Last week I received a bubbly email from Jenny. She asked me to review a product she represents because, she explained, she thought it might be helpful for people with arthritis in their hands and fingers.

Hmm, thought I. And what new, wondrous, why-didn’t-I-think-of-that product might this be? I read on.

Key caps. Yep, little colored caps for your house keys, mail keys, office keys, you-name-it keys. With stick-on labels.

Now, these are handy in their own right. But how in the world might they help people with rheumatoid disease, lupus, psoriatic arthritis, osteoarthritis, and any of the other 100-or-so types of arthritis? Jenny piqued my interest. I had to know, so I replied to her email, agreeing to try her key caps and review them for my RheumaBlog readers.

Nice, neat, easy-to-open packaging. I just taped the top closed again so I won’t lose my key caps.

My set of Label-Label Key Caps—that’s the brand—arrived on Saturday. I immediately set to liberating a few, along with their labels, from the package*. There were eight (8) key caps in a variety of both bright primary and pastel colors, and two sets of 16 labels (eight printed with HOME, GARAGE, OFFICE, and GATE, and eight blank, for each key cap.)

*Anyone who has arthritis in their hands knows the blood-pressure-raising fury that takes hold when faced with that Horrible Plastic Eggshell (HPE) packaging. It can’t be pried open without amazing, muscle-y gyrations (maybe a very large octopus could do it) and cutting the stuff requires ultra-strong, sharp scissors—or better, a terrorist-style box-cutter with a brand-new razor blade. Not only are HPE packages dreadfully painful for anyone with arthritis to open, the cut edges of the plastic casing are dangerously sharp and poke-y. There. Will. Be. Blood.

But I’m off on a tangent-rant. They don’t package Label-Label Key Caps in that bloody HPE!

It was super-easy to access the key caps and the labels.

Instead, the clear plastic package is thin and molds around the shape of the key caps, yes. But it’s attached to the thin cardboard backing (not more cursed HPE!) by three simple, narrow folds and a single staple, not that aggravating Eternal Adhesive from Hell (EAH). The top of the packet is open. It was too tight for me to slide a finger down into, but I was easily able to unfold one side of the plastic to access both the key caps and the labels.

None-to-minimal pain, people. This is important.

I hand-lettered one of the sticky labels “Mom” and stuck it onto my house key (which I washed off first with a little soap and water, as per instructions, which were simple and clear). The label stuck tight and stayed when I stretched the key cap over it. The letters fit into the little window perfectly.

The rubbery key caps themselves are thick, soft, and grippy. And they’re amazingly stretchy. Mom’s condo key is easily the largest of the keys on my key ring, other than my car key, but the bright yellow Label-Label Key Cap stretched neatly over it.

There was one drawback: putting the rubbery cap on the key was tough for me. My hands and fingers have been particularly tender and swollen because of an ongoing flare and a rapidly rising barometer. Working the cap over the key and snugging it down elicited a fair amount of wincing and groaning. It hurt.

However, I did it. It took only about 30 seconds and was absolutely worth the discomfort.

Success!

Because now, Mom’s bright red house key is easy to see and pick out from among all the others on my ring. Not only that: because of the thick, rubbery cap, it’s easier for me to grip and turn when unlocking and re-locking the door (I tried it). So in spite of that one wee drawback, Label-Label Key Caps are a Label-Label win-win, just as Jenny promised they would be.

I wanted to use another key cap for my aunt’s house key, but because of the “ouch” factor, I asked my 82-year-old mother to put it on for me. She did it cheerfully–and easily–in no time. Nothing wrong with her fingers!

So, see, if your hands are too sore for you to put your Label-Label Key Caps on your keys yourself, then anyone standing around handy nearby can manage it for you, if they’re nice like my mother. It will make them smile—it’s sort of fun to put the cap on the key. Plus, they get to help someone they like and admire, and this little good deed adds a few more degrees of positive energy to their life-karma. Another Label-Label win-win!

And since we’re speaking of wins, Jenny from Label-Label Key Caps informed me that the company would be delighted to invite RheumaBlog’s fans to win some free key caps of their own. She wrote, “…in order to win a package of key caps, they must go to our Facebook page at http://on.fb.me/1rnMrdd, like our page, share one of our posts, and comment below the color of key caps they like best!”

