Death by Rheumatoid Arthritis

Introduction

The intent of writing this eBook is to bring awareness to the fact that people can and have died from complications, due to rheumatoid arthritis. Sadly, I experienced this reality firsthand. I lost one of my closest family member's to the disease--my Mother. The rheumatoid arthritis eroded the vertebra of her cervical spine. This deterioration resulted in spinal cord syndrome. The neurologist that treated her informed us that if caught earlier by way of a cervical spine x-ray that my mother would still be alive today. If my sister and I hadn't investigated her unusual symptoms full circle, we wouldn't have had any idea how she died; thankfully we did. My eBook chronicles her medical and personal journey as she valiantly and gracefully fought RA. It also highlights potential deadly ties with the disease. My hope and prayer is that the information in my story will save at least one person from dying such an excruciatingly painful and unnecessary death.
As I worked on medical research for this book I discovered, not one major media outlet covered the deadly complications that rheumatoid arthritis can bring. Perhaps it's fear. The fear of alarming those with RA that they should have even more to worry about than dealing with continual lifelong pain and facing complete immobility. If I was diagnosed with RA, I'd want to be completely informed of the complications associated .with the condition

My Mother

Digging through all my paperwork after she had died I needed to find it. Social Security needed to know the cause of her death. After wading through old cell phone bills and greeting cards, there it was. Tucked in a yellow manila envelope, I found her Death Certificate. I knew what she died from, but it was still strangely confusing. Were they looking for something more technical? Opening it carefully, I read Celia Veno's death certificate, "Cause of Death: Rheumatoid Arthritis" She died from complications, due to the arthritis that deteriorated her cervical spine, causing irreversible spinal cord damage.

Celia Veno was my mother and my best friend. The kind of mother every child dreams of having: loving, kind, encouraging, and gentle. Exceptionally calm with a disarming smile, the medium built brunette of Ukrainian lineage had a graceful demeanor and a quiet tolerance for the adversities life would hand her. Being a content soldier in her own personal war, she was extraordinarily selfless and giving.

Life had not been easy for my mother, a daughter to a family of ten. Her father, Stanley, left his poverty stricken home in the Ukraine in 1921 for the promised land of America. His hometown, the city of Kiev was then a founding republic of The Soviet Union. Ironically, her mother Veronica was on the same ship. Shortly after meeting, they fell in love. Two weeks later, they married.

This tall, lean, strong man with milky blue eyes would land in Olean, New York and find a job as a laborer in a poisoned, air-polluted glass plant moving lime from boxcars to the warehouse. In the process, he withstood unendurable lime dust, a destroyer of lung tissues and a breeder of silicosis.

Stanley and Veronica were quiet, loving, mild mannered parents. They weren't given to yelling and cursing. They were a happy bunch, older children helped care for the younger siblings. During balmy summers, Mom would sit on her father's lap while he read the paper. Children scattered about, playing in the yard, dancing in the sunlight.

For her daughters, Veronica would hand weave together clover crowns made of the flower and a few spare bobby pins. Neatly she'd tuck the small crown ends behind the girls' ears. This family ritual of "crown making" would be emulated by generations yet to come.

Following her back to the kitchen, the brood watched as she whipped up homemade breads and fresh halupki's. Halupki's are a favorite dish of those from the Baltic countries. A dish composed of cabbage leafs filled with fried beef, bacon, and rice, smothered in tomato sauce.

Weekly, the large-framed, jovial Veronica would set out on her usual bus ride to the downtown shops of Olean. She'd return with groceries and a small brown paper bag. As she approached the home, all those little eyes locked onto the smaller bag, knowing it's all too familiar contents--candy. The children would sample its goods, licorice and assorted hard candies.

While a man yet in his fifties, Stanley became tired and his bones ached. The doctor sat him down to tell him his diagnosis; the most aggressive type of arthritis-rheumatoid. That combined with his lungs wheezing from silicosis did not stop him from working. Bills had to be paid and a family to feed drove him on. He worked until he became crippled, unable to walk. In his early sixties he was confined to a county nursing home. Quietly, he endured, crying out frequently of the pain that ran through his aching body. The drug of choice for rheumatoid arthritis in the 1960's was Aspirin. At the time, some patients received twenty aspirin a day. This was the best they had to offer, knowing so little about the disease. Soon, his beloved Veronica was diagnosed with heart disease and high blood sugar. In their suffering, they eventually shared a room together at the nursing home.