I know that worrying is fruitless; it catastrophizes the future while stealing from us the present.
Logically, I know this. I also know that, roughly 99% of the time, I am pretty much worry-free.
I am grateful beyond words for this.
But that 1% gets me.
As I had expected, I am responding extremely well to Enbrel, as demonstrated by the fact that I can do anything even while I’m tapering off the prednisone.
As of this coming Sunday , I’ll be steroid free. And I fear it.
I know that the medicine is working. I know that I can’t be on steroids for the rest of my life.
I know, I know.
But I also know, or rather, remember, that the first time I tried to taper down, I was immobilized.
And of course this time is not that time; I have been tapering down for the past 6 weeks or so. 15 mg, then 10 mg, then 5.
And now I will be on 0 mg.
A friend of mine told me that she had an appointment to get a shot in her shoulder, and that she was scared of the pain. She’s to the point where she can barely move it–lifting her arm above her head is damn near out of the question.
I have so, so, so been there. “It will hurt,” I told her. “But the difference it will make will be worth it.” I remember getting that injection, how I was so scared of it, but afterward, I realized that the shot did not hurt anywhere near as much as the shoulder did.
And when the relief flooded over me, I would have easily done 10 of them to find that same relief.
My fear of the shot was far worse than the shot itself.
Perhaps it’s the same with the steroids. I’ve been on them since April. I know that they cause all sorts of bad stuff, but I’ve been with them for so long, I’m afraid of being without them.
I’m already seeing the side effects of weaning off them. I only thought I was exhausted before. I had somehow lost track of how much the prednisone was “propping me up,” masking the depth of the exhaustion.
But I’m adapting. If I want to do anything like write, have clean clothes, clean house, it has to be before work. And it may only be 10 minutes or 20 minutes or a single paragraph written, but it’s something.
I’m making it through a 40 hour work week, give or take for doctor’s appointments and taking off an hour or so here and there toward the end of the week when I can’t hold my head up anymore.
And I won’t “win” NaNoWriMo this year. But still, I’ve laid down about 6k words in 13 days, which is far more than I did the entire month of October. And, I’m managing to limit the self-editing, so that I’m just plowing through.
And that’s something fabulous.