Remember, kids, old don't have to mean cute...

I'm 22, and was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondylitis in 2010. Thanks to the combined wonders of an early diagnosis, physiotherapy, exercise and significant medical advances, I don't have to stare at the ground all day, which might have been my fate only a couple of decades ago. Instead I lead a fairly normal life, though I have to be careful about catching illnesses (my medication works by suppressing my immune system) and also about lifting things and staying in one position for too long.

Most of my close friends are aware of my situation, but I've always found it hard to divulge details of my condition to others I don't know so well. Reactions can vary enormously: one person I knew laughed her head off while choking out "But only OLD people get arthritis!", another, a medical student, greeted the news with a non-committal "Oh, right." The worst reaction, I'd always thought, was pity. Until today, that is.


For the past few weeks, I've been helping an elderly lady for a couple of hours a week. We'll call her 'S'. Today I went in to prepare her breakfast as her normal carer is on holiday: toast, muesli, nothing complicated. I knew that someone else, a friend of hers, would be arriving to help get her washed and dressed, and so when a woman around her seventies came in, I automatically assumed she'd be a lovely person. Wrong. We're going to call her 'B', and I'll leave it to your imagination as to why. After constantly berating me for washing out the kettle (I didn't realise people existed who thought limescale added flavour to tea) and kindly pointing out other assorted inadequacies in my breakfast-making, she mentioned that S's mattress could do with turning. Not wanting to give her another excuse to tell me off, but at the same time wary that I shouldn't commit myself to heavy lifting, I just nodded. What followed was a conversation that made me wonder where the bread knife was kept. A paraphrased version is provided below, for your viewing pleasure.

B: So you're the one with arthritis then [I had to tell S because of lifting things and pushing her wheelchair]
Me: Er, yes?
B: Have you tried not eating citrus fruits?
Me: No, but-
B: Oh well you should because I don't have arthritis but my brother and sister do and it's all because I'm so clever and realised that eating citrus fruits clearly causes arthritis and I can't eat lemon cake unless it's shop-bought because of the ingredients you see they don't use actually lemon juice, just the oil from the skins.
Me: Okay, but-
B: It's very good you know. Pain-free.
Me: (finally getting a word in edgeways and trying not to make that word as rude as possible) Well I've got medication for it which is very good.
B: Hmm, well. (clearly thinking it can't be as good as giving up oranges) I'd try it, though I expect it's too late for you.

Thanks B, I had no idea that it was as simple as that. And thanks also for patronising me and then telling me that actually the miracle doesn't apply to me because I'm basically done for anyway. If only my parents hadn't brought me up to eat satsumas, I might be lifting mattresses all day long and not complaining that my legs are giving me gyp.

If someone tells you they've been diagnosed with cancer, you don't go all Daily Mail on them and list all the things they should eat/not eat, how they should throw away their mobile phones or stop rubbing up against asylum seekers, so why with people who have chronic illnesses? They probably know all that anyway. Come on. Give us some credit.

Anyway, I'd best leave it there for today.

Take care, world.