The darkness arrives swiftly in the dusky transition between autumn and winter, casting the vivid crimson and orange leaves of the season into the shadow of blue eventide. Long nights and short days make it difficult to see a pedestrian strolling in the dark, or the metallic glow of a street sign hidden in overgrowth. The sallow pall of the street lamps withdraw into the gloomy mist of twilight and we curl into our dark coats and wool scarves, shielding ourselves from cold stormy days. The sun disappears behind the mountains, covering the land in deep shadow and masking our ability to see. But there are some things that are still hidden even in the light.
RA has been dubbed the invisible disease, especially in the young. People can’t see the pain and inflammation raging in the joints of a person with RA — perhaps if they’re really paying attention, they might notice a lack of spark in the eyes, a stiff gait, ring splints hugging the fingers — but these are trifling details that pass in front of the human eye, virtually undetected, and, well… invisible.
Let’s face it, it’s not easy living with the invisible disease. The phrase “judging a book by its cover” comes to mind for people with RA. I am judged for how I look, and sometimes criticized for my actions (or inactions as some may see it). For example, not being able to hold open a heavy door for someone or not giving up my seat on public transit. No one knows that my painful wrists are not capable of supporting a heavy glass door, or that my swollen knees can’t maintain balance on a moving vehicle. Filling out medical or dental forms about my past medical history often gets this bemused reaction: You have arthritis? You don’t look sick (insert dubious look here).
And there it is laid bare at our feet, that awful expectation that we should look as sick as we feel. But the truth is, most days I don’t look sick. And you know what? I’m fine with that. Is it an unwritten rule that says we have to look as awful as we feel? I don’t think so. With everything RA throws at us — the pain, the inflammation, the fatigue, the anxiety, the doubt and fear, and the relentless battle between what we know we are capable of and what physical abilities RA takes from us — battling a chronic illness is a sharp blow to our fragile self-confidence.
When I’m feeling absolutely hideous, I don’t want to look in the mirror and see that image reflected back at me — that does nothing to boost my confidence or make me feel better about my situation. An unexpected compliment on how well I look, can help pull me out of the mire of my disease and boost my confidence, even when the inflammation is raging in my joints and all I want to do is crawl under a blanket until the next morning. When I can look in the mirror and still see a little bit of beauty shining through, it gives me hope and certain resolve. I consider it a tiny victory in the battle against RA. So my joints are burning and I feel rotten, but look at how my skin glows? I don’t care if it’s glowing from a slight fever from inflammation — there’s a plump rosy color in my otherwise pale cheeks and I look rather lovely today. I’m not above accepting a pleasant compliment thrown my way from a complete stranger. We may feel tired and haggard, but nobody wants to hear we look that way.
Finding the little joys is one way for me to prevail — if a bit of lipstick can brighten the pall of my wan face or if wearing my favorite dress can lift me out of the gloom of living with RA, I’m darn well going to do it. I am living the best life I can with what I’ve been given. RA may try to take my life, but before it does, I will make every effort to look as good as I possibly can on any given day. So I say color and curl, put on that bright lipstick, and slip into that outfit that makes you feel nothing less than fabulous — and do it for no one but yourself. We’ve been diagnosed with a disease we may have to fight for the rest of our lives — I think we deserve to look as good as we can in the face of an ugly disease.
If RA is an invisible disease, I’m down with that.