Once upon a time I was in high school. I took a pottery 1 class as an elective because I needed an art credit and thought that it might be fun. I was wrong about that. I was really incredibly bad at pottery. I could not keep the freaking clay centered and everything I made looked like a stupid lump of ugly crap.
I was referred to a pediatric rheumatologist who would oversee my care for the next year or so. She explained this condition to me. It was an autoimmune disease that caused (among other symptoms) pain, swelling, and stiffness in my joints. I remember being confused. I remember asking my parents if I was allowed to tell my friends at school about my diagnosis. I know I didn’t understand the idea that there were illnesses from which you would not recover… because they had no cure.