I Hope You Feel Better Too

You know the movie Happy Gilmore? Of course you do. Do you remember the "jackass" guy, Donald? "You will not make this putt you jackass!" I feel like the jackass guy every time someone tells me that they hope I feel better. I feel like a snarky comeback is what they deserve. But I don't. Usually I give them a disinterested half-smile and just ignore that they said that.

One time, in Germany, the woman I shared a hospital room with had a short conversation with me before she left the hospital. I was VERY depressed - like I have been almost every day since finding out about my disease. This woman was wishing me farewell, and told me to feel better soon. It was aggravating. It's about as annoying as someone telling a cancer patient that they hope they feel better. I think a cancer patient (having known several) would rather hear "I hope you kick cancer's ass!"

My disease is not a curable one. It is one that can be maintained, yes. The people who find out in the earliest stages of the disease are incredibly rare - and therefore extremely lucky. Their chances at maintaining the disease are a lot higher. They may never have pain again in their life. The reported population of the USA in 2014 was almost 319 million people. Of course, when you think about the roughly 150K people in the USA that have the disease, and probably half of them know it, the chances of someone being diagnosed early is about as rare as having a set of quintuplets naturally. (Which BTW, was reported by the NOMTC in 2011 as only 41 total in the USA. http://www.nomotc.org/). So think about that for a minute. If 75,000 people in the USA know they have Kienbock's disease, and only a fraction of them have been reported in the earliest stages of the disease (Stage I/II), we're talking like maybe 10-20 people tops, at any given time. Fractions of fractions equate miniscule percentages.

Why? Kienbock's is so rare, that doctors don't know about it, and don't know to look for it. It is commonly misdiagnosed for years or lifetimes. Less than 1/2% of the population has the disease. Think on that. That is a tiny number of people. The size of a small city like the size of Peoria, AZ or Irvine, CA.

Of course, not everyone understands this. They think that like cancer, Kienbock's can be fought. Well, sort of. It can be slowed down, maintained, or stagnated. People who are rare and lucky enough to have early detection will encounter this easily. They may have minor procedures or splinting/casting, and then they're good for most of their lives. But people like me are not so lucky.

People like me live in constant pain, fear and danger. Something as simple as turning the handle on something could break a bone or cause a major interference. Driving is a nightmare; I do it one handed mostly. I have to wear my big bulky cast to do it too, and it makes preparation and defensive driving nearly impossible. I dread anyone ever hitting me while I'm driving the car. If I'm holding onto the wheel, it could shatter my bones because they are so fragile and thin from surgeries, calcium deficiency, and sawing them in half.

It's really quite frustrating that people want to "mean well." I get it, I really do. I hope that my friend who lost her father recently finds comfort and peace. It was a tragedy. But, I know she doesn't want to hear that. And I've been in her shoes. She, like me, wants to hear "That sucks!" Because it truly does. "I hope you feel better," is a brush off. You don't matter. Your disease doesn't matter. I'm not really interested in how you are, but I want to me happy so you be happy.

SMH

Look, the next time you're around a friend who suffers from MS, cancer, diabetes, IBS, chronic pain, or anything else ... you tell them what you really think and feel. Tell them you love them, trash the disease and have a rant-fest, give them assistance without asking, hug them or hold their hand and be heartfelt. If you don't care, don't say anything at all because in their heads, their mind is reeling the same comebacks mine is, and then they will smile at you and nod, or just say "thanks" because they have nothing nice to say. They'll make every effort to get out of your presence. They're replaying every moment in Happy Gilmore where Happy is told he's a jackass and wishing they could hold your head down in the toilet to give you a swirly.

I hope you feel better too ... you jackass!

The Misconception Is ...

I would love to be able to tell everyone that asks me that I have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. I would love to be able to say "Yes, why I did break my arm. I fell off my bike." I would thoroughly enjoy saying to people "No, it doesn't hurt."

Kienböck's disease is not something you talk lightly about in small talk. I get sick and tired of every single person at stores who question me, and then proceed to make absolutely no effort to assist me. I mean, put the damn detergent in my cart already! It's a long and difficult disease to discuss and I don't want, nor do I have time, to stand here and discuss this with you. It's a lot like someone's cancer journey. I say this not to belittle cancer, but to compare the length of conversation regarding condition. I mean, you don't just walk up to someone wearing a pink ribbon (in example) and say "How's your breast cancer going?" Or even "You have breast cancer?" It's a history, a drawn out story of obstacles, choices, setbacks and accomplishments. It's similar for Kienböck's disease in that respect.

Look, I would LOVE to educate the public on my rare disease. It does affect people, albeit a VERY SMALL PERCENTAGE of the population. But, we're still people. We still have lives, jobs, families, livelihoods, etc. Even though there are probably less than 200,000 of us in the US alone, and it's very likely that almost none of us will ever meet another person in person who has our disease, we are still people. We still matter. Our disease does count.

The problem I have, however, is this: It's not something simple like asking about the weather. If someone is in a leg cast and they're waiting in line in front of me, I just assume they have an injury and leave them the hell alone. Not my business if they fell off a boat, down the stairs, off a skateboard, or anything. I just think to myself that they're leg is injured, and move on. I don't strike up a conversation and say "Hey, that's a bright pink cast you have there." It's like waking up and seeing that the sky is blue and the grass is green. It just is, accept it, and move on.

It's exasperating to have to explain to every single person who asks. Why? A) They don't know you, and likely don't really care. B) Everyone else asks the SAME QUESTIONS. C) It's none of your business. D) I don't know them or feel comfortable telling them I live with a dead bone in my arm in excruciating pain. That's medical knowledge between me, my doctor and my family. I don't like thinking of it constantly, or being reminded regularly.

