Not Your Grandma's Bad Knee

The Best Valentine

Beached with a flare up of arthritis, I sat down to watch a national television talk show (I generally dislike talk radio and talk television,) Dr. Phil McGraw is one of those characters I cannot, for the life of me, dislike, in spite of significant cultural differences between us. The episode featured a young woman, who spoke to the challenges she faces in suffering from a 'hidden' illness. Young and attractive, she is afflicted with Rheumatoid Arthritis. Based on her personal experience, she suffers equally from the common curse of today's society ... knee jerk judgment and extreme discourtesy. I get it, but, think she's doing a good deal more whining than her grandmother would ever have been allowed to do. My mother, for example, would have considered her complaining self-indulgent.

As the conversation progressed, however, she said of her R.A., "This is not your grandma's bad knee!" The good doctor had the common sense to add that osteoarthritis can be, itself, serious, or words to that effect. The conversation advanced, as though those words had not come from his mouth. I wanted so much more, and here it is! I never minimize anyone's pain or suffering, but, by God, I don't expect anyone to minimize mine. 

Osteoarthritis, if one of your elders has it, does not confine itself to a creaky knee. It is chronic inflammatory disease; it is degenerative, so today's painful knee, becomes tomorrow's second painful knee, and the next day's painful hip, stenosis of the spine, crippled, crooked hands or feet. Like rheumatoid arthritis, it's more benign cousin causes malaise, extreme fatigue, depression. Oh yeah ... most of the package, less pronounced, less dramatic though it may be. People die like flies from the pain medications and surgeries conventional medicine offers. Lives become as constricted as the movement of inflamed, swollen joints. 

“When we fail to set boundaries and hold people accountable, we feel used and mistreated. This is why we sometimes attack who they are, which is far more hurtful than addressing a behavior or a choice.” 

~Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who you Are

Here is the thing. People in the shopping center parking lot may not get nasty because I've parked in a handicapped space. Let's start, though, with the cashier at the check stand, who short changes me in a significant amount. When I tell him he is wrong and owes me $20, he reminds me not to have a heart attack. He stops short of calling me "grandma," so I stop short of dragging him to his manager by the scruff of his scrawny neck. My day is pretty much filled with this kind of insult. Later in the day my PCP says he wants me to confine my visits to his "geriatric clinic hours." He fails to treat me for arteriosclerosis, in spit of finding radiographic evidence of a hardening artery in my right leg. "We all get there," says he. He points out how fortunate I am to have lived long enough to have this happen. The result is a trenchant refusal to return to this guy's practice.

Ah but the day is not over. After the grocery store and PCP's office, I attend a volunteer orientation for Foster Grandparents. I'll be damned if the facilitator doesn't hand me a badge with "Grandma Kathy" on it. I hand it back to her, saying, "Madame, my name is Kathleen Cole, Ms. Cole, to you." On the return home, my neighbor holds the elevator door. He says, in a syrupy tone, "How are we today, dear?" I look at him, and say, "Hey, it's all good. Wazzup Adrian?" 

Thank God for my dog. She awaits me, tail wagging furiously. She is so excited, she runs full tilt 'round and 'round the apartment. To her I am worthy, beautiful, a source of constant care and entertainment, never mind the white hair and frown lines. To her I am that eternal goddess of Dr. Christian Northrup's vision:

http://www.drnorthrup.com 

As for me? I'm working on it, Doctor Northrup, and I have the starch to do it.