I’m not normal.

But we all knew that already.

When Ariana (who is now 10 and a half) was about two, I had some consistent pain in my left wrist. I finally went to the doctor when I couldn’t move my hand one morning to wave at her. My doctor, upon examining it said, “Your range of motion..or lack thereof is incredible.” Basically my hand could not move at the wrist.

He gave me some Vicoden, which I took one of and swore never to allow it to pass my lips again.

Fast forward to summer 2009, I was walking in a parade with my girls when I noticed my left middle finger was sore at the middle joint. It was also swollen and purple. I took a picture of it even. The discoloration and swelling went down after about 24 hours. But a few weeks later it was still tender, so I went to the doctor. I was smart and took my picture with me.

He gave me something for the pain and told me if it happened again I was supposed to call sooner and they would have to run some tests.

Off on and for the past eighteen months, I’ve had pain in the middle joint of both middle fingers. I have noticed some swelling and slight discoloration of the middle joint of my index, middle, and ring finger on my right hand. I still have occasional pain in the middle joint of my middle finger on my left hand.

Today, my left wrist started having considerable pain again.

I have a strong need to know. So I’m researching arthritis. I know I have it in my legs (but not necessarily in the joint which is odd..or maybe it is since it hurts from my knee to my heel). I am not liking what I’m reading.  I’m trying not to jump to conclusions which isn’t easy. I do have a very active imagination, when Mr. FullCup is 5 minutes later coming home than I think he should be, I have him dead and buried in 0.05 seconds. And feel like a fool when he walks in the door just as I’m getting really good at weeping and wailing for his dead body.

On an entirely different note, my girls have been in bed for 45 minutes when I hear a crash in Elizabeth’s room and then the skittering of little feet across the kitchen floor.  When I ask her what she is doing she tells me, “I was going into Ariana’s room to see if you can hear better in there.”

“Oh. What were you going to hear?”

She had no clue.

I’m not thinking she was awake.


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