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"For All Appearances"

© Anne Scott

This is a guest article by a lupie friend of mine. I've printed it here with her permission because I thought that so many of us could relate to her words. I encourage everyone to use writing as a means of getting your feelings and emotions expressed, as it really does help to solidify them by writing them out, and that too, is a method of healing. ----Karyn

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My appearance is changing. Aging never scared me much, so it comes as a surprise that looking like I have a disease is breaking my heart. Aging slowly creeps along, etching character onto faces and wisdom into eyes. Aging inspires poetry, ageless reflections set to rhythms pilgrimiging through the centuries. For the enlightened, age brings growth. For the lucky, it brings inspiration and contentment. Diseases, on the other hand, whittle into us without the gratuities of historical appreciation and personal achievement. Fulfillment does not go hand in hand with disease, as it can with simple aging. Maybe I'm just splitting hairs, but I feel differently about the parts of my lupus that show on the outside. My gray hairs and wisdom lines seem so subtle compared to the neon signs of illness.

My eyes are black. Dark circles under and around my eyes give me the appearance of a dead tree. Wrinkles, on the other hand, bring out the tree's autumn color. See what I mean? I have the appearance of a haunted house. My mother-in-law's house, which is older than I am, looks well-lived, a beacon of peace and sagacity against a backdrop of pre-fab. My mother-in-law, who is older than her house, radiates energy and achievement. She's beautiful and comforting to be around. She's trustworthy. Black eyes are just sad. Nothing poetic speaks through dark circles. Old eyes demand a different audience.

Then there is my posture. I drag myself through the day, sometimes clutching my side, sometimes my stomach, sometimes my etc., etc. There really is nothing like doubling over every four or five steps you take in the grocery store, when you look otherwise perfectly normal. I can't imagine being an onlooker to my shopping experience. I get these searing pains through my chest that all but drop me to the ground. They come in quick spurts, so that as soon as I recover from one the next one hits me. I make this loud guttural sound that I can't seem to stop making. Even when I know the next pang is coming that old animal instinct to howl can't be suppressed. Sometimes it seems silly to wash my hair and put on make up. Nothing hides a grunt.

Changes......

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