The Size of a Grapefuit

This week is Rheumatoid Arthritis Awareness Week, and this is my post in support of the National Rheumatoid Arthritis Society’s campaign. I was going to blog about this yesterday, but fatigue and a flare-up got hold of me and the thought of sitting at my desk was too much.

Oh, the irony.

As an aside, this time last year I was writing my RA Awareness post with my new ulna head in my left wrist. This year, I have no ulna head in my left wrist. I’m not even sure I should call it a wrist … Sadly the new implant didn’t alleviate the pain, so the decision was taken to have it removed. I’m pleased to say my *wrist* is healing well. It’s early days, but I am hopeful all will be resolved.

It’s my knees playing up at the moment, and they’re prone to giving out from under me – TWANG! No warning. Needless to say, I’m not wandering too far. Thankfully the sun is shining in Dorset, and I’m able to sit in my small, but quiet garden and read, or make notes for my fourth novel.

Gajitman recently enlarged our patio so we have room for a gazebo. It was

backbreaking work for him, digging up slabs and earth, cutting away roots, mixing cement and building a new dwarf wall. He’s an IT engineer by trade. Our son joined in with great enthusiasm having fun wheeling out barrows full of earth and stones. I have no idea how such a slender lad can be so strong. I watched from the conservatory window, my heart bursting with love, as I knew the boys were doing this for me.

They were creating a little piece of Italy – a reminder of a writing course I attended two years ago in Arte Umbria, where the guests would sit out, under the gazebo, overlooking a glorious landscape. I had an incredible week there where I made new friends, was nurtured,  and felt relaxed and well. It was bliss.

I was lucky enough to travel there with two good friends, Sue Moorcroft, the marvellous tutor of the course, and the lovely Celia Anderson, fellow writer. Without their help and support, a week away without Gajitman or my able children would have been tough. Even the thought of being somewhere new can cause me anxiety. Will I be able to use the shower? What sort of taps are there? How many stairs does the property have? What happens if I can’t undo my zip? On this occasion, I needn’t have worried. Everyone was so thoughtful, kind, and inclusive. It was a week away from home that will stay with me forever.

In July, I’m heading into London for the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s annual conference. I’ve never been to the venue, so I have no idea what it holds in store, but despite my limitations, I can be intrepid because this supportive group of novelists accept me for who and what I am. They are generous with their time and practical help, and one or two (usually my close friends from my online writing group, The Romaniacs), have had the delightful pleasure of helping my put on and take off jewellery, fasten shoes, and open various jars and bottles on my behalf.

What strikes me as I’m writing this is how my family and friends understand I will ask for help when it’s required. They respect my independence and my privacy, my determination to try and my frustration at not succeeding, and somehow, like the magic shopkeeper in Mr Benn, they are always there when I need them.

Without the wonderful help and support from my trusted family and friends, my world would be the size of a grapefruit.

Now to spend the day enjoying my little piece of Italy. No travelling involved.

Take care.

Laura x