It was the first birthday of my right hip yesterday – 48 and a bit years behind the rest of me. The celebrations started with 60 lengths of the swimming pool followed by dragging my hoola hoop, not used for some time, out of the garage and into the sunny garden where I at first tentatively tried it out to see if I could still do it. 100 rotations both clockwise and anti clockwise later I reckon those hips are up to it again! After supper there was an extra walk around the football field, mapped by map my walk – although unfortunately by this time I was already very tired and it was a rather painful walk back, a sleepless night and a very stiff me who got up this morning.
I had thought we might go out last night to celebrate. I suggested to my husband the night before that we might go out and reminded him that it was my hip’s first birthday. I guess either he didn’t take me or the life changing thing for me that is my hip replacements and arthritis seriously because he conveniently forgot. I was a bit – ok a lot – upset at this, but I was certainly not going to remind him again if he couldn’t be bothered to hear me the first time. This happens a lot. Work seems to take priority and while it pays the bills and I contribute very little, it does appear to be on his mind considerably more than we are.
The thing is I don’t really know how to explain to him, or anyone else, what this is like. As I’ve said before, my mother has just decided I’m like her and she just had to put up with it so so do I, so she rarely asks about me and if she does mention it she tells me what I am like and doesn’t stop to listen to me. I accept I may shut people out and so they don’t ask me, but to tell them how I feel makes me vulnerable, and if I’m vulnerable then I’m hurt when they don’t hear me, and so rather than risk that I hide when what I would really like is someone, my husband for example, to say – yes I know this is hard, let’s do this or that to help you.
Cooking for example in the evenings. It hurts to stand for long, so usually I prepare a meal throughout the day just to finish later. I work from home and rarely go out anywhere. He goes out to work and will also have nights out with work occasionally, so to go out for me is a huge treat, but not for him. So a night where I have thought we might go out and then don’t not only is disappointing in him forgetting or not wanting to go, but I then have to prepare a meal and clear up all in one go and am in pain.
I never really understood previously that I was in pain. It is a strange thing. I read about others talking about agony, but it’s not like that for me. In some ways it is more insidious. I wondered for years if I had chronic fatigue or a constant flu, because that is what it is like. The ache in my bones is just like a really bad dose of flu. The fatigue that comes with it makes it difficult to concentrate and is trying to my patience. My husband would ask why I was huffing and complaining and I would say something hurt and he didn’t understand. I didn’t really understand myself – I was just exhausted. The diagnoses I have had have been a revaluation in understanding what is wrong – that there is something wrong in fact – and for my husband to realise that there may be a reason for my not wanting to or being able to do all the things I used to other than me just being unsociable or difficult. Now a bit less is expected of me. Less of a label and more of a signpost.
This has made my husband sound awful, and that’s not true, but he puts a lot of pressure on himself over work and money and rather takes me for granted because I’m always here. The pressure on him and my inability to look forward any more and see a way of seriously contributing makes me feel guilty. He also has a knack of talking now about not being able to do things anymore as though somehow with my diagnoses my life is over instead of just coming up with different things and ways around it. But that’s another story – even though this is the one that kept me awake all night.