Sounds pretty easy to me. 😉

Label-Label Key Caps really are a fine little product. I had fun trying them and writing about them. And they’ll make unlocking the door just a little less “owwww-y!

I mentioned in my last post that my daughter’s birthday was last week. Here’s the cake I made her just before she arrived:

And here is it afterward:

I started a new art project too: colored pencils on pastel paper. The subject? A Stellar’s jay that lives near my home in the mountains.

Hard to believe it’s been nearly a month since I last posted!

And yes, June was a busy month–just as I anticipated. Suddenly, my freelance workload picked up, so I was squashing in bursts of writing at all hours between numerous trips to Sacramento County to visit and tour potential new homes, sorting and packing stuff from closets and from under beds, bittersweet runs to the local hospice charity thrift with boxes full of donations, and several irksome dump runs.

And of course, along with the physical work, there was the emotional cost of preparing for a move as momentous as this one. Nerves were jumpy, tempers on edge, the next mini-burn-out just one more aggravation away.

But we did it. I’m pleased to say that Mom and I weathered the storm. Aside from a few flat-out sick days for her and my usual daily thrum of rheuma-dragon-induced discomfort, we did just fine. It was all systems go.

Then our buyer’s loan fell through. We’d finally found the perfect condo and were *this* close to putting money down; while we were both glad everything went pfffft before that money changed hands, we were pretty bummed. We still are, since it means starting all over again. But as time moves on, we’re both glad to have a little breathing space again. (And of course, just as the pressure was relieved, my writing assignments slowed back down to a trickle. I’m going to do some artwork instead.)

Mom’s condo is back on the market, so we’re once again keeping it in pristine, eat-off-the-floor condition 24/7 (an aside: my mother being the fanatical neat-nik that she is–and her advancing age hasn’t changed that–her home has always been pristine 95 percent of the time, so this isn’t any huge change  😉 ).

And of course, I always look for–and find–silver linings. Although there still may be some culling and tossing left to do depending on the size of the apartment or condo we eventually move into, I think we did darned good job of Getting Rid of Things. The Load is much smaller. In fact, some of the hardest stuff, emotionally, has been dealt with. When this move finally happens, I’m hopeful that it will be much less painful overall than it might have been.

My RA has been bothersome, but it didn’t ramp up into The Awful Flare I was afraid of. FDR was never so right as when he said “the only thing we have to fear is…fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.” It remains concentrated mainly in my hands and feet, a constant, mostly-low-level throb and ache. When it grows larger, I can just about count on seeing that the barometer is rising on my Weather.com page. And while there have been some rough, painful nights, even those were relatively few. So far, so good.

In other news, my daughter turned 33 (!!?!) last week. I baked her a rainbow cake and gave her a very nice set of high-quality colored pencils. Like me, she’s an artist, so I hope the gift will inspire and motivate her. I have the same set myself–and I’m about to start a new project.

Why now? Why not?

I hope this finds all of you feeling good and enjoying the summer. Here’s wishing everyone a great 4th of July.

So now, the dragon is gnawing and blowing searing-hot breath onto the bottoms of my feet, mainly at the base of my toes.

It’s been so long since he did that.

I could do without the reminder. Although my life was full of wonder and adventure back then —I was living and working in Germany during the final years of the Cold War and the joyous fall of the Berlin Wall—I was also struggling with daily, almost unremitting pain on a scale that I’d never before experienced. RD attacked my body and joints within months of arriving there.

This pain, in the here and now, isn’t as awful as it was back then. I say that a lot in these posts, and it’s true, but sometimes I feel like I’m apologizing for complaining about it at all. But pain is pain, and it still takes a moment-by-moment toll on the way I live and work. I wake, as I used to, wondering how on Earth I’ll push through it all day. Simply getting out of bed is demoralizing.

Maybe what I’m feeling now is a sort of weary disbelief. My RD was dormant and mild for so many years, I held onto the hope that it might stay that way. After all, I broke down and started seeing a rheumatologist when the dragon began nibbling on my hands again. I started taking drugs for RD—something I’d decided I’d never bother with again after their spectacular failure during my first 10 years with the disease. I was proud of myself for taking this preventive step; for facing the slow re-awakening of my nemesis head on with humor and bravery.

I guess I hoped I’d headed the monster off at the pass. I don’t want to believe he was too big for me.

