Family Needlework and Arthritis

The arthritis suggesting I give up hand appliqué is still just a quiet voice reminding me gently now and then of my place among the women in my family. My mother was about the age I am now when arthritis caused her to give up sewing doll clothes for her grandchildren.

My grandmother made beautiful crocheted doilies, tableclothes and bedspreads. Her standards were always exacting and the pieces I have are seemingly without mistakes. One lies on my dining room table. The layette set she made for me, her first grandchild, is done in tiny stitches, no bigger than the width of the white and blue thread she used. Later, when she went to live with my mother because she could no longer live alone, her knuckles were gnarled but she sat quietly on the sofa for hours, embroidering pillow cases. My mother bought her embroidery floss and stamped cases from the variety store. She couldn’t see to divide the threads and so used all six strands of the embroidery floss to make long, uneven stitches. I don't know how she threaded her needle. Fortunately, dementia allowed her to enjoy embroidery despite the quality of her work.

My mother’s Aunt Hett was a much younger woman when arthritis interfered. In the early part of the 20th century, she sought help from the doctors at the University of California medical school in San Francisco. On the first visit, the doctor looked at her hands and ordered amputation of one of her fingers. When her arthritis didn’t improve, she went back. This time Hett looked carefully at what the doctor had written on the order before going upstairs for a second amputation. The doctor had written “for research.” Hett turned around, climbed back down the stairs, walked out the front doors and didn’t go back.