It dawned on me last night that I have been a part of the arthritis club for a very long time. It has been a club I was kind of put into by default, around age 13, that I’ve stayed with right up through today. And probably will be with for a long time to come.
It’s not such a bad club, and it certainly is diverse. This arthritis club is the group of kids – there are more out there than you think – sidelined from Little League. Or the college students accommodated by student housing for a more accessible dorm room. It’s the we-can’t-cook-using-ingredients-in-a-jar-today club, unless of course your friend or lover is there in the kitchen to lend a helping hand. Hopefully your friend is your lover. But I digress.
This is the club of water aerobic participants that I look forward to joining. (My mom has a head start on me, she has jumped in – feet first – to water aerobics regularly.)(And still keeps her hair dry.)
The club that has good days and bad days, and usually nothing to prove either, except a smile or a grimace.
But boy I’ll tell you what – we are damn lucky to be a part of this club, and not others out there. My goodness, if you think about the hand we’ve been dealt, it is worth playing and enjoying. The dealer is showing a 4 and we’ve got a pair of jacks.