August 31, 2004
Thoughts on the Arthritis Foundation Wine and Dine
A woman who looks vaguely like Jenny McCarthy shuffles through the crowd lead by a rather handsome man who gives the impression that he is more handsome because of the girl accompanying him. As they walk between items displayed for the silent auction, they look horrendously bored, occasionally swirling and sipping from wine glasses etched with the word "Celebrex."
I was on Celebrex for a time.
A woman comes in dressed in a long red gown. Behind her, a man in a sharp sportscost, jeans and loafers. Around the room are tables set up with warmers of food or bottles of wine, people gather in helter-skelter lines, waiting for a miniature chicken wrap or a taste of Beaujolais. Except for the friend I came here with, I don't know anyone. I don't recognize anyone. It amazes me that I can live in a town for almost ten years and when I go out I do not recognize anyone. There are hundreds of people here.
I feel I have a secret. The people around me don't know it but they are here for me.
I'm only 31, which really doesn't seem or feel that old, but tonight I do feel old, maybe older than I conceive of myself. There are tables with placards for law firms and radio stations and it seems like the people around them are young, junior staff, very alive and vibrant. It's Thursday night, eight-ish and if these people weren't here I'd imagine they'd be at swank bars, sipping martini cocktails. And who could blame them?
I kind of feel like a fly on the wall, watching. My friend has gone up to a table that has a chocolate fountain; I'm holding our seats. We both have rheumatoid arthritis, but no one knows that, except for the few familiar faces we encounter. And even if the others knew I don't know if it would register. The thing is I'm not really sure I care if they do or not.
The guy with the Jenny McCarthy look-alike guides her to another wine table with his hand at the small of her back. She has pointed to things and he dutifully leans over the table, writing on the silent auction bid sheets with a Mont Blanc pen.
I have a Mont Blanc pen that was a gift from my dad.
A friendly -- if not a little drunk -- woman starts a conversation. She is sweet and relaxed from wine, here on a date. The man seems to be a new one, an early budding relationship and the two are very charming in their new togetherness. I tell them that I have arthritis and she seems pleased that I tell her. I've let her in on a secret. I find out that she's originally from Ravenswood, West Virginia, which is near the place my family is from. I should have known by the friendliness that she was a West Virginian, because as a general rule, we're a friendly lot. The friend I've come with is surprised that I just told this woman, a total stranger, that I'm attending this Wine and Dine event because I live with RA. I'm a little surprised myself. This woman from Ravenswood is the only stranger I had a conversation with that is someone I don't know.
My husband is always telling me that I should just tell people about my RA, that nobody will think differently of me because of it. I think having RA makes you more aware of it, how others see you because of it.
I don't know if the lovely people of Columbus, many which seem to be here, care or not, and I'm not sure that it matters. If they are going to spend their money, why not for this cause, why not for something that could help.
At my table I wait for my friend to return with her plate of chocolate. I'm comfortable waiting alone, watching the flow of people, holding a secret that I'm all too willing to share if someone would happen to ask.
Posted by renee | Filed under:
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