With my hands constantly swollen, sore, and achy, and now my feet falling under attack as well, I find myself waiting—with some fear, I’ll admit—for the next blow. What will it be? A knee? A big toe? A shoulder? My rheuma-dragon’s ally, hip bursitis, is flaring again, as well—perhaps it’s in training for a ferocious, full-on attack.

I’m trying not to be discouraged. I recognize that stress, in all its forms, affects RD negatively. My stress levels have risen recently, it’s true, though I reject being stressed by finally having work to accomplish each week. I love freelancing. I love writing. I love being paid for my skill and my work. How could it cause me any stress? I don’t feel stressed over it. I approach my desk with pleasure each day.

And yet, the reality is that deadlines are stressful, and stress—even mild stress—creates whatever those chemicals are in my body that trigger more flares. Just acknowledging that stresses me. The hard fact is that there’s no such thing as a blissful little stress-free bubble for me—or anyone else—to live inside of. The only way we achieve that is by dying.

I’d rather not do that, just yet.

The other, more obvious source of stress (and in turn, increased RD activity) is preparing to move mom into a new home. (And me with her, of course.) We’re presently in the serious process of looking for an apartment or condo to rent or lease—and discovering just how appallingly small even “large” apartments really are, along with their equally appalling prices. To move into one we can afford, Mom must discard, donate, pass along to me and my sister, or sell ¾ of her current belongings. To say that everything she possesses is coated in a thick patina of memories and sentiment is an understatement. And she’s soldiering on, but she’s grieving. She knows this move, which will strip her of most of her physical reminders of a cherished past, will be her last, a final defeat as the generous nest egg Dad left her dwindles away in an ever more expensive and bewildering world. Her courage humbles me.

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m stressed just witnessing the process.

Now add to all that, that Mom and I interact with each other, daily, with the underlying tension of the universal mother-daughter relationship. Add to that two strong women living in a single household in which one has the power and authority of age, relationship, and ownership, and the other has, well, none of the above.

Stressful? Yes. I can’t wait for this move to be over with.

I worry about Mom, too. Her physical health is, naturally, fragile and slowly becoming more so. She’s 82, after all. Her short term memory is increasingly spotty—and her long-term memory is starting to show distortions, too. I’m fearful that this move will exhaust her, forcing her to watch, helpless and powerless, from the sidelines as her incompetent, lazy elder daughter dismantles and discards her life.

Stressful. So stressful.

Well, there’s nothing I can do about any of this except roll with it. And try not to get too stressed. [laughing] I’ll just acknowledge that my rheuma-dragon has cleverly chosen to launch his real attack at the most opportune time for him, and defend myself as best I can. I’ll meditate. Try to get out for a walk each morning. Breathe. Pace myself. Rest when I can. Take my meds and push on through. This is a big ol’ bump in the road, but it will be behind me by summer’s end.

I’ll just take it one day at a time.

Once again, it’s been forever (OK, it just seems like forever) since I’ve checked in here at RheumaBlog. My excuse? The month of May has been a little … busy.

Mom put her condo on the market last July (hard to believe it was that long ago! We’ve been living in “show” mode ever since) and, after many mini-flurries, then major flurries, then no flurries at all of interest, it finally sold. Just last week. There have been new and overwhelming flurries of real estate phone calls, questions, and paperwork ever since.

And then there was the usual monthly line-up: doctor appointments and lab tests and follow-up appointments with Mom’s primary care doc, her cardiologist, her gastroenterologist, and her urologist. The results so far? Mom’s age is taking its normal toll on her body and her heart, which is slowly, naturally wearing down. Smoking for 40 years and breathing for 82 have also weakened her lungs, but not nearly like you’d expect. She has a twitchy, unhappy tummy (nothing new). She’s prone to infections in her waterworks, like most elders.  But overall, “you’re doing great compared with most people your age I see.” This was the verdict given  Mom  recently by her nurse practitioner, a smart, super-competent, smiling, middle-aged woman Mom likes far more than her tiny, blonde, teen-aged primary care doctor, who still has (I swear!) baby fat and braces on her teeth.

