I’m a big fan of the movie Star Wars. Seriously. I remember the first time that I saw this movie; we stood in line for hours, laughed at the droids, were amazed by the special effects, wished we had the Force, held our breath as the tension at the end of the movie mounted, and cheered wildly when the Death Star blew up. Over the next year we watched the movie 13 times in the theater, memorized the sound tract, and to this day I hear snippets of dialogue echoing in my mind…
Like this line said by the droid C-3PO to his buddy R2-D2 as they escaped from their badly damaged and captured ship to carry out a secret mission as directed by Princess Leia: “That’s funny, the damage doesn’t look that bad from out here.”
That’s me. Badly damaged on the inside, not that bad on the outside. The curse of all people who have an invisible illness. People often say, when they learn about my illness, something along the lines of… “Well, you look great!” It’s nice to hear, but it also suggests that I’m not really that sick. I can’t help but feel that they think that I am an attention-seeking hypochondriac. Sigh.
It is amazing, really. How can the damage not look that bad from out here? I struggle for air. I often lack the energy to get through basic tasks. Pain stalks me waiting for a poor decision on my part that will give it an opening. An incoming weather front pushes me over a cliff. Holidays can be the worst as I struggle to manage my energy resources, diet and exposure to cold. I can get through the Christmas dinner okay, but the next two days are spent in bed sleeping myself back to functionality.
And yet, I’m starting the New Year feeling pretty darn chipper, well… as chipper as you can after a 12 hour nap and a strong latte to launch myself into motion. See, I can get back to functionality. I’m on great drugs and I have wonderful doctors. My latest round of medical testing shows that I am tolerating my drugs well, and my disease progression has virtually ground to a halt. I am making some gains. I spend a lot of time managing my symptoms and hoarding energy resources, but I am not getting worse. Some really scary words on my chart have gone away over the last year: chronic respiratory failure, pulmonary arterial hypertension, and severe kidney disease are no longer there. I have wonderful friends and supportive family members. I am still independent and can get out to social events.
The rose bush is also struggling and covered with mildew. Sigh. It’s like a metaphor for my life. Bloom where you can, and pretend that all this other damage isn’t happening over there… Jedi mind tricks can be useful when dealing with implacable enemies like scleroderma and mildew.
Use the Force! I hear in my mind. If you know the movie Star Wars and the other movies in the series, it is a tale of heroic underdogs battling against great and evil foes, desperate times, hope and change.
I don’t have a light saber, but I have knitting needles.
I don’t have the Force (an invisible energy field created by all living things), but I have an online and real network of people and other living things that connect to me and support me. I have science and time on my side: new drugs are on the way and some of them are in new rounds of clinical trials. Remember the movie poster? A New Hope. Yep. Every year brings me a new edition of hope.
My illness is mostly invisible. The battle is real. Bring it on, 2019, I am ready for you!
Footnote: Perhaps you are wondering… whatever does she have? I was diagnosed with Limited Systemic Sclerosis and Sjogren’s Syndrome in 2014, and those two conditions carry with them a host of complicating conditions such as Raynaud’s, colitis, gastroparesis, interstitial lung disease, kidney disease, heart disease, oh my lord, and a partridge in a pear tree. In 2016 I was referred to palliative care and told to make final plans; Myfortic (CellCept) saved the day and I was discharged from palliative care a few months later. In 2018 my rheumatologist added fibromyalgia to the list and there is an ongoing discussion about dermatomyositis. Why do these autoimmune diseases throw parties and invite all of their friends? It’s like the bar at Mos Eisley Spaceport with all the strange aliens. As Obi-Wan tells Luke, “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.” I don’t have a blaster, but I think that in this case the drug Myfortic will do the job!
11 thoughts on “The Scleroderma Chronicles: Invisible (Star) Wars”
Nicely put together. I’m pleased you are feeling so chipper
Thanks. It’s all a Jedi mind trick!
Hoping 2019 will be a winner for you and that your health either remains stable or improves. What knitwear items do you find yourself wearing the most?
Thanks. I’m a big fan of stable! I have to say that I wear wool socks and arm warmers constantly, and then shawls at home, sweaters when I go out. This year I’m going to focus on making more socks and sweaters!
I’m glad your illness isn’t getting worse. Sometimes holding steady is a good thing. Thank you for being honest and sharing your struggles.
Holding steady is great! I’m grateful that anyone is willing to read about this battle I’m trapped in, thank you. In palliative care I was told to journal. I told them I blog, and they just said, carry on with that! It helps to get it out from time to time 🙂
It’s often true that people assume that what they can’t see doesn’t exist. I suffered a terrible bout of nerve and back pain many years ago, and someone told me that before they had back pain they assumed people were just making it up. And so it goes. Wishing you well on the journey. As I tell my sister with MS, what I really want to give her is a cure. Instead, I offer love and support. Onward to 2019. I hope it’s a better year for you.
It is true that people are dismissive of an illness they cant see. I think it is in part because they dont have the frame of reference to understand. I also think that part of the problem is that people think that you must have done something to cause the disease, or that you’re just not trying to get well. An incurable, progressive disease like MS is, thankfully, beyond most people’s experience.
I’m sorry to hear about your sister. My DIL also had MS, and it is just awful. Hugs to everyone, it’s the best we can do.
Yes, you’ve summed it up well. I also think people are “afraid” of another person’s illness and prefer to gloss over or ignore it. I’ve seen this phenomena when someone dies. People say things like “well I didn’t want to upset her so I didn’t bring it up.” as if the death were something to be avoided. It can leave everyone feeling lonely and disconnected. Hugs are good, always. I give out several a day via my volunteer work and it’s amazing how that small connection can make a difference for the giver and the receiver.
This is so beautifully written! 🙂
Thank you. I used the Force.