I might not get much written today. I’m sitting in the infusion suite at the clinic getting my bi-monthly infusion of Remicade, which I’m on for Rheumatoid Arthritis, typing with only my right hand. I dread these days, not because it’s painful or difficult to do, but because I end up sitting here, usually alone for 3 hours, left with just my thoughts and wonders about my RA. The images often associated with RA are twisted joints, giant knuckles and sometimes limpy walking or a hunched back. Thankfully I have none of these. Yet.
I have to remind myself that I’m lucky. Diagnosed at 19, I’ve had great doctors and aggressive treatments so, after 4 years with this stuff, I still have little to no joint damage. Sometimes I get scared. My last infusion, a lady sat down for her infusion next to me. I couldn’t help but notice her hands, embodying the mental images described above. I immediately wonder how long she’s had it, what treatments she’s tried, and how much pain she feels. I could see for myself how much her large, swollen joints limited her movement and grasping. Here’s a situation I have to allow myself to be overly confident, even boastful about: I’ve had excellent treatment from the get-go and will experience many new treatments, drugs, possibly even cures in my lifetime; I won’t be like that. But there’s that little voice creeping into my head, whispering “How can you be so sure?”
Day to day, I am usually pain-free. That’s why I sit here with a needle in my arm. Sacrifice I’m willing to make for feeling like I’m 23, rather than 80. Occasionally I get what’s known as a flare-up, which is concentrated pain in a particular joint or area of my body. The main victims are my hands, hips, knees, and feet. It will be interesting to see how I do when I have to go off the medication when it’s time to try for babies, but that’s a worry for another day. For now, I’ll sit here patiently letting the meds pump into my body and count down the minutes until I’m “free” and can go have a nice dinner with Jeremy.
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