Also, this month we took Kitty-Kitty to the vet for her rabies vaccine and some matted fur issues and discovered some amazing things about her innards (more on that another time). I spent a week away, caring for my

“Mrs. Beasley,” the doll that 6-year-old Buffy carried everywhere on the 70s sitcom “Family Affair.”

disabled uncle while my aunt visited a friend in Washington state. I had the straight hair on the front and sides of my head permed to match the rheuma-med-side-effect curly hair on the back of my head. Now all my hair is curly. I look a bit like Mrs. Beasley (even the glasses) but I like it.

As all this was happening, I continued to enjoy a steady trickle of free-lance work. It filled up the time I had left over from daily house re-cleaning and neatening for possible showing, Mom-caring-for, and the contemplation of and preparation for putting colored pencils to paper in an effort to scratch my inner “you must make art!” itch. More on that another time, too.

Then, last week, my uncle from Washington, D.C. arrived for a five-day whirlwind visit (he’s a whirlwind of the first order, just like my mom was before advancing age finally forced her to be satisfied with intermittent but furious gusts). Three days later, my sister from New Mexico (another, little-er whirlwind) arrived for a seven-day visit. Thus began casino jaunts, trips out for restaurant meals, a dinner party, and shopping trips. After uncle left, we had a much-needed, full day of rest.

And then we started looking at apartments to move into down in Sacramento. My sister flew back to Santa Fe yesterday.

Today, for the first time this week I have some time to work on a couple of new free-lance articles. The deadline is EOB tomorrow. Mom wants to go see some more apartments and start the exhausting process of getting-rid-of in earnest, as moving her into an apartment will mean some seriously major downsizing. But I can’t help her until my own work is done—I need to have some income. We’ll have to arrange some sort of schedule so that both of us are able to meet our responsibilities.

Finally, there’s my old rheuma-dragon. Since I posted last time with my good news, he’s become even more active. He gnaws, hard, almost ceaselessly on my hands, and he’s starting in on my feet. Yesterday he chewed on my right shoulder for most of the day. None of this is serious pain. I’d classify it as a 5-6 on the ubiquitous pain scale, but it’s bothersome. I fear it doesn’t bode well.

Along with the nagging pain, I’ve had many more of those RA fatigue and brain-fog days. They’re new symptoms for me. Please excuse me, but I really frigging hate both. Unlike my relatives, I’m not and have never been a high-energy whirlwind. My usual pace is relaxed and sauntering. But it’s always worked just fine for me (and driven my mom and sister nuts. Tough s—t, as they say). This fatigue, though, is killer. It slows me way past my usual no-hurry pace, though so far I think I’ve been able to cover it. And I know: the secret to coping with it is pacing myself. But I’m a newbie. I’ve never had to consciously pace myself because I already did, naturally. I’ll learn, I expect.

I just wonder how I pace myself when I must help mom prepare to move within the next six weeks, keep up my freelance work, and do all the other, daily chores, etc. that make up each and every day. My sister will return around the actual moving date to help, thank the gods, but in the meantime gang, I’m on my own.

And I’m worried. It was encouraging, last time I saw my rheumy, to see an improvement in my RA blood tests as a result of his fiddling with my meds, but as usual, the lab test results don’t seem to actually reflect my reality. Too bad.

Well, enough carping. Like Mom, overall I’m doing pretty well. I’ll just keep that uppermost in my mind as we move into the chaos that June promises to bring.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

I need to pass along a couple of interesting items. The first is an overview posted on Healthline.com of a Consumer Reports evaluation of treatments and medications—specifically, biologic DMARDs—for rheumatoid disease. It’s a valuable piece of info, as it offers a better understanding of how biologics are used to treat RA. Check it out here. [Full disclosure: I write for Healthline.com]

Second: I received an email this morning from a PhD student at RMIT University, in Australia. She’s conducting a survey about therapeutic gloves, hoping to one day develop new, better gloves that will be more, well, therapeutic. The questions in the survey won’t ask any personal information—no name, no other identifying data. Instead, they’ll ask about your perception of the gloves you use now (if you use them at all); the durability of the gloves; and what you’d like to see in a new product.

I don’t know about you, but I’d love to have a pair of gloves that could really help soothe and relieve my achy hands. You can learn more about the survey, and take it if you like, here.

