It was the month of August in the evening in the year that I turned 25 years old. I had been sitting in a reclining chair in our living room and I could not stand up and get out of the chair. Albeit the chair was one of those large, puffy, soft recliners that sat low to the ground. But I had gotten out of that chair 100 times before with a springing step and quick walk away. Why was it different this time?
Along with my inability to stand up, my entire body had become stiff and very sore. I felt like I had been hit with a Mac truck. I felt that if I looked down at my body, it should be covered with dark bruises. I had been watching TV and had fallen asleep for an hour or so. Little did I know that when I woke up at that moment, my life would be forever different.
I called to my husband, who came rushing in to see what was wrong. I began crying because of the unexpected nature of my predicament. I had no idea what was happening to me. He gently helped me out of the chair and led me in to our bed. When I lay down, I felt the unmistakable comfort that lying flat brings to a person with rheumatoid arthritis. This would be my position in life for many hours in the future.