Lupus and Cold Weather

Oh how exciting that first snowfall can be!

Especially with my guys...

romping around the back yard making a snowman...

granted a bit muddy, but the first one of the season.

Then December rolls around...

oh wonderful!

A white Christmas.

But then comes January.

In the "good ol' days" I would have my cross country skis out. I would be shooshing through the parks. Enjoying the silence of the woods...

watching how silent snowfall can really be.

Now...

I have Raynaud's.

Sounds fancy...

doesn't it?

Actually the circulation in my hands and feet is poor...

very poor.

My digits turn bright red, pale, pale white, blue and when it gets scary...

they turn grey.

Today I am bundled up inside our little cottage. Wearing three (yes, THREE) pairs of my husband's sweat socks. And you know what?

My feet are FREEZING!




This is the winter of my lupus.

The first winter...

one I will probably never forget.

The secret to sanity?

FLEXIBILITY...

and a wickedly good sense of humor!

To entertain myself on days like this...

I'm trying to teach my dog how to go to sleep on my feet. It's rather complicated...




she's 46 pounds, incredibly loving...

but, not the sharpest pin in the cushion.

For example, she goes stupid for squirrels.

Well...she tries.

I can't wait for spring. I haven't seen my toes in weeks. I know they are there somewhere...

under all the layers.

Thank God for hot cocoa, cozy handmade quilts....

and socks...

lots and lots of socks!

TODAY: July 2011: For some reason I got it in my head that I was experiencing lupus symptoms like it was the first time ever. I think what had happened is that I finally had a name for what I was experiencing. I had Raynaud's for years, and simply didn't know this. I loved to cross country ski, but in my mind I had completely forgotten the horrible raw sores that I would get from being out in the cold for hours. As I aged the symptoms got worse. So bad at times that I  was chronically developing sores on my fingertips and toes.

My writing in this entry was forced enthusiasm. I was wishing myself normal. I was wishing myself to be happy. I was wishing away the depression. I was trying so hard in my heart, but the only cure for the grieving I encountered was to simply go through it. In writing about my memories of the "gold old days" I was beginning to acknowledge the loss. The first step in letting go.

In pushing myself to feel joy, I did do myself a world of good. The effort would pull me temporarily out of the depression and remind me that there was still much joy to be had in my life and to awaken in me a sense of gratitude for the good things I still had.


On a much lighter note, I actually did teach Tilly the wonder dog to sleep on my cold feet. She is thirteen years old now, and the roles are reversed. She sits near my feel and I rub her gently as she dozes.