And now, for happenings in Wren’s world: Good news! The increase in my Plaquenil dosage and the addition of the NSAID etodolac to my daily cocktail of RA drugs worked! Last time I saw my rheumatologist, my labs showed a greatly increased sedimentation rate and an alarmingly elevated CRP, both indications of increased inflammation in the body—and a warning that my RA was starting a run out of control. In response, the doc made the above changes to my meds. I hoped it would work, but frankly, I was worried. RA is notorious for forcing the body’s immune system to find ways to neutralize any medications that might make the disease (I know it personally as my rheuma-dragon) sleepy and sluggish. It’s the main reason that so many of us who have this disease end up running through so many different drugs.

But this time, my labs dropped back down to within normal ranges. That minor change did the job. I’m very relieved. Last time I saw my rheumy, we briefly discussed starting me on Humira if the change didn’t work. He suggested I study up on the biologic DMARD, and we’d discuss it more at the next (this) appointment if necessary.

I’m glad we didn’t need to. I’m not afraid of the biologics, and I’m not needle-phobic (it’s hard to be needle-phobic when you have RA. We get jabbed so often!). I don’t really want to inject myself, but I can do it if it’s the difference between controlled disease with minimum-to-moderate pain and low disability vs. the opposite.

But the biologics bring with them some significant side effects. They don’t happen to everyone, of course—we couldn’t use the drugs if they did—but they do require sober thought. “They’re almost miracle-drugs,” my rheumatologist said. “But they’re serious drugs, too. I don’t prescribe them lightly.”

So, for the time being, at least, I’ll stick to the meds I’m taking. I wish they’d work better to relieve the constant swelling and ache in my knuckles and fingers, but I have a feeling they’re already doing the best they can, and I’m more grateful than I can express. I’ve already experienced life without them. I don’t want to go there, ever, ever again.

In the meantime, I’ve developed a fair number of coping skills for those days when my hands start feeling like someone stepped on them–and then did it again for good measure. I carry my therapeutic gloves—Isotoner compression gloves, if anyone’s interested—and I have a pair of thick, lavender-scented, moist heat, microwaveable mittens and a paraffin bath kept constantly warm for random acts of dipping. Ice packs are temporarily soothing when the hip bursitis strikes. I also know the therapy exercises that work best to calm things down again.

These, and other methods, like meditation, the art of purposeful distraction*, and mindfulness are all part of the arsenal everyone who has this disease needs. Oh—and laughter. That may well be the best medicine of all.

*You’re hurting. So, once you’ve gotten sick of sitting around muttering and feeling pitiful (and we all do it now and then, no matter how tough we are), you purposefully find a good movie or a book or some project to lose yourself in, distracting yourself from the pain for a while. Or maybe you go outside for a random walk, or to wander your garden. Or maybe you use shopping therapy. It’s all good and all healthy. Distraction works! It’s how our minds are made.

I got an email recently from a company called Heat Holders, asking me to try their product, write up a review and post it here on RheumaBlog.

Heat Holders makes ultra-warm thermal socks, tights, boot socks, leggings, slipper socks, gloves, mittens, and hats.

I said I’d be pleased to. I didn’t mention that even though it was mid-March, “winter” still hadn’t arrived in northern California. (So far, it still hasn’t unless you count a few short days of rain with temps in the mid-50s here and there as winter.)

Living at my mother’s house in the low foothills means that I never need anything thicker than a regular sock to keep my feet warm and comfortable. But my rheuma-dragon has gotten a lot more active lately. If he starts gnawing on my feet, keeping them as warm as possible will shoot to the top of my treatment list.

Since the dragon remains fixated on my hands, I decided to give the thermal sample/review pair of HH socks to Mom. Her feet are, in her words, “frozen” all the time. Year-round. Seriously. So, I thought, maybe socks called Heat Holders will thaw them out!

The Heat Holders arrived in the mail a few weeks later. Wow, I thought as I took them out of the mailing envelope, these really are thick. They were also a bright, reddish-purple color which just so happens to match Mom’s pajamas and bathrobe. Perfect.

The outside of the socks are densely woven, thick, specially developed acrylic yarn. Inside, on all sides from the top of the sock to the toe, there’s a thick layer of … fluff (the only word I can think of to describe it.) It’s incredibly soft and warm to the touch. It traps warmth and keeps it close to the skin.

Mom absolutely loves her Heat Holders. She tells me that when she wears them, her feet stay toasty warm. She even wears them to bed. They don’t lose any of their heat-trapping power after going through the wash, either.

