crps, in living color

I hate to contradict the evidence, but the visible CRPS-afflicted parts of my body are undergoing the usual seasonal shift from red CRPS to blue CRPS.  Though you are not likely to notice, this stuff not being the center of your umbilical vantage point, this also entails a move from a highly edematous state to one that is... well, less so.  Shoot, on very cold days, my hands and feet will be nothing short of shriveled.  My rings will fall off my fingers, that sort of change.

Speaking of rings, a nurse asked recently why I wore rings and a bracelet, given the pain and ultra-sensitivity in my hands and lower arms.  I don't always -- a few times per day, I will divest myself of all jewelry and hold my freed hands up into the air, provided the air is cool and calm.

I suppose I persist in wearing some jewelry for the same reasons that I continue to do dishes, use knives, and pet animals:  these are useful ways to claim occupational/physical therapy credits.  In fact, there is a standing order in our kitchen that I am to wash all of the dirty dishes, unless I specifically beg off.  [Begging off being on my mind due to the change in temperatures.  There is nothing quite so unpleasant, first thing in the morning, as the freezing, greasy water found in a sink full of dishes left "to soak" overnight.]

Early on in my experiences with physical therapy (the treatment modality with the most success in modifying CRPS, at least if begun in a timely fashion), I was introduced to the concept of stress loading, which incorporates the activities of scrubbing and carrying.  Beyond that, there were horrific attempts at desensitization, failures all.  It soon became something of a joke to me that we were paying actual money so that someone could supervise me while I scrubbed, and give hilariously imperious nods of approval over my carrying techniques.

Besides, with all of Marlinspike Hall standing at the ready, actual scrubbing and real carrying tasks were bountiful.

In other words, it isn't at all difficult to make daily tasks sufficiently mindful that they assume the place of physical and occupational therapy.  With every setback, strengthening, dexterity, and coordination work moved to the forefront.

Being a fairly simple-minded person, I succeed in tricking myself pretty easily.  For instance, Dobby the Runt and Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten both thoroughly enjoy opening my closet door and climbing the shelves so as to shed on my clean clothes.  To keep them out, we could add a simple latch to the door... or I could artfully pile various hand weights at the bottom, on which humans and pets, alike, could trip, causing an ongoing collection of paint chips and ill will.  It's good for my arms to do the bending and lifting now required just to put away clean underwear.

Anyway... yes, rings, watches, bracelets all serve a therapeutic purpose, most days.  They're my secret desensitizers.  The warm sudsy water in the kitchen sink is my aquatic therapy.  General cleaning encompasses a well-thought out stress-loading program, in which scrubbing and carrying are accomplished by... scrubbing and carrying.

This morning's video update just seemed to cry out for some contrasting color, so I grabbed things at hand:  one of Hiroshige's sudden showers; a favorite glass vase (favored for its blue); rope; and a needle point placemat that Brother-Unit TW included as filler in one of his marvelous gift boxes (ergo, I mistakenly imbued the placemat with magic powers).  Like I said, though quite purplish/red right now, the extremities have begun the annual pilgrimage to the blue, cold, shriveled side of things.

For such is CRPS.