I’ve just gotten back from a wonderful father-daughter trip to England. We went for a week, stayed in a lovely coastal town in the southeast, and rented a car to beetle around to nearby villages and historic sites. We hiked in the South Downs, explored Canterbury, and poked around lots of National Trust gardens.
Did I hurt? Yes. More than on other trips? Yep. Where there things I couldn't do? Yep. When I went backpacking with my best friend a few years aso, I was shocked by how great I felt. I actually lasted longer than she did on some of our days out hiking. My rheumatologist had given me a bottle of prednisone to take along just in case, but I never needed a single one.
This time was different, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit disappointed to see the way things have changed. It’s still almost all in my hips, which I suppose is a good thing: except for my right hand, my joints are all pretty much the same as they have been for the last four or five years. And I’m also glad that at this point, once I get walking, my hips usually do loosen up. Still, I did quite a lot of hobbling and, unfortunately, quite a bit of waddling as well. My right hip has turned outward and sometimes it’s hard to straighten it out again, which, I am sorry to say, makes me walk like a duck.
The point of this post, though, is that I went on the trip anyway, and I had a great time anyway. All the fun I had and all the pleasure I took in seeing so many beautiful things have eased some of my fears about the future. I learned that pain can’t destroy the things I truly love. It might change them. It might force me to adapt. But that’s okay, because I’ll find a way around it and I won’t let it stop me.