The company says Heat Holders are non-binding and diabetic-friendly. They’ll even warm up feet that have circulation problems.

You can purchase Heat Holders directly from the Heat Holders website, here. I’m getting some for myself soon–Mom said she’s not giving up the sample pair!

If you could help someone else through the shock and dread of an unexpected rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis and its aftermath, you’d try, wouldn’t you? I know I would. I only have to remember my own bewilderment 27 years ago when my doctor said “You have rheumatoid arthritis.” Looking back, I’d have given anything to talk to someone who had experience with this disease beyond a brief rheumatology course in medical school.

Well, offering help for RA newbies is exactly what Lene Andersen has done with her book, “Your Life With Rheumatoid Arthritis: Tools for Managing Treatment, Side Effects and Pain.”

Except she’s done far more than “try.” The book Andersen wrote isn’t just for newcomers to the unpredictable world of rheumatoid arthritis. It’s an eye-opener for us old hands, too. And no surprise, really. Andersen shares a literal lifetime of first-hand experience on coping with RA. She knows of which she writes.

“Your Life With RA” is an amazingly thorough primer on this nefarious autoimmune disease. It doesn’t just skim the treetops of the subject, it gets down into the weeds, answering with frank directness the questions most of us who have this disease wish we’d asked back when we were first diagnosed. Like “What is RA?”

She explains, briefly, that RA is an autoimmune disease that causes inflammation in the joints. Right. I remember my poor doctor, a young Army internist, telling me that, and how I accepted it without question. Well, I was stunned speechless. Only very elderly people had arthritis! It wasn’t until much later that the obvious question came to me. What does “autoimmune” mean?

Andersen answers this question directly, too.

“When you have an autoimmune disease, it means that your immune system gets confused and attacks your body. Instead of protecting you, your immune system undermines your health.”

And she goes on to explain about how RA attacks the synovial tissues that surround the joints—and similar tissues that line certain organs—and other eye-opening details.

How I wish I’d had this book back in 1987. And how fortunate for the more recently diagnosed that “Your Life with RA” is available now! Looking RA up on the Internet isn’t hard by itself, but it can be hard to separate the carefully researched, credible information from the vast jungle of flashy webpages that shout their uninformed opinions and myths and hawk folk remedies and miracle cures for RA.

Andersen’s “Your Life with RA” is that credible, well-researched source of information.

She explains, with humor and in detail, about the various types of medications used to treat the disease, the side effects you should be aware of from mood swings to high blood pressure to weight-gain, and ways she’s found to help you cope should you find yourself facing any of them. She also covers the very rare but far more serious side effects that some RA meds cause in what she calls “the scary chapter.” It’s good information—and foretold is forewarned.

Finally, Andersen talks about the 300-pound gorilla in the room: pain.

For most of us, inexplicable pain is the first indication that something is going wrong. Mine was a couple of incredibly painful fingers that prevented me from hand-writing notes during a conference I attended in Frankfurt, Germany. I had no idea what I’d done to them. The next day they were just fine. A few weeks later, excruciating pain in my right foot pretty much ruined a getaway weekend with my husband. Silly goose, I chided myself, you know better than to go sightseeing on foot in new shoes! But the shoes hadn’t hurt my feet at all when I’d tried them on.

When the mystery pain temporarily disabled a shoulder (making getting ready for work more than a little difficult), then a knee, and then settled into both feet for the duration, I’d run out of possible explanations—and excuses. I finally went to the doctor. And he had a diagnosis of RA for me less than a week later.

Andersen addresses RA pain with a section in her book she calls the “Pain Management Toolbox.” In these pages she discusses the physical pain that we all have to deal with and offers a number of ways to cope with it, from taking painkillers to ice packs to meditation. She notes, as well, that pain can be more than physical:

 “One of the most important tools [for coping with pain] is your attitude … The experience of pain can be paralyzing and can fill you with fear. Putting pain in perspective is the beginning to finding your way out of that fear. Coming to understand that pain isn’t the worst thing that can happen—not living your life is—will help you more than you can imagine. Remember that, even if you have a lot of pain. Find some part of the day that belongs to you alone, that represents your life. It will help you fight back.”

So will Andersen’s book. It’s not the end, either. She’s busy writing Volume 2 of “Your Life with Rheumatoid Arthritis” right now.

