No one in my life knew about my struggles with hand pain and arthritis other than my husband, and even though I was no spring chicken, I wasn't an old lady either. I was only 61, and I could barely do everyday things without looking like a cripple.
I didn't want Katy to see me struggling to open a simple front door like a fumbling old woman, but I didn't see any way out. I turned around and smiled weakly at Katy, and then put my hand onto the door, wincing with pain.
My heart caught in my throat. I couldn't open the door knob. From now on, Katy and all the neighborhood woman, no matter how nice and kind they were to me, would think of me as a brittle, fragile old woman who couldn't even open a door on her own!
I sighed, defeated, tears starting to come into my eyes.
"Hold on, what's wrong? Is it your hands??" Katy asked gently as she saw my hand struggling to grip the handle, shaking with pain.
I turned around, and I couldn't even speak cause I thought I'd burst into tears with humiliation and shame.
"Don't cry sweetie! Come here!" Something in Katy's tone, the friendliness and understanding finally did it. I started to cry as she put her arms around me and gently rubbed my back.
"I just can't do it, I can't even open the dang door!" I said in between sobs. I pulled away and wiped my tears from my eyes.
"Oh Katy, it's my hands. I have terrible arthritis in both hands, and it's gotten so painful that even little things like opening a door or brushing my teeth have become all but impossible! I feel like an old woman, like I'm sick or crippled, and I'm only a year past 60. I don't know why this is happening to me!"
I let it all out, and then stood there, feeling empty.