Keep it Moving!

When my husband and I promised, "in sickness and health," little did we anticipate what might befall us 40 years later. I doubt many newlyweds do. We had enjoyed excellent health until suddenly, the rheumatoid boom was lowered. For my husband, Ken, the onset of the wretched disease seemed inevitable. His father and paternal aunts had languished in nursing homes during their "rheumatic years." I was adopted and knew nothing of family health history.

Ken was in his late 60s, and I was seven years younger, when after sudden extremity pain, we were diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at the same time. Good Lord – was it something we ate? Our rheumatologist quickly and aggressively plied us with combinations of the usual anti-inflammatory drugs and pain reducers. His chief admonition was that we "Keep It Moving!"

My darlin' and I met twice daily at our pill drawers to swig down all manner of size, number, and color. Although the buddy system surely made our plight easier, we nearly came to blows over healthy eating. As the relentless caregiver, I donned my wifely nagging hat and we managed to lose a few pounds, despite Ken's fast-food lapses.

However, keeping the old bodies moving resulted in further parting of the ways between me and thee. While I strained and winced during simple aerobics, Ken embraced lethargy in his big chair. There was no moving him until his toes eventually turned up and under, residing atop one another. A foot surgeon broke down Ken's metatarsal joints and pinned his toes on one foot, and he was able to walk for another few years. Fortunately, although my feet are crippled, I walk well. I live with a left hand that sits at right angles to my wrist called drifting, but it remains tolerable with daily exercise.

Ken had refused to retire, longing to remain active in our insurance adjusting business. To avoid taking a chance falling off weak and painful ankles, Ken used his many canes to see clients to inspect home and auto damage. He looked distinguished rather than decrepit, stating to one and all that he was just a bit stiff. (But tired-looking and lopsided super-wide tennis shoes stood in sharp contrast to his fancy canes and business attire!)

Sadly, further joint swelling and another painful foot took its toll on our proud Pops. He refused to remodel tennis shoes with strategically placed holes and considered sandals dangerously flimsy, so our local ski shop came to the rescue, stretching the leathers and manmades time and again. As for me, I remain happily in vogue with my sloppy, oversized men's sandals worn with socks to hide misshapen, but happy toes.

We both worry about our three grown children, none of whom have shown alarming arthritis symptoms in their 40s and 50s. Would Pops and I be dealing all three a certain RA hand? After inquiries with numerous experts, there appeared a small light at the end of our family tunnel. What can be inherited are only the genes that may make someone more likely susceptible, including those genes that control the immune system. Scientists believe there's probably a 25% chance of inheriting the disease. This suggests that most patients with the gene never develop any clinical rheumatic symptoms of significance, but how does that leave our children when both parents carry the gene?

Now, our 79-year-old Pops undergoes physical therapy in typical good humor, and uses his walker cautiously. His auto-immune system now gone, infectious side effects are hospitalizing him often, and he relies on serious antibiotics. I, too, have weaned myself from the newfangled bimonthly infusions, due to just plain fright. After six months, so far, so good. At 72, I still move vigorously and ingest only 1 mg of the anti-inflammatories.

Our supportive children refuse to give up on us. We joyfully celebrated our 53rd wedding anniversary by driving our snowmobiles on the annual 45-mile family excursion upon the serious snows of Yellowstone. Ken will now take refuge in his electric wheelchair, downing meds, and caring for his daily diabetic needs, while reflecting on that glorious weekend. Me, I'll keep on truckin' and thank the Lord for these simpler twilight days as we put a whole new spin on togetherness!

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