The misconception of having Kienböck's disease is that it's something people want to talk about. Just because you have a cast on, you want to tell your story - or something weird like that. Well, it's NOT CURABLE, SO NO, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. I get sick to death of talking about it.

So, next time you're standing in line at the grocery store, or you're interacting with people at work, or you meet someone somewhere that has a cast or a splint or a brace.... they're a human being. They're not a robot question station. They know you from diddly squat and would like to be left in peace. Let them just live their life and go on their way.

Back At Work

One would think that after having to go on disability for 2 months and returning to work that maybe I am well enough to actually do the work. I mean, I've had my cast off since the middle of September, I've been in occupational therapy now for a month and a half and have barely used any medicine (because honestly, what medicine works? none of it) that it wouldn't be so bad to return to using a computer 9 hours a day.

Well. Let me educate you on what is really happening.

I told my case worker (who was practically TELLING me to work part-time for a few months) that I'm going back to my full schedule. Normally I work 4 9 hour days, and 1 4 hour day on Thursdays. This is to allow me the time to get to appointments that are always at inconvenient hours, and to get some bloody housework done. Amen right? I mean, for the most part, I love my company and I really enjoy my job so the fact that they offer compressed work weeks is awesome. It would be even more awesome if they would give in and let people work 4 10 hour days but they claim that's too much of a liability .... believe me, I've pestered them.

So here I am, in the middle of week two back at my job. I have lost some friends (who weren't really friends in the first place, they just used me for their own benefit) and my current team has changed a lot, but I have some really good co-workers who are helpful when I need them to be because let's face it: 2 months off of a job that involves routine and knowledge of tiny details for all sorts of one-off situations can leave one feeling overwhelmed with trying to remember everything. My brain hurts. On top of that, there's the stress to perform. I'm permanently disabled by this disease and it's degenerative. Wake up call to those stress givers! In addition to this, I have to deal with the pain of using my hand constantly for 9 hours straight when the pain is unmanageable. I mean, on Monday I did take one of my prescription tramadol (originally for my back) to help alleviate the sharp and festering pains that would not subside and were getting worse, but it can only do so much. So, at the end of the work day my hand and arm are completely shot and exhausted and I have little energy that I can devote to myself, my house, my pets, and most importantly my husband. Hell, I can't even feed myself.

On Sunday evening my in-laws S & J came over to play a game with us. We ate dinner while we played (because well, it was 6 and I had to be up at 3:30 in the morning) and I had to stop game play a few times so I could grunt and yell and do this thing where I halfway lay my head on the table and squeeze my eyes in order to bear through. This is after I spent most all of Friday evening, all of Saturday and most of that Sunday relaxing so as not to aggravate or overuse my arm. And guess what? To my disappointment, I STILL can do NOTHING AT ALL and it's just as bad as if I were sitting in my office keying my work.

So, to everyone who thinks that having Kienbock's is nothing special, you're wrong. It's extraordinary. My boss may not care that I'm different than everyone else, but my friends and family had damn well better understand that this disease is like a sucking chest wound in that you may start with something seemingly curable or manageable, but once you get into that hospital operating room, you realize it's like a tiny black hole in your personal universe, sucking everything in creating a precarious situation that begins collapsing in on itself.

If it were possible for anyone to understand chronic back pain, (I suffer from that as well on a moderate scale but that is beside the point) think of my disease as chronic back pain. If I were a weaker person, I could easily become addicted to prescription medication, I could easily succumb to wasting my life, I could easily turn into an alcoholic, etc. A good number of people with chronic back pain struggle with these kinds of issues because there is no way to manage it. I had a relative die from an addiction brought on by chronic back pain after he fell off of a roof working in his roofing business. I've seen it first hand with co-workers of my father who have those "panic" morphine buttons that they can just inject themselves any time they need while at work. I know their pain. I know their struggles to get through the day without needing to scream your lungs out and insist on chopping off body parts in order to take the pain away. If I were a stronger person than I am, I wouldn't fall into the trap of depression, but I have to be thankful for how strong I am as it is. I couldn't ever let myself be overcome by this disease in ways that broken people might.

So in reality, my return to work is more of a chore and a trial than a need for cash. I mean, I do need cash - I have bills too. But this is extremely difficult. I know there are other jobs out there where it would be more difficult, but this is who I am and what I do. I deserve as much attention for my difficulties where I am at in life.You may think that I should be grateful, and don't think that I am not. But picture yourself doing a job with one arm. What job is it? I don't have nearly as many options as you might think. I'm really stuck with what I've got and I have to pay my bills, I have to have medical insurance and I have to survive like everyone else. There are just days (like every day) where I want to give up and tell my husband that I'm done and there's nothing I can do because the pain is too much, the difficulty in using my hand is too much.

Thankfulness

It is easy for me to get lost in my memories and past lives. I say past lives because many of those memories surround a person I am no more. When it comes right down to it though, I am truly thankful for where my life has led me today, despite my failures, despite my health, despite my shortcomings, and despite any other obstacle.

I am thankful that I wake up every morning.
I am thankful that I am alive.
I am thankful that I can function on a daily basis.
I am thankful that I have an amazing and supportive husband.
I am thankful that my husband is thankful for me. :)
I am thankful for my two cuddly pets.
I am thankful for my sense of humor.
I am thankful for my home, and the things in it.
I am thankful for my education.
I am thankful for my creativity and my ideas.
I am thankful for truth and enlightenment.
I am thankful for being humbled by Kienbock's disease - because without being thankful for everything else on this list, I might not have become the person I am today with Kienbock's disease.