I always look forward to events that occur each year, particularly those involving special traditions. This Easter was no exception, and as usual, I made my “hot peace buns.” I attempt to make these every Good Friday, although it can be a mission to find the energy to make my stiff hands and fingers do the fiddly bits.
As you can see, it was worth it in the end, and I even managed to make two batches:
While sitting back with a cup of hot tea and enjoying a freshly baked peace bun covered with lashings of melted butter, I found myself reflecting on how calm and settled I felt. This was despite my sore fingers and the overwhelming exhaustion that had overtaken me after my efforts in the kitchen.
It wasn’t the comfort food that caused noticeable feelings of reassurance, although my taste buds certainly appreciated the spicy goodness. Nor was it the autumn sun streaming through the window as I sipped my tea, or the hot mug I could wrap my sore fingers around as I drank. It was something bigger.
For me, there is something comforting and healing about the surety of my annual customs and traditions.
Scleroderma brings about so many changes and disruptions in my life. The disease’s constant progression causes variations in symptom severity. Additionally, every day brings challenges because there is no way to predict how I will feel when I wake up. Some days are great, but many are not. It is difficult to make plans in advance, including basic things like whether I will be able to cook an evening meal.
Underlying these practical implications are other more sinister outcomes, all of which are unknown until they occur. Does my increase in telangiectasia mean I am developing pulmonary hypertension? Is there a new calcinosis starting (along with the serious possibility of infection), or is my finger just sore? Do these continual new physical manifestations of scleroderma indicate that my disease is progressing aggressively and my lifespan may be affected?
There is no doubt about the volatile inner stirrings these constant disease changes bring about inside my head, which are clearly not conducive to feelings of comfort and healing.
However, no matter how small or insignificant making my annual hot peace buns at Easter may seem, or placing the star my grandparents handed down to me on the Christmas tree, these traditions are a predictable pleasure. There are many of them throughout the year, including planting the bulbs at Easter so we know that spring has arrived, preserving the summer fruit for the winter solstice, and preparing the bird feeders for our feathered friends in autumn so they can eat during the cold winter months.
It is the surety of these things that matters; knowing that despite scleroderma’s ever-changing landscape of symptoms and prognosis, there is always something special to look forward to throughout the year. They are dependable and meaningful events that regularly provide an opportunity to practice my special values and beliefs together with my family.
This Easter, we planted spring bulbs, deciding on tiger lilies. I will share photos in the spring when they flower, which is another beautiful annual spectacle to happily anticipate that has nothing to do with scleroderma.
How fabulous is that?
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