I know I’ll probably never have the satisfaction of really knowing exactly what is wrong with me–some unknown, unnamed auto-immune thingy that will rear its ugly head whenever it damn well pleases.  So, I try not to dwell on it. I know things could be A LOT worse and I don’t want to stir up any trouble. And for the most part, I get by pretending nothing’s wrong with me.

But as luck would have it, an alien has come to live inside me whose mission is to remind me daily that there IS something wrong with me.

Lately Mr. Alien has been torturing me in small annoying ways.

First, he made a couple fingers on each hand feel swollen and the joints painful, but he made it just so that other people can’t see any swelling. No big deal. Just a couple fingers. Who needs those? I don’t really.

Unless of course, I need to type anything on my computer. Oh, and if I need to pick up anything. Or open something. Yes, then it kind of limits me. Oh, and if I need to shake someone’s hand–and they happened to have a firm handshake–then you will see me cringe in agony. But until that moment, I look totally normal.

Good for me.

Now, my alien has moved on. He thinks fingers are boring and would like to torture my left wrist for awhile instead. Again, not too much visible swelling so as not to draw too much attention from others, but bend that sucker the wrong way and OUCH! I’m totally at his mercy.

Again, not much need for one wrist–except for the fact I’m left-handed and pretty much find myself unable to lift anything or do anything that involves using that arm. Did you think that maybe I was just lazy? Mr. Alien thinks that’s real funny.

Mr. Alien also likes to amuse himself by sapping my energy and sending stabbing, electrical pain deep inside my bones. Shooting pain that’s there for a moment–and then gone again. Like maybe I just imagined it, because I’m a sick pain-loving freak. Or at least that’s what Mr. Alien thinks.

How long will Mr. Alien amuse himself with my wrist? I wonder. Maybe a couple more weeks? Maybe forever. Time will tell.

And where will he go next? Feet are always a good option. Or a knee. Limping seems to keep him amused for a while.

Why does he do this to me? I think he likes to remind me that I’m not all better and maybe never will be.

But don’t worry.  I can beat him at this game. I’ve done it before.

I work. I play. And I go on. Despite his insistence on barging into my life, my body.

Are you listening Mr. Alien?

You’re not welcome.

You shouldn’t be here.

I hate you.

You will not defeat me.

I will go on despite you.

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