015. Pain don't hurt.

As I sit here and type this post, I am still searching the internet to find ways to cope with/treat rheumatoid arthritis.

Yes, you read that right. I have rheumatoid arthritis.

When I started having pain in my right wrist, I listed down possible reasons why I had the pain. I thought it happened because I used a bowling ball that was too big for my hand. I also thought that carrying my niece was the cause of my sudden wrist pain. I even suspected the cold air from the office air-conditioner was getting into my bones. 

After reading so much about carpal tunnel syndrome, I began to assume that given the nature of my job,  this was the cause of all my misery. After getting a referral from the doctor, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon that my family has been seeing. He took one look at my hand and said "your wrist is swollen, we'll do a blood test to see if it is arthritis". Of course, I didn't like the sound of that. I'm not THAT old to be having arthritis like my mother. If I could carry three suitcases from one flat to another and carry five heavy bags of groceries from the supermarket to my flat, I don't see how I could possibly have arthritis.

After two weeks, the test revealed that I showed signs of rheumatoid arthritis. I was calm when he told me. When I asked him if there was a way to lower the reading, he said 'no'. Again, I was calm. The moment I reached the office, I was upset. I went online to read up about this ailment I was having. (please don't ever do this because you will end up reading the worst possible scenarios and think "OH SHIT I AM GOING TO DIE!". The joy of being a hypochondriac). I was distracted because all I wanted to do was cry. At lunchtime, I went down to my favourite spot and cried. I only told three people about it that day. I unleashed my anger on my mother for not calling to check on me because she would always call to find out if I was doing okay. I did apologise to her for my outburst, but she understood that I was upset.

On Wednesday, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon again. After finding out that the pain was still there and had extended to my forearm, he referred me to a rheumatologist (who is also treating my mother). He asked me a lot of questions and told me to get another blood test done. After that, he told me "Yes, you have mild arthritis. While not curable, it can be prevented from getting worse. It is hereditary, which means that you don't have to worry about being adopted. It's very common in women, and it can also be caused by stress. It can go away and never return. It can go away and return. It can get worse". He told me to destress and sleep early (hahaha) and to go back in three months to see if it has subsided or worsen.

It is overwhelming to take in and understand. I can't ask "why me?" because hey, I got from my mama. It has set me back from doing things such as chores, lifting a box file at work, and carrying my niece. Seeing my parents carry her makes me sad because I want to be able to do the same without feeling pain and/or hurting the little girl. It makes me sad because I can't be of much help to the family when they need help. It makes me sad because I can't lift things without wincing in pain. It makes me very sad that I have to cut down on working out/exercising and intake of certain foods (the latter was instructed by my father because he thinks that eating cold foods at night is going to kill me, when the doctor said that there is no scientific proof that cold foods make it worse. better to be safe than sorry, you know?). I'm also sad because I've also caused people to worry about me (my family, my friends - online and real-life, my colleagues, my boss (who has already yelled at me to go for a full medical checkup as per my entitlement)).

I am going to take things one day at a time. I will learn to destress and relax, and hopefully, this thing will leave and never return. I won't let this pain consume me.

I'm so thankful for all the well-wishes, support and scoldings I received in the last few days. I'm truly blessed with good people in my life.

Remember: pain don't hurt.

014. Love yourself.

I know I'm not overweight, I have an average built. I'm comfortable with it, but when you have friends/family members who are much smaller than you, you become the butt of all jokes (literally). I shrugged it off in the beginning, but sometimes, it gets to you and it hurts.

I had a teacher who would tell me that I was fat at every opportunity she got. She went one better by using my name in an English exam paper. We had to write the opposite word for the underlined word in a sentence...one of the sentences was

Rowena is a thin girl.

It doesn't take rocket science to tell you what she had implied. It didn't matter if I came in first in my class, it didn't matter if I had the highest score for Maths. None of that mattered because all I was to her was that I was fat.

I was 9.


I'm also one of those unfortunate people who gain weight from vacations. I gain at least five kilogrammes every time I come home from a trip. Losing the weight isn't that difficult for me because I tend to lose them all during the fasting month. But again, when you have skinny/smaller-sized friends, standing next to them makes you feel like you're a beached whale.

After my one-month trip to America when I was 16, I gained five kilogrammes and I couldn't fit into any of my clothes. Being at an age where other people's opinions were important, I knew I needed to lose weight. So, what did I do?

I used laxatives.
I fasted a lot.
I skipped meals.
I exercised excessively.

And then I masked it by eating normally. Then, when I felt 'flabby' and guilty, I'd do it all over again. It was a beautiful cycle: eat so much, feel guilt, do shit loads to lose the weight, rinse and repeat.

I kept doing it for eight years without people knowing. It was the only thing I knew I could control, because I couldn't control other parts of my life. One day in 2011, I looked in the mirror and I could see my ribs and said "this is bad". It was the first time that I admitted to myself that I was bulimic, and that I had a problem that needed fixing. I never publicly admitted it, but at least some of you knew about it from my other blog.

I took it one day at a time, because you just don't tell yourself "snap out of it, you're beautiful" and rainbows and fireworks would magically appear. Every day you look at the mirror and tell yourself that, the mirror would reply "hahahaha nope you're not". It's the hardest part to convince yourself all these things when you don't feel like it's the truth. It was a struggle in the beginning.

After a while, I felt better and learnt to accept and love myself for the way I am. Sure, there have been times I would have a relapse, but with supportive friends and a conscience, I would make sure that I don't go back to the old me.

It took me a few years to realise that being skinny wasn't going to make me happy. Being healthy and fit was the way to go. I decided to follow an exercise regime and change my diet, and I've seen the improvements. I'm much happier now.

All I want to say to you reading this is: love yourself. Don't let anyone define your worth, you don't need that toxicity in your life. I learnt my lesson the hard way, and I suffered. I hope you're a lot smarter and wiser than I was back then. You are NOT your weight.

I'll leave you with something Miranda Hart said:

Be kind to yourself.