FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND FINGERS

For all it's awe-inspiring scenery and unbelievably rich history, Europe is still many, many miles away from everything I had ever known. I had always been able to call or visit family pretty much whenever I wanted. Now it wasn't possible. I was suffering physically, mentally and emotionally from some unknown ailment. I felt like I needed my family near me to help me through the trauma and the turmoil. But I also had the desire to be a strong and supportive military spouse and mother.


That's the period in my life when I realized fully the network of support that the military affords its members. I was never alone with my doubt and fear. All I had to do was reach out and accept the friendship available to me from others, perhaps not in my same position, but close enough. That time also gave me the opportunity to reach outside myself and realize that I had something to offer in return.


When RA strikes, it is so easy to become completely self-absorbed. Mine hadn't yet been diagnosed, so the traveling pains, fatigue, and emotional stress were taking a toll on me. I had heard "it's all in your head" so many times that I wanted to knock a few off. (heads, that is). So with all the confusion and worry I was dealing with, the last thing I felt like doing was entertaining. But that comes with the territory of being an Army wife.


The first time the holidays came around, I was expending all my energy on choosing gifts for our daughter, delighting in the Christkindlmarkts, and preparing packages to send back home. My mother became very fond of the fancy liqueur chocolates I later sent every holiday season. The last thought in my head was to entertain a group of strangers. But my husband had a number of soldiers in his platoon that were also going to miss Christmas with their families.  These were kids, not too much younger than me, but who were single. The mess halls would put on a big, fancy feed, but it wouldn't be the same as a home-cooked meal and time with family.


So I finally got over my selfishness, took extra vitamins in an effort to increase my energy levels, and determined to make it a memorable holiday for as many as we could fit into our apartment. I baked, roasted, mashed, boiled, fried and toasted an assortment of all the favorite holiday dishes that I could think of. I even managed an edible version of my dad's incredible dressing. By the time I finished, my hands were so sore that if anything barely touched my fingers I would cry out in pain. So I repeatedly filled the sink with hot water and soaked them as often as possible. My husband wanted to help out by washing dishes, and I normally would have jumped at the opportunity to let him do them, but it was another excuse to soak my hands, so I turned down his offer.


That Christmas was the beginning of a tradition we continued with throughout the many years my husband served. We met so many people from all over the country, and made so many new friends, that it would have been horrible if I had stood in the way for any reason. We played games. People brought guitars and we sang until we were hoarse. We shared stories of family traditions. We ate until we could hold no more and then we went out to walk through the moonlit snow. I packed up every available container with goodies for people to take back to their barracks so they could share with others. We laughed. We cried. We hugged. We just had an absolutely incredibly good time. (forgive all the adjectives, but we really did.)


Of course, when I woke up the next morning, my hands resembled boxing gloves. The knuckles were swollen so badly that I couldn't straighten them all the way. And that's the first time we noticed a strange knot on one of them. At first I thought I'd gotten something in my finger. Perhaps a splinter from a bamboo skewer. Or maybe I had cut it and it had become infected. The only thing I knew for sure was that it hurt like the dickens, and I wanted it gone.


It was going to be a week or more before I could get into the clinic, so my husband took me up to a smaller clinic at one of the other bases. I'm so thankful he did. At the hospital clinics I could never get past the screening PA's. But this clinic was so tiny that they didn't even have a PA. I saw an actual doctor, and he knew exactly what was going on with my finger. He gently took my hand in his and said I had a rheumatoid nodule. I had no clue what he was talking about. He ordered a couple of blood tests and gave me the wonderful news a short time later. 


Merry Christmas to me, huh?


Hope you all have a healthy and productive week. I'll be back.


Harmony