A Painful Diagnosis

Maybe two years ago, I started to notice my hands were achy and stiff whenever I'd wake in the middle of the night and in the early morning.  It would come and go, and I attributed it to sleeping in the same position all night.  Illogical, but it was my answer.  Looking back, I also remember my toes hurting, especially in the morning, but I figured that was just from running, or working long 12-hours shifts in the ER.  It was crazy at that time --- the fab hubby was in Baghdad and I was busy playing solo parent with a newborn and two older kiddos.  Really, I could go on and on about why I dismissed it; I've got tons of reasons why I could so easily ignore it.  But mostly, it was because I chose to ignore it, telling myself it was nothing.  It would go away.

And it did, at least sorta.  I didn't notice the middle of the night pain nearly as much, and once we arrived in Cairo, I focused on adjusting to a new country, a new job, a new life.  Really, it wasn't that painful and it was fairly easy to ignore.

Maybe around last May, my left pinkie finger specifically started to hurt.  The distal (furthest) knuckle became inflamed and reddened. It hurt so much just to bend at the joint.  At first, I figured I had injured it.  How? Not a clue, but I wasn't worried.  I was starting a training program for my marathon, and the pain went to the back burner of importance.

I wish I could say that it just went away, that the finger magically healed from whatever phantom accident I assumed I'd had.  But now, here I am six months later.  And that finger is permanently deformed.  The joint is bone on bone.

As for the rest of my hands and my feet?  The last three months or so have been terrible.  Every morning I wake up with stiff and achy hands.  Whereas the feet used to be the most painful, it is now my hands.  And my hands have had some really bad days.  Days where all the knuckles swelled and were so painful I could hardly open medication bottles at work.  I've struggled some days to open jars or to write or to type.

I wish I'd had the sense to stop and ask myself two years ago what the *bleep* was going on.   Maybe have gone to the doctor or at least mentioned my symptoms. I mean really.  I'm a nurse.  I know better.  If one of my friends had said "Hey, isn't this weird?" to me --- I so would have told them to go to the doctor to get it checked out.  But I dismissed myself.  

Heck, I wish I'd brought it up even six months ago when the pinkie finger started to look funky.  Because maybe we would have been able to stop the erosiveness of the joint.

So here I am.  Having had x-rays, tons of blood work, and a few follow-ups with the Health Unit.  Diagnosis?  Arthritis.  Probably rheumatoid arthritis.  While the blood work hasn't been conclusive, the symptoms and x-rays are all consistent with the diagnosis.  Now the challenge is to find the right treatment.  Everything I've read indicates that early and aggressive treatment is the key.  Why didn't I say something about how much it hurt long ago when the pain first started?  How much time have I wasted just by ignoring it?

I'm so angry with myself.  I don't know how I could ignore the symptoms for so long.  And truthfully, I've been in a funk for the past month or so.  I haven't been running.  Or eating well.  This diagnosis has me down.  My hands hurt all the time.  I feel vulnerable, exposed.  Suddenly, I feel years older.  I think about how much they hurt now, and wonder what life will be like 10, 20, 30 years from now.  

There isn't a happy ending to this blog entry.  How do you say "hey, I turned 37 last week and I got diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis" without making an angry face?  I can joke about it.  Pretend it doesn't matter.  Throw a "hey, that's life" out there.  But none of those reactions have worked.  Trust me; I've tried.

I even thought maybe I wouldn't blog about it.  Pretend it doesn't exist.  Or at least not announce it to the world through the blog or Facebook.  But I think I've probably spent too long acting like it wasn't an issue.

Because it is an issue, and right now it's always on my mind.  My hands hurt, all the time.  The mornings are worse.  Some days I have flair ups.  And I'll try to stay strong as I muddle through the diagnosis stage.  But the truth is, no matter how I look at it, I'm sad, I'm angry, and I'm depressed about it.

In the Now

 I've always wanted to be a rock star.  This was our moment!
These Egyptian girls were on a school field trip from outside of Cairo.
They were super excited to see American tourists and practice their English!

Oh, bidding season.  It's come and gone for us already (unlike some of my other FS/DS spouse friends who are still waiting to hear where they'll be packing up for next summer).  And while ours was pretty easy - hey, we're headed back to the U.S. for our next round! - the next 7-ish months until we move aren't easy.

Because it's soooo hard to stay in the "now."  And at the risk of sounding whiny --- it's especially difficult right now in Cairo.  As the Egyptian President pretty much declares supreme overlord power and Egyptians take to the streets in protest, we watch and we wait.  What will happen to Egypt in the next few months?  What have been the real results of the Egyptian Revolution of 2011?  Was the Arab Spring all for naught?  What do Egyptians really want when they say "freedom"? Ug.  So many questions, so few answers.  And an uncertainty for all of us here.  And it's not my country.

