My joints feel like someone crushed them with a hammer. My hands and feet hurt with every move I make.
The doctor says the bloodwork came back clean, and she'll refer me to a specialist.
I can no longer craft, or write by hand. No more penpal letters or handmade cards. No more solitary coffee dates with a pen and a notebook.
The specialist says the tests come back clean. Nothing to see in the bloodwork, or on the ultrasounds. So if the pain stays, I will see you in six months
I stop wearing bras with clasps, because I need help getting them on and off. On bad days I need help showering.
The specialist wants to order one last batch of tests, just to make sure. They come back clean. She says my joints are less stiff than last time. She asks for a number on how much it influences my life. She's surprised at how high it is.
I stop doing the things I love because the pain flareup afterwards is too big of a price to pay. I buy compression gloves, buy a new mouse and keyboard, buy tools and equipment and I still stop to shake out my hands every few seconds
I get a referral to a new specialist. They put radioactive material in my veins. More blood drawn. More material analyzed. It all comes back clean. I get told that's a good thing. At least it's nothing scary or serious
I hate throwing away food, but I have to more and more often. On bad days I can't cook. I buy pre-cut food or order in. I buy and buy and buy. I make smoothies for the mornings. It's easier
The specialists find nothing. I get a referral to a pain specialist. She talks to me about pacing. About learning to live with it. Tells me I'm already doing everything right
I type this out and pause every few lines. Shake out my hands and put down my phone. I do this while I drink my breakfast smoothie so I can finally take some painkillers
My hands continue to hurt
