Having a sick parent is probably the toughest thing a child could ever have to go through.
No, not sick with a bad cold or the Flu, I mean really sick. The kind of sick that kids only picture their grand parents go through as they fight old age. Or, the kind of sick that a kid could see in a movie and on TV. The kind that most kids don't even know about, because they have never been exposed to anything not "normal".
This "sick" that I'm talking about is Arthritis. Not just any Arthritis, Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, which is the disease my father has been battling since he was six years old. For those who don't know, JRA or any type of Arthritis is generally an auto-immune disease that causes the inflammation and stiffness of joints throughout the affected area of the body. Unfortunately for my dad, at the time he was diagnosed with JRA, the only medicine available to help was Penicillin, which he is extremely allergic to. This resulted in my dad's joints being completely eaten away by the Arthritis as he was growing up. Throughout his teen and young adult years, he had both knees and both hips replaced with metal, and a shoulder later in life, as his joints began to succumb to this disease. Since then my dad has not been able to walk, drive, eat, write, or do any active motion activity like "normal".
Growing up, my siblings and I always had to help our dad do tasks around the house and essentially take care of him, but it wasn't until we were older we realized that not everyone lived like we did. We had to help him get dressed, we would cook dinner, and do the laundry and the yard work. Not necessarily anything hard, but nothing that our friends at school had to do at their houses. Going over to friends houses for sleepover's and watching their dad run around outside and play football with his buddies, was something we were not used to. Or noticing that not everyone has hand rails in their bathrooms, or a wheel chair ramp in their garage. Out in public at the grocery store with dad, it was so obvious that everyone could walk much faster than him, and no else had a limp, except for the old people of course. These were all the little things we noticed, but it was never troubling or bothersome because our dad was just our dad. We never knew anything different and we had learned to live with all kinds of accommodations. Many of these "accommodations" include constantly watching people stare at my dad, or overhearing rude children ask, "why does that guy walk funny?"
Most importantly, through my dads sickness I have learned how to be strong, and I have learned that I amvery strong. I've kept straight A's since elementary school, been an athlete, a volunteer, but my main job throughout my whole life has always been making sure my dad is okay. And this is something my teachers, coaches, peers, my not have ever known. They may not have known I missed school for a week because my dad was in the hospital, or I missed my shift at work because he fell out of his chair. Having a sick parent requires so much love and care, but I feel so lucky to have my dad. He has made me the person I am, and everything I have learned in life I owe to him.
