I don’t use the common name of the disease I’ve had for almost three decades. Instead, I call it rheumatoid disease, and there’s a reason.
As a writer, I love words. They have enormous power. They mold and shape how we think about and perceive the world around us. Call a forest “beautiful” and I’ll think of Bambi; call it “dark” or “looming” and I’ll think of the monsters that might be hiding in the understory hoping to shoot his mother dead. But it’s still just a forest: a thick stand of trees, plants, and underbrush that provides a thriving environment for insects, birds, and animals, along with a ready source of food, fuel, shelter–and fantasy–for human beings.
So why not use the commonly accepted name “rheumatoid arthritis” to describe my old nemesis?
Read the rest at RheumatoidArthritis.net