Last updated on April 1, 2025
“Move! Move as much and as often as you can.” How could she say that? I looked at her in absolute disbelief. She knew what I was going through.
For heaven’s sake, she has the same disease, we both have Rheumatoid Arthritis. Back then, I was still an RA-Rookie. I tried to come to terms with the special hell an autoimmune disease gives you, tried to wrap my head around the fact that my own body was doing this to me. She on the other hand was dealing with it for much l longer. She didn’t make any sense.
Just a few days earlier I could not turn the doorknob and the anger I felt at that moment could flow a rocket to the moon and back, considering we could use anger as fuel. This disease has brought me to my knees and has made me question everything about me and the rest of the world, and there she stood, smiled at me, and told me to move. Didn’t she know I was hurting?
“Will try,” I said because she was a customer, not a friend. She had just picked up her chair. We had started talking when it took me longer to finish her project. Once I called her because I had one of these famous RA flares that come out of nowhere and stay for a while.
“I don’t want to move either,” she said, “but if you don’t move, what’s the alternative? Curl up in a ball and feel sorry for yourself?” I gave her a polite look. The one I use only for special people when I realize they have no clue what they are talking about.
She did not leave, neither did she leave me alone, which I had hoped she would do. Instead, she loaded her chair, locked her car, and came back into my workroom. What followed could be described as an intense conversation, one that I didn’t feel like having. It was too early after my diagnosis and I wasn’t willing to accept the verdict just yet.
Walking our dogs, playing with them, running outside, all the things I like seemed now too painful to do. Life as I knew it was over.
Our conversation stuck with me, but I didn’t follow her advice. Instead of moving, I decided to rather sit and wait. Tortured by my own body, trapped in the faith of my own decision. Curling up in a ball felt good.
Then a few weeks later, when I logged into MFP (MyFitnessPal), which back then was a tool for me to control the calories and the nutrition I consumed every day, a blog post got my attention.
A lady was using the same Fitness webpage to lose weight, which is common. But her quest was so much more. I don’t recall her exact words but I remember how it made me feel. I received a message that was never intended as such.
“I am not going to die fat,” she wrote in her post and when I continued reading I learned that she had just been diagnosed with stage IV cancer. Sadly I don’t recall what kind it was, and I suppose in this case it doesn’t matter. It was her statement, her determination to fight to the very end, that spoke to me.
She talked about walking on her treadmill at snail speed. She was in pain and it made her cry, but she didn’t stop. She was really sick, and to be honest, so was I, but there was simply no comparison. She talked about being thin in her coffin and about fulfilling a lifelong wish. She wanted to lose the weight before her cancer would lose it for her. “I have struggled with weight all my life,” she explained and now was the only time she had left to finally get it done.
It hit me like lightning hits a tree.
Life gives us these special moments. We can either shrug our shoulders and move on, or we can stop the small world around us for a short while and digest what we just heard or witnessed. I call them life lessons. They are a gift we get from …. (fill in as you like) that helps us on our way.
A few days later, when I couldn’t turn the doorknob I didn’t give up. My bones are not broken, they just feel that way. My muscles and tendons aren’t torn, they just feel that way. Yes, there is pain, and perhaps always will be. “Either it controls me, or I control IT.”
I walked slowly around the blog, even on days when it hurt. Then it was too cold and too wet, I decluttered our own treadmill in the spare room and continued my walking exercise. I thought about the lady and her blog post often.
“Move…even when it hurts.”
I am not going to lie, there are days when I give the outside world a heartfelt middle finger salute, and there are days when I don’t make myself walk because I just don’t feel like it…
BUT
…I walk and sometimes even run.
Now years later, I am not in so much pain anymore. I live a very healthy lifestyle and follow (mostly) a very strict diet. I have a supplement regime that seems to work and I am taking a weekly low-dose chemo drug. I have come to terms with my disease and I am giving it the middle finger salute regularly.
I am not sure what the future will hold, but I will be walking for as long as I possibly can.
FUDGE YOU RA!
The good news! My fingers aren’t swollen or stiff anymore I can work and I can salute 🙂
I don’t know if the lady who wrote the blog post is still alive. I don’t know if she reached her goal, but I hope she did. Sometimes I wonder how many more she helped beside me.
…
I still have days I barely move but more from fatigue than pain… hard to move when you can’t stay awake. But I KNOW I feel better when I move some. Start back into the therapy pool next month and I can’t wait! Walking in water is so good! This post is a good reminder! Thanks!
Fatigue is a different beast. I battled it too and it’s no fun. I hope you won’t have many of these days.
It is unfortunately often more troublesome than the pain from fibro. There is possibility it is chronic fatigue syndrome but without going med free (which helps with the pain) they can’t tell and I don’t want to go back to hurting so much.
May you never go back to hurt so badly.
👏🌞👏
I am glad you are feeling better. 😊
“Now was the only time she had left to get it done.” This is so true of all of us. Now is all we have and time is running short. I hope you have more good days than bad. I’m sure the blogger helped any number of people…and by sharing her words, and yours, you’re helping a whole lot more people.
I can identify more than you could know. I’m lucky, mine is osteoarthritis
A good story Bridget. Much as we don’t like the advice to keep on keeping on, it is valid advice. My wife is one of these with her Fibromyalgia and osteoarthritis arthritis. The pain never stops and neither does she. Have a gox Saturday. Allan
You wife is such a trooper. She is a strong woman and you both are lucky to have each other, as am I with my husband.
My pain level is very low, even though I cheated yesterday and had a skim philly steak sandwich. As long as I stay away from certain food I am doing much better.
Tell your wife I said “Hi.”
Hopefully, someone will read your post and be just as inspired as you were after having read the blog post of the determined lady with stage 4 cancer.
It takes courage to look straight at our adversities and allow a redefinition of what we thought our lives should be–what we thought, or even still think, we deserve. You’re an inspiration, Bridget. I do think “keep moving” is important for our physical wellbeing, and is also a sound metaphor for getting through life’s “hard knocks.” Peace to you, dear friend.
Oh how wonderful to see you online. I was wondering how you were doing, knowing that you are not doing too well, makes me think about you more.
Oh, Debra, you are so often in my thoughts.
“Keep moving” physically as well as mentally is important. We both know it. We are old enough 🙂