"You’re too young to have arthritis," I heard as I entered my fourth decade of living. Hmm. Was I then too old to have teeth cavities? Did I instruct a pimple that occasionally popped up, "Go away. I’m out of that generation." Now, years past 40, I wonder when I’ll be aged enough to get some sympathy and even shaking heads uttering "tsk, tsk, poor thing" if I ever decide I’d like a pity-party – unlikely I’ll ever want one, but could I even be the star of one?

Osteoarthritis is a tease; swelling starts on its own time schedule. A bracelet I tried to clasp around my wrist for my firstborn son’s wedding ceremony fit the day before, but not when I readied for the rite. My marriage band had to be soaped on a swollen finger (the soap was also used to remove the ring before bedtime), and my inflated right hand, clenching a pastel tissue, didn’t appear out of place as family is supposed to be weepy. I was rejoicing at this event; tears came from arthritis pain.

One of the non-steroid, anti-inflammatory drugs I tried was superb. I actually could reach an octave on the piano before fate chuckled and welts wandered around my body from this medication. I could cope with a rash or hives for an octave span – welts were another story.

Back to basics. Aspirin. The drug of choice. Whose choice? Not mine. Did nothing for my music or my stomach.

Well, I bracelet-planned ahead for my daughter’s wedding. I tried a different chemical non-steroid, anti-inflammatory pill. Guess what? The bracelet fit, but the drug produced bloating and nausea so my dress belt barely made it around my still-tiny waist. Wedding of offspring number three: I left the bracelet in the safe deposit box, wore a loose-belted but fitted satin gown, stayed on the minimum possible does of prescribed medication and the osteo decided to remain dormant for that day. I could have belted, and wristed, and...oh, well.

Heberden’s nodes have filled out my fingers. Once too tiny for ladies’ small gloves, I can now buy one-size-fits-all. Size four and one-half rings that slid smoothly on straight digits have increased to a thumb’s circumference. I used to pay to have my limp blonde hair gnarled by permanent wave solutions, yet automatically acquired gnarled fingers. Why didn’t my fingers and hair just switch DNAs?

Arthritis created a morning challenge. Joints crack as my alarm clock button gets depressed. Shall I exercise in bed with a full bladder or rise to eliminate first? Will cold water cool down hot hands or warm water soothe but swell already inflamed tissue? See. Most people just have to decide on decaf or regular coffee first thing in the morning; I have to decide how to get up.

My "old" image has been modified by the current NSAIDs hype. Jocks swallow, cramping girls carry tablets, television beauties boast of its benefits. My prescription strength makes no difference to folks who announce they also take my medicine, a common denominator. At least no one mouths, "You’re too young to take ibuprofen."