WHY DOES IT HURT TO BE COLD?

I don't like to be cold.

Wait.  Let me rephrase that;  It physically hurts me to be cold.

Legit.  I'm not kidding.

I have Raynaud's Phenomenon (also called Raynaud's Disease or Raynaud's Syndrome, but I like to think I'm a phenomenon), which means that my body's natural reaction to cold is to restrict blood flow to my toes and fingers to the point that they ache and turn colors similar to those Chagall used in his paintings.  It's all about circulation, and apparently mine is dysfunctional.

Raynaud's Phenomenon causes me to feel the cold more severely than the average Joe Schmoe does.  This means that even in chilly (not frigid) temperatures, I stockpile those hand and feet warmers that are sold in sporting goods stores.  So when you feel a little coolish, I'm probably already at ice cube levels.  If you're seriously cold, I've already been deep-frozen with the equivalent of liquid nitrogen.

I've gotten used to this, and people at lacrosse have already figured this out, too.  If they see me in the stands with blankets and layers and hats and gloves and scarves and heavy coats, they know the temperature has dropped below 50.  I'm like the human weather forecast.  "Oh, look!  Heliand has fur boots and three layers of socks.  It's going to dip into the 30's during the game..."

The problem isn't so much when I have to be outside, though.  The problem is inside.  At work.

Now that the new school steel girders are up against my room's outside wall, the integrity of the building has been compromised.  Air is leaking in through the foundation and the walls at a rapid rate.  When it's in the 70's out, this is no big deal.  But the last few days it has dipped into the 20's and 30's and not really climbed up from there.  That makes it a little breezy inside around my desk.  Couple that with an unheated hallway that has outside doors at either end (both of which are frequently opened, especially the one closest to my room).  Top it all off with a faulty room heater that generally blows cold air, and I am left with one, and only one, logical conclusion:

My bosses are trying to kill me.

Not that their plotting would be unwarranted. 

When my hands are so cold during the school day that the kids bet each other they cannot withstand my fingers against their arm, that's bad.  First of all, it's creepy that they even want to try this, as if it's some bizarro badge of honor: "I survived the corpse-like touch of Mrs. H...".  Second of all, I'm quite certain it wouldn't play well on television via the local news:  "Icy teacher touches students' arms.  Creepy educator arrested.  Film at 11..."

It's tough to go through the day so cold that I am wearing layers and layers and layers of fleece.  I've been known to bring a blanket to school with me, too.  I mean, truly the room is only about 66 degrees, sometimes about 68 if the minimal heat has been make-believe-coming out of the dirty vents of the heater.  But seven-plus hours in 66 degree temps with a slight breeze coming in from the hallway even when the door is closed and a substantial breeze coming in from the outer wall -- It's going to make an old lady like me feel like a perpetual popsicle.

I don't like to be cold because it hurts.  It honestly pains me to be cold, and it takes days (not minutes, not hours, but much longer) to recover.  Sometimes when I have the heat on, especially in the car, it hurts physically while my toes and fingers defrost, or even sometimes it just hurts from memory as my toes and fingers are apparently sympathizing with other cold toes and fingers of the world.

But you know the part about this that totally sucks?  My realization sucks.  I suddenly realize that getting old blows chunks.

Did I have Raynaud's as a kid in the woods of New Hampshire where snow is more than a season, it's a way of life?  That's probably how I got it.  We used to stay outside long after we should because hey, once you can't feel the limbs anymore, it's still going to hurt when they defrost; might as well push it some more.  Am I paying for that now?  Probably.

But here's the important question -- Would I go back and change any of it? 

Would I forget about long days skiing at Twin Tows?  Would I eliminate sledding in the icy woods by the light of the full moon?  Do I regret building snowmen and snow horses and snow sculptures until the ground was bare from us rolling all the wet snow away?  Can I say I've truly lived if I erase performing double-gainers off the Carrs' second story porch into the blizzard of snow below?  Would I give up long hours of skating on Heaton's Pond or on the flooded rink by the post office?  Might I forget about the swamp-rink between my house and my friend Gail's?

Screw Raynaud's.

It may bug the hell out of me now, and it may be completely organic and have nothing to do with how my flesh has faced frostbite hundreds of times before.  It may hurt me, truly and honestly with pain and suffering, to be cold now, but that was one helluva ride getting here.  A little bit of nerve damage isn't going to stop me now.