Sometimes I forget about Arthur.
I don’t mean I ignore him or pretend he’s not there, because I do that most of the time, anyway.
I mean I actually forget I have rheumatoid arthritis.
Sometimes I’m enjoying myself so much or I’m so motivated to get stuff done that I forget my strength and stamina aren’t that of an Arthur-less person.
I throw caution to the winds.
I’m like Supergirl: able to lift a bus with one finger while leaping tall buildings in a single bound.
Take last Saturday, for example, I was up at 7.30am after a late night socialising and by the time I got to my PT session at 9.30am had done two loads of washing, stripped the bed, tidied up and written the grocery list.
After some strenuous PT, I traipsed around two shopping centres for three hours searching for cushions to zhoozh up my lounge suite and for food for the week.
Back home, I had lunch while unpacking the groceries, and doing another two loads of washing and hanging it out to dry.
Then I spent two hours weeding, re-potting some herbs and watering the garden.
Did I do the sensible thing and use my padded kneeboard to kneel down instead of bending over while re-potting, or the digging tool to prise free the pesky nut grass roots instead of straining my poor fingers?
Did I go to bed early to rest my weary bones after all this frenetic activity?
Instead, after making dinner and my bed, I sat on my new lounge cushions watching telly until late.
So yesterday I felt like a beach ball that’d been run over by a dune buggy – flat and no bounce.
But that’s OK.
Every now and again I need to be reminded that even Supergirl hits the wall when exposed to kryptonite.
So while my kryptonite, a.k.a. Arthur, shouldn’t stop me living life, I need to remember not to overdo it, listen to my body, pace myself and rest if I must.