out of my parent's attic ain't gonna burn itself.

You Mean I'm Too Young To Be This Sexy, Right?

How is your week going? Today I found out that my rheumy cat, who has been terribly sick over the past week, has pancreatitis on top of everything. Then I spent a futile couple of hours trying to find white wool at a local fabric store for this big ol' scary wedding thing I am designing. After that I got myself scheduled for a bunch of really awful oral surgery the week after I come home from vacation. Provided, of course, that the cat recovers quickly enough that we can GO on vacation...
Anyway.
As I was going through the preliminary crapola with the surgeon she glanced at my questionnaire and exclaimed "arthritis? You are too young to have arthritis!"
Which I get ALL the time.
Rheumatoid arthritis isn't even AT ALL the same thing as osteoarthritis. It doesn't care how old you are or how many grands jetes you have executed. It shouldn't even be called arthritis, really, the name is sort of a relic of a simpler (AKA: crappier) age when medical imaging wasn't common and accessible (not that it's all that accessible NOW. Says the woman who just had to pay out of pocket for a CT scan of one stupid tooth) and symptoms had to work as complete descriptions for diseases. These days we know that it's more like your immune system freaking the hell out and attacking itself because it is stupid and you can't explain anything to an immune system. They just won't listen.
Anyway, consider this your public service message for the day: Rheumatoid Arthritis doesn't give a damn how old you are. 6 year olds get diagnosed with it, for reals. 

Leg Mounts

I hate leg mounts. Leg mounts are those things where you grab your foot and try to développé it up over your head. You know... in a perfect world, with a perfect body. When I have to do them (in the real world, with an aging arthritic body that has only been dancing for three years) it's more like I grab a hold of whatever piece of leg I can and then hike it up to about 45* off the floor. Which isn't even as high as I can développé! But it's as high as I can stand to put the weight of my leg on my hands (legs are heavy! There must be like 20 pounds in a leg. No wait, I will look it up...okay so there are TWENTY SIX pounds in an average female leg! Yikes!) All that weight on my wrists (the first and most horribly sensitive bit of arthritis in my body) is impossible! It's why I stopped doing yoga. I used to be able to do shoulder stands and all kinds of ridiculousness, but NO WAY is that happening these days. My hands are my life, my ability to work. Screwing them up even more with no payoff just makes me angry!
Last night as I unsuccessfully hauled my leg up with my aching hand my teacher asked me if there was something wrong with me. Yes! Leg mounts are wrong with me! She said she should bring me a bungee to use. Which is the silliest freakin' mental image I have ever had. Strapping my ankle up in a bungee and hauling it up like a fish in a net...

Yeah, like that. Except not at all, even slightly.

Men, Listen Up

Woo! We have a dude, again! It's just that they are so rare, you kind of have to celebrate when they show up. And now we all get to bow like ballerinos* at the end of class. Oh yes, my adoring fans, I bow to you like a lady. And YES, the rest of my adoring fans, I nod my head to you and look down my nose upon your worthless selves because I am also a dude, now.
Dudes: we need more of them. Don't worry, guys! We aren't all nervous and judgmental about you! Well, I mean, yeah... so maybe we give your butt a passing glance (JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, MIND YOU) but we are actually perfectly happy when there is a representative of the other half of the species in the room. Well, no, only if they are in class and jumping around like idiots with the rest of us. Because that boyfriend guy who was taking videos on his iphone last week? Pretty creepy.

PS: RA flare up of amazing proportions going on. There are no words for it. My ankles are officially in on the deal. If I could have saved any of my parts, it would have been them. Class continues, come hell or high water.



*actual word

Raisins are Gross Enough Already

I was browsing Pinterest when I came across this:

click me!

Gin soaked raisins will cure your RA, guys! Or, you know, you could cut out the middle man and just DRINK HEAVILY. That oughta make you feel better. Aw yeah.

Sorry, sorry. But really? I will tell you what else will make your rheumatism feel better: competent medical care (I am working on that one, myself. BUT I hear it does wonders if you are lucky enough to find it).

No.

No, foot. No no no no no. I do not need another body part to be in constant pain. Especially not my foot. Knock it the hell off, foot, I want to take pre-pointe on Thursday.

Who is the Patron Saint of Bloggers? There Must be One.

Warning: I don't know nothin' 'bout nothin' when it comes to religious razzmatazz. I just happened to run across a list of the patron saints of stuff tonight and I spent a few amused minutes searching for random afflictions and seeing what popped up. There is a saint of insect stings, guys. No, really.
Anyhow...
Did you know that there is a patron saint of rheumatism and rheumatoid arthritis? Actually there are SIX! This guy here has got you covered: he's the saint of rheumatism, arthritis, milliners, veterinarians, and blacksmiths among many (and I do mean many) other afflictions, professions, countries, and whatnot. I'm particularly taken with him because his name is usually translated as "James" but can also be translated as "Jakome" the name of a beloved childhood pet cat.

And, in case you were wondering, there are not one, not two, but three patron saints of dancers. Here is one of them, Saint Vitus. Who also, apparently, has a metal band and a neurological disorder named after him:

I wonder if that makes him the patron saint of metal bands, too.