Since my crazy random happenstance visit with the rheumatologist, my life has drastically changed.
She put me on Enbrel, sent me home with three samples (after impressing upon me the value of said booty), and set me up with a pharmacy that handles the Enbrel copay assistance card, since my usual pharmacy doesn’t.
The first night, I was ansty. I hate needles. Loathe them. Wish they’d burn in the fiery pits of hell.
Despite knowing what I wanted for my first tattoo for over 20 years, it wasn’t until I was 40 that I had it done, and that was with, shall we say, medicinal assistance.
Have I mentioned I hate needles?
I did everything according to the oral instructions given. Laid it out 30 minutes beforehand. Check. Alcohol swab. Check. Choosing an abdominal spot. Check.
My hands were shaky and I could see the sweat dripping to the floor.
It’s a pen, much like my father’s insulin pen. You place it and click. It’s that easy.
But my fingers wouldn’t work, and in half a second, I went from “I think I can do this,” to “Oh mah Gawd, my fingers don’t work, I’ll never be able to do this; I’m never going to get any better!” and the sweat joined with copious tears as they splattered against each other, racing for the floor.
I managed to get the pen to a somewhat secure countertop before I went into full-histrionic flailing. My head banged like I was at a Queen concert during a Bohemian Rhapsody encore. My hands fisted and flung, hitting legs, forehead, perhaps even my neighbor’s cockatoo.
Actually, I’m not sure it was quite that bad.
But I did manage to knock the instructions to the floor (when in doubt, read the instructions), and….well.
Well. Well. Well.
In my anxiety, I had forgotten to remove the protective cap.
And so I survived it. It wasn’t fun. It still burned. But I did it, and, immediately upon finishing my ten count (click…count to ten, slowly), I texted my best friend: Time for a new tattoo!
Too bad they cost money and stuff.
But now, I’m three shots in, about 2 1/2 weeks into this new med, and…I’m a new person. I’m still stiff (as hell) in the morning, and I’m awfully grateful for a really awesome boss. I still have “generalized pain,” but it’s down several, several notches, and, best of all, I haven’t had any sort of flare since I’ve started.
I am nauseous for several days afterward, and I still get really tired early. What a pain that is–to be too exhausted to do anything, and yet too something else to sleep!
I’m also remembering things better. I’m not sure if it’s a lower dose of the methotrexate or what. I still forget stuff, but I’m “remembering” that I forgot it, so am much better able to take care of the stuff I need to.
Some days I even can do housework after work, or play with the dog. Not every day, but this is a vast, vast improvement over just a couple of weeks ago.
I’m moving better–and therefore, more. I started a lower dose of prednisone this Sunday (10 for 2 weeks, lowering to 5 for 2 weeks, lowering to–hopefully–none for a long, long time) and yet, yesterday was the first day I felt comfortable enough walking to go without the cane at work for bits of time.
Life is fabulous indeed.