February: The Pharmacist and Perspective

Throughout each month, I look for patterns and themes in my experiences to write these challenge updates. I struggled all of February because I spent much of the month planning for what’s coming up this spring and summer (spoiler: the schedule is PACKED) versus completing tasks. I had several general ideas brewing, but none felt quite right - until Friday, during a somewhat routine call to fill my Rheumatoid Arthritis prescription. 

This year marks 9 years of living with RA. This time of year always brings up memories of feeling the first pangs of pain, not knowing what was really coming.  

One of my impact calls this month was to an old boss and mentor (and now dear friend), who I worked with during the peak of my pain. A particular conversation she had with me one day gave me the emotional kick in the pants I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and my diagnosis. I needed to dig deep and find the light. 

And then, this past Friday, I spent over an hour on the phone with my insurance company and my prescription financial assistance division to fill my annual balance for my RA meds. It’s normal - at least it’s come to be - to spend large chunks of time each year working out the kinks (to note: an hour is actually very fast compared to years past). 

This year, the pharmacist made me take a scaled survey on the level of ability I have to perform tasks throughout my day and the level of pain I have doing each. His first question: “how easy is it to dress yourself”, next: “to bend down to pick something up”, next: “to lift a glass of water to your mouth”. With each question I found myself nearly on the verge of tears because I remember a time when those things felt impossible. For perspective, one day about a year into this RA journey, Bryan had to cut my french toast (a reasonably soft food) because I couldn’t put enough pressure on the fork without reeling in pain. 

And now, now! I’m training for a 16-mile, 6,000 foot elevation gain hike. I’m getting ready to do a gravel bike race, and ride mountain bikes on the Colorado trail. I’m paddle boarding and making pottery and sewing skirts with my mother in law for my 5-year old (she LOVES it, by the way). For what it's worth, the pharmacist's response to these activities was a very verbal “Oh, wow. I don’t hear this level of activity often.” 

Aging is so wild because of perspective. When I was 31 and just diagnosed, living in so much pain day to day, unable to walk on certain days, I thought the world was over. I’d see people on jogs and on bikes and my heart would break because I wasn’t sure I’d ever do those things again. A decade later, I have the perspective that I will always find some sort of way, I’ll dig deep and find that light, because I know from experience that I won’t let myself live any differently.

So as I sat down to begin my assignment of writing letters to the kids about who I am and how I arrived here, this is where I started. Life is entirely what you make it - the people you love, how you love yourself, how you tackle challenges, how you absorb the hard stuff without becoming hard yourself. It’s crying on the phone with a random pharmacist because you’re really, really, really happy that you get to stand on top of mountains with a heart full of love.

Tasks finished this month (for those of you following along on the list): 

Sew something (a skirt for Maddie!)

6 out of 12 monthly date nights 

18 out of 50 weekly impact calls

12 of 40 “purple couch” conversations

3 of 40 written memories

1 letter to the kids