When I was 16 I was a Candy Striper. I was lucky to get to work in a lot of the hospital wards and even the pharmacy.
At one point they put me in the part of the hospital dealing with folks who needed long term care but not high risk.
I met a patient, Frank, who was quadriplegic. When I first met him he was painting the most marvelous pictures. He held the brush in his mouth, dipping into the color, then directed to the spot on the picture.
I was in charge of feeding him. Another lesson. He insisted I stir it all together. I’m a purist. I don’t like my foods to touch. But he loved it and in huge bites.
I got to take him on long walks about the hospital grounds. He would talk about his life. So cheerful. He never said anything about his lack of mobility or inability to use his hands.
Frank was one of those people who taught me lessons for life. I learned that I didn’t want inability to stop my life. Or pain. Even when fibromyalgia or whatever it really was that put me to bed, I didn’t want to just lie there. So I read, or crocheted. When I couldn’t see well enough to read I listened to books. When I didn’t have enough money for yarn, I made plarn. I refused living in the pain. The more distractions I could dive into the better. Creativity kept me free.
When arthritis grabs my hands I think of Frank. I make lists of things I want to do when my hands feel better and picture my projects.
Now I’m better and handcrafts and piano fulfill those creative hands.
Darswords 
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