“Watch out for Mommy’s sore arm!” This phrase is a familiar refrain in my household, often uttered with a mix of caution and concern. Yet, I can’t help but feel a sense of frustration each time I hear it.
For over a decade, I have been living with Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), also known as Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS). This condition has shaped my daily life and has been present even before my youngest children were born. My eldest daughter has only vague memories of me as a healthy, active mom—the one who took her sledding, enjoyed snowball fights, and played soccer. While I sometimes wish she could recall those joyful moments vividly, I understand that it’s better for her to have a more distant memory than to be reminded of what I can no longer do.
My journey began with an innocuous workplace incident—a strain that escalated into a chronic pain condition. Now, the nerves in my arm send constant signals of pain to my brain, misinterpreting all sensations as injury. Every day is a battle against discomfort; the question is not if I will experience pain, but rather how severe it will be. Weather changes, stress, or even a simple touch can send my pain levels soaring, leaving me feeling incapacitated.
Despite the challenges, I persist. As a woman, wife, and mother, I have dreams of writing and seeing my stories published, even if it means typing with one hand. I’m determined to reclaim my life from RSD, fueled by a stubborn resolve that propels me forward.
However, my struggle is not always visible. I often find myself hiding the pain from my family, wanting to protect them from the burden of my condition. I lie about my discomfort, fearing that constant talk of pain would overshadow our lives.
One particularly painful moment occurred at a church gathering where I hoped to connect with other moms. The dampness of the basement aggravated my pain, and as I attempted to help clean up, a fellow mom mocked my condition, dragging out the word “arm” with disdain. In that moment, I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me, as if I had been slapped in public.
This isn’t the first time I have faced ridicule regarding my disability. I have overheard people in stores comment on how slowly I move or sigh in frustration as I navigate my wallet with one hand. Yet, I continue to push through, determined not to let RSD rob my family of joy. Each time I fight to maintain an appearance of normalcy, I remind myself, “Just five more minutes,” until I can finally rest.
My children deserve the best of me, and so does my husband. When my youngest reaches for my hand, hesitating to check for my wedding rings, I feel a surge of love. Despite the challenges posed by RSD, I will always strive to be their mom, no matter the cost.
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In summary, navigating motherhood while managing a chronic condition is a daily challenge filled with both struggles and victories. The journey is not easy, but the love of my family motivates me to keep going, no matter the obstacles.
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