smarter than me

I have a teenage son. And as so many teenagers are, he is smarter than I am. Just ask him. He has everything figured out.

That doesn't detract from the fact that sometimes he is smarter than I am.

Last night he commented that there was a time when he hated me. I have rheumatoid arthritis, recently diagnosed, but I've had it for at least four years. I used to refer to it as the "mystery disease." It changed my life, and not for the better as far as I was concerned. I hated the disease. I hated the changes in my life. I had always been very physically active. I ran a horse stable and conducted riding lessons by myself. I went to horse shows. Running a barn requires a lot of physical work, like cleaning stalls, stacking hay, carrying water buckets, stuff like that. Teaching riding lessons requires grooming and tacking up horses, and a lot of walking and sometimes running to stay with the students who may not have great balance, and need reassurance.

So the mystery disease slowly ended my career as a riding instructor and as a barn manager. I was faced with not knowing who I was without that identity. Also, whose body was this? The one that wasn't strong anymore? I had defined myself as an athlete, and now I wasn't one.

At the same time I was struggling with Veterans Health Care physicians to convince them that I had a physical illness that was causing me severe pain and disability. They thought it was just part and parcel of my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). In other words, I was crazy, not sick. No, I insisted, I am crazy and sick.

So I went through a long period of depression. I alternated between giving up and continuing to fight for health care. And I endured a lot of untreated pain. In the meantime my joints were starting to be eaten away by the RA.

The time when I was so depressed, my son says, was the time when he hated me. He explained, "Every change brings something positive, you just may not see it at the time. Maybe it's something you've already done, or something so small that you don't see it, or something you are doing now, that doesn't seem important to you."

This amazed me, coming from the boy who once told me, "The glass isn't half full. The glass isn't half empty. The glass is fucking broken." Ok, we both laughed about that one, which was part of the point. Inanity, you know?

Back to the part about changes. So what positive changes have resulted from the RA?

I am no longer arrogant about physical superiority. Make no mistake, I was arrogant. I was a very talented, agile rider, and I looked down on people who weren't fit. I took my own fitness and good health for granted. So, can it be that perhaps I have developed more compassion and empathy?

I get to shop at the local store on the day when seniors and the disabled get 5% off. This means most of my fellow shoppers are retirees. I used to find them annoying because they moved so slowly down the aisles, and I had Lots Of Important Things To Do. For some reason this isn't an issue for me any more. I also have the opportunity to smile at people at the store, and sometimes make brief small talk. We have a common bond, the willingness to be kind.

I no longer have a barn full of horses to take care of. I have one 24-year old horse whom I have "owned" for 20 years. We have been to all of the local shows and have a wall full of ribbons. He has taught lessons for me for years, and I can't count how many mortgage payments he made on this place through his hard work. Now I have the time to groom him every day before I turn him out into his pasture. He nickers to me and "grooms" me back by rubbing his mouth on my shoulder or arm. I get to watch him walk around his pasture eating grass, and he is beautiful because his coat is clean and shiny, and because I love him.

I've discovered that some people don't believe in disabilities. They just have no imagination or empathy or something. Many people who used to be friends decided to cut and run. Then there are those who don't. I have discovered that one good friend, like one good horse, is enough to bring happiness, peace, and love to my life.

And then there is that son of mine, to always remind me that sometimes family can be friends too. Even if they used to hate you.