The applesauce woman

When I was a young child my grandparents brought an old woman to thanksgiving dinner.

She was old, toothless, frail, thin and quiet.

I had never seen her before, or after.

She sat at the end of the table and only ate applesauce. Her hand shaking as she slowly ate.

I have never forgotten her...this applesauce woman.

Tonight I got out my sewing box and machine to hem my son's pants. It was frustrating on so many levels. My muscle refusing to obey and perform the fine motor skills needed to sew.

Took me MUCH longer then it should have.

Broke my heart to see all the unfinished projects in the box.

To realize that that door is closed now.

My children had better hang on to their floor blankets, to give to any future grandchildren...because I will not be able to sew them any.

I tossed most of the box in the trash.  Crying in my hubby's arms as I say goodbye to yet ANOTHER THING.

I remember vividly when I was first injured in my twenties, and I had to give up the very first thing.

Running was the first thing to go.

and it didn't go quietly.

As the pain gained hold and took over, pieces of me fell away. My identity began to change.

Things are going away much quicker now.

The prednisone is failing. My labs worse even after a increase in the meds.

Finally, the muscle biopsy is on the table and rolling.

The Polymyositis is in my hips now.

Crept in this summer.

I'm struggling to make my shifts at work.

which terrifies me, because come November, its my shoulders that will carry a burden meant for two.

I see her.

That old  woman.

I see her now, in me.

I place my resident's medication in applesauce and spoon it to them. Trying to ignore the weakness and shakiness of my arm.

This damn illness is close to robbing me of it all.  Soon I will be this ghostly shell that is nothing more then a quietness, where a wild beautiful woman once was.

...and it will be my turn to be the applesauce woman.