“My leg kinda hurts, but it’s OK.” That’s my standard answer when I’m asked how I’m feeling. I hesitate to say more. I don’t want to tell them (my husband, my son, my parents) how bad my pain is, simply because there’s nothing any of them can do to ease my pain.
I live with an autoimmune disease, undifferentiated connective tissue disease. It means, to some extent each day, I experience pain, fatigue, and weakness in my left leg.
I say it’s OK, since it’s my reality. I have to make it OK. Because I’m still going to make dinner. Empty the dishwasher. Water the plants.
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