“Your Life with Rheumatoid Arthritis: Tools for Managing Treatment, Side Effects and Pain” is available as an e-book for Amazon Kindle, Kobo Readers, Barnes & Noble Nook, and Apple iBooks .

You can purchase the paperback from Createspace, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Finally, you can learn more about Lene Andersen by reading my January interview with her here. And don’t forget to check out Andersen’s award-winning blog, The Seated View.

I took my uncle to his physical therapy appointment yesterday. It rained on the way to pick him up, then on the way to the medical center, and it was still raining as I unloaded his lightweight transport chair from the trunk of my car. Not complaining, though–I love rain!

An aside: This chair is probably 10-15 pounds lighter than his regular wheelchair. He bought it out of concern for me, not wanting me to hurt my back trying to lift his regular chair into and out of the car. The new chair has small wheels, footrests, and handles on the back for pushing. It moves easily, but is harder to push overall because of the small wheels.

I unfolded the chair and brought it around to the passenger door so Uncle could get into it. And we were off, both of us exclaiming about the windy rain. To me, it felt delightfully cool, the chilly tingle of the raindrops on my face and hands exhilarating. To Uncle, however, the rain and wind quickly became too cold. You’d think I’d realize by now—caring for him and my mom, both of them octogenarians—that they get chilled easily, their skin paper-thin. If I’d been thinking, I’d have taken the time to search for a closer parking space.

But, too late. We were about two long blocks from the physical therapy building, at the other end of the medical center campus. I decided to head first for the main entrance, which wasn’t too far away. That way we could walk most of the distance through the dry, warm inner halls, at least.

And here’s where I experienced, first-hand, poorly planned disability accommodations. Although the space I’d parked in was one of a bank of nice, wide handicapped spots, each with extra room on either side for loading and unloading, there was no accessible sidewalk. I had to wheel Uncle along the side of the single-lane, one-way, rough-surfaced, asphalt street, with cars passing uncomfortably close to us. Unbelievably, the VA medical center had neglected to provide a safe, smooth walkway for disabled patients to travel on from patient parking to the facility. And I’d estimate that a quarter of the vets it serves are disabled.

Although Uncle was wearing a jacket, by the time we made it inside he was cold. And to my dismay, five minutes of pushing his transport chair had awakened my rheuma-dragon. He was now aggravated and gnawing on my knuckles with hot glee.

Still, pushing Uncle’s transport chair was easier on the smooth facility flooring. I gritted my teeth and kept on, knowing I could rest my insulted hands once he was at his appointment. As we reached the doors at the far end of the facility, I figured we were almost home free. Just one more brief walk through the rain and we’d be there.

I hadn’t taken into account the continuing construction work going on all over the campus. Our local VA medical center has, over the last year or so, added several new buildings, a covered parking garage, and covered outdoor parking (which was all full when we arrived!). And the work is still progressing. As we came out the far door of the main building, we discovered that the usual walkway was blocked off with barrier fencing, forcing us to go all the way around what was once a parking lot to the new physical therapy building. Our first try for the entrance was a dead-end sidewalk. We turned around and went back. (cue in wind and rain here.) To my further dismay (and Uncle’s), we discovered that the only way to gain entrance was to walk all the way around the building so we’d be approaching it from the opposite direction.

A simple opening in the barrier fencing would have made that long, long walk unnecessary.

By the time we finally made it into the building, Uncle and I were both wet—and he was shivering uncontrollably with cold. My hands were aching like you-know-what. I helped him take his jacket off and draped it, warmed by his body, over his legs to help warm him up. It worked. Uncle was remarkably mellow—even cheerful—about the whole debacle.

When we left the physical therapy building an hour later, the rain had stopped and the sun was out. I had to put my sunglasses on. (I love springtime…) We went back to the main building and stopped at the lab so Uncle  could have blood drawn for one of his upcoming appointments. And then we made it back to the car without any further trouble.

By the time I got home—smack-dab in the middle of rush-hour traffic—I was exhausted. My hands were stiff, painful claws at the ends of my arms. I won’t deny it. I took drugs.

Today I’m still pretty fracked. My hands are swollen and tender, but much better than last night. A nap is in order this afternoon. But there’s a part of me that’s proud of getting through yesterday’s challenge tired but still smiling. Life would be pretty dull without a little hassle now and then…

…right?