Lupus, Scriabin, & Overcoming Limitations

As I type this, I have two Hello Kitty band-aids on my right thumb to cover two tiny holes where my doctor injected me with cortisone. My left hand is in a splint to keep my left thumb from getting as severely damaged as my right thumb had gotten. After my right thumb stops aching in a few days, I will have the joy of wearing splints on both hands. Look out, world! I'm going to look awesome! Cortisone injections in my hands have become a normal thing for me. You would think I would get used to them, but I don't. My doctor has become quite accustomed to the little, atonal songs I sing to distract myself while he sticks needles into me. Yesterday, I asked my doctor if there was anything we could do to keep me from having to get these injections so often. He responded, "Well, you're my only patient who's a pianist, so..." I have two choices: I can stop playing the piano and reduce my number of cortisone injections each year, or I can keep playing the piano and continue needing the injections. Both options are painful. I would rather pick the option that lets me have a life.

...

Nocturne in D-flat major (from 2 Pieces for the Left Hand, Op. 9), by Alexander Scriabin

There is something about this piece that is all about overcoming limitations. If you listen to it, you probably wouldn't realize how different it is from any other piece. But when you see it performed live, it is an amazing experience. The pianist's right hand (the hand that is closer to the audience) doesn't touch the keys even once. It is a piece for the left hand...solely the left hand. When I first saw it performed, I sat there thinking, "I can't believe all these sounds are coming from one hand." The fact that this piece has such a great limitation doesn't make it any less brilliant or virtuosic.  In fact, it's limitation makes it all the more so.

Horrible pain in my right hand drove me to start working on this piece. As I have delved deeper into its intricacies, I have fallen in love with it. It's not just a piece I can play when I am in pain. It's a reflection of my life: The process to learn this piece is stretching, difficult, slower, and takes a lot more thought. I can't practice it for many hours a day (as I do for other pieces) because I don't want to push my arthritic left hand beyond it's limit. Did I mention that I'm right-handed? I'm not just limiting myself to one hand. I'm limiting myself to my hand that is more limited! It's the kind of piece you take day by day. Whatever my hand can handle doing that day, that's what I do. No more. No less. The result is beautiful, eye-opening, inspiring. For me, it elegantly laughs in the face of the word impossible.

I have limitations. They are very real. They make my life very difficult for me and my husband (who spends more time than his share taking care of me). I have to do many things most things in my life differently from everyone else. My hands are small for a pianist. And then when you top that with systemic lupus (which carries with it things like arthritis, tendonitis, and carpal tunnel syndrome), playing the piano becomes impossible harder nearly impossible. But when people look at my life, I hope my limitations are not what they see. I hope they don't think, "Eh. Not bad for someone with limitations." I hope they see something beautiful. A masterpiece. And if they realize what kind of limitations I face, I hope they think, "Impossible! I can't believe someone with those kinds of limitations can do all of that! How does she do it?"

I hope they ask. And I hope people never stop asking me...because I love the answer so much. But I'll leave that for another day.

For now, I have some aching hands to take care of.