I don't know really what's right or wrong here or how to fix it.  I just know that I'm here, stuck in the middle of it, but unable to do anything about it.

As I think about our next move, next summer!, I love all the possibilities it holds.  I love looking forward to where we're going to live, researching the DC/NoVa area.  I love contacting friends who live there and making plans for a Starbucks get-together.  All these plans swirling in my mind.  And I realize how much I miss home.  How much I appreciate being an American in America.  And how much I am looking forward to our return.

So yeah, it's difficult right now.  And it's so difficult to live in the now and not the future.

But it's Thanksgiving weekend and I am thankful.  Thankful for this opportunity to witness history in the making here in Cairo.  Thankful for friends who came together with us to celebrate Thanksgiving with our family.  Thankful for all we have, our home, our families, our jobs.

Last weekend, we headed to Al Azhar Park in Cairo.  It was a beautiful, clear day with perfect weather.  The kids needed some frolic time in some green space (hard to find here) and the adults needed to get out as well.  We hooked up with some friends and caravanned to the park - about a half-hour or so away.

I hope that when we finally leave Cairo next summer I won't only remember the harshness of the political situation here, or the riots in the streets.  I hope the first things that come to mind will be days like this that we enjoyed here.  A day where we weren't on edge or anxious, where we relaxed and enjoyed the culture and the hidden beauty of the city.

Relaxed and enjoying the view.
We could even see the Giza Pyramids in the distance that day!

The girlies enjoyed the restaurant we dined at.

The boys refuse to smile.
The view of The Citadel was divine.

The girlies looking out at The Citadel.

Oh, food! 

Hailey is 4 years old.  Kellen the Giant Toddler is 2 years old.  Love this.

Boys practice their balancing.
This is the only public park I've seen in Cairo.  And it had an entrance fee.
I'm sure there are more, but this is the only one we've come across.

The kids were so happy to have green space!
They spent part of the afternoon tumbling down this hill.

The end to a perfect day.

Owen photo bombs a  family photo of our friends!

And David (behind my right shoulder posing as an extra husband)
photo bombs our family photo!

It was Better Than Prom and Dude!! We Know Our Next Assignment!

Just like prom.  But better!

If you're posted at a U.S. Embassy somewhere in the world, then you probably have some Marines.  Here in Cairo, we have a fairly large Embassy and hence a good-sized Marine Security Guard.

So of course, that means celebrating the Marine Corps 237th Birthday!  Yes, we went to the Ball.  And yes, it was awesome.  In fact, it was way better than prom ever was.

I mean, I already had a date lined up!  I didn't have to wait to be asked or ask someone to go to the dance with me.  No awkward end-of-the-night do we kiss?! or just hold hands?! moments.  And my parents totally approved of this guy a long, long time ago.

Plus, I hardly ever break out any more, so I didn't have to fret over any zits.

I took an entire day off of work to get my pretty on.  Nails, brows, lunch with a friend.  I had bought my dress last summer when we were in the U.S. on R&R.

View from the hotel!

We asked our fabulous nanny to spend the night with the kids (!!!  YES!  NO KIDS FOR LIKE 24 hours!!!) and we got a hotel near the embassy with some friends.

Here's what we celebrated:

The Marines!  Looking mighty, mighty fine.  Happy Birthday!

 And who we celebrated with:

Out with our friends.  Wait! Wrong spouses!!

Nope.  That's not quite right, either!

Yes!  Me with the fab hubby and our friends Dave and Krista.

Sparkly!  Sassy.

Girls just wanna have fun.

Dessert.  Always my favorite.

Fab hubby is some mighty fine arm candy. 

That's us.  Being adults.  We made it all the way to 11:00PM before
we left the party.  What can I say?  We're old.

What I failed to mention before writing all about the fabulousness of our night is that earlier in the day we found out where we're headed in Summer 2013, when we finish our Cairo tour.  The fab hubby accepted a handshake to:

Yes!  We're headed back to the good ol' U.S. of A.  Someone, please call Starbucks.  Let them know I'm coming back.  Plan for now is two years in Washington, D.C.  But, of course, y'all know how that can change.  And for all my friends out there who are still bidding, I'm thinking about you.  Bidding season is no fun.

Know what is fun?  Coming home the day after the Marine Ball. All relaxed and rejuvenated.  Especially when you find out the toddler didn't sleep but a few hours the night before.  And when we walked into the house, we found this:

Dang.  He's so sweet when he's sleeping.