Thursday, April 26, 2012

oh dear

It's been the better part of a month and I've blogged absolutely nothing.  Wow.  If you recall my previous blog, I used to post something nearly every day.  I can't even claim I've been too busy or too flare-y from the RA.  I've been too lazy and had nothing much constructive to say, I guess.

Rheumatoid Arthritis seems to be moving through my system like wildfire, and the Enbrel doesn't seem to be having much effect.  I've heard various frightening things about diminishing returns - if you start on one biologic and it doesn't do you any good, you're not going to get much better on another.  My rheumatologist seems to think he can still get me comfortable and functional.  I like the man, but I'm starting to lose faith.

My husband is tired of the RA and pretty much just wants the old wife I used to be.  He doesn't like this version.  She's got too many problems and doesn't do as much.  I think my son feels pretty much the same.

Oh, lord.  I'm wallowing in self-pity.  I really don't feel that badly right now.  Just a bit discouraged.

I've been talking to one of my dearest friends during my commute in the morning through the miracles of cell phone and Skype.  I can't tell you how much that improves my days!  She and I have a long and colorful history, and I miss her so terribly.  The sound of her voice and her recent company have been enormously helpful.

My family of origin, however?  Batshit crazy as always.  I talked to my sister the other night and found myself laughing (aloud and quite inappropriately) at her complaints.  It never ceases to amaze me that my family can turn a garden hose into a major international incident without an real provocation.  I love them, though.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Still not dead...

Whoops!  Sorry about the blogging hiatus there.  It was totally unintended.  Things got very hectic at work, in the personal life, and with the RA.  The combination completely prevented a few minutes of quiet time to sit down and blog a bit.

My son turned 16 yesterday on Easter.  My baby.  Strangely, it wasn't as emotional as 15 was last year.  I have no idea why, but 15 nearly broke my heart, but 16 was just a very happy birthday.  Yes, the driver's license will be procured later this week.  He's very responsible, so I don't particularly worry about him doing something stupid.  It's other drivers I worry about.

Not blogging about the idiocy that goes on at work is harder than you might think.  We have lots and lots of idiocy in this place, but I just don't know how to tell some of these stories without completely giving away everything about this place which could be detrimental on many levels.  Just remember, boys and girls, that you cannot take a drug test until you pass it.  It's a one time thing.  So make sure you're clean when you take it and remember that the artificial pee sold in the back of "Stoner" magazine is detectable by a good lab no matter how long you strap it to your leg. OK?

Well, I finally let the rheumatologist break out the big guns.  I had a nasty flare last week that had me crying for mercy, and I called the amazing Dr. L.  He calls me back himself, notices when I have a new haircut, and is generally one of the nicest guys I've ever met.  I may have to leave my husband for him if he can actually fix this whole RA thing.  No, not really, but he can certainly have my first born.  (No one wants a grad student anyway. Too expensive!)  Anyhow, I finally agreed to take some Vicodin for the pain.  Yes, I am a complete wimp and realized that it's paracetamol and sold over the counter to some of my foreign friends, but I do not like codeine in any form.  It tends to make me drowsy and barfy.  Not a good combination at all.  My blood pressure was still up, even with the addition of other BP meds (three now!) and the pain was intense without the NSAIDS.  The inflammation was skyrocketing and the Enbrel seems to be failing.  (Sigh)  As a stop-gap sort of measure, he prescribed Hydrocodone to see if he could break the cycle of pain pushing blood pressure pushing pain because we're both quite leery of hitting me with even very lose doses of prednisone right now.

Two pills (plus and anti-nausea med) and twenty minutes later, I was singing Pink Floyd songs and feeling just dandy.  My feet still hurt, but I really didn't give a crap.  It was great.  Which is one of the reasons I don't like that stuff.  It makes me want more of it, which is not a good plan.  My feet are currently hurting a bit less, but I've got some peripheral neuropathy that's making me NUTS.  I see the amazing Dr. L again on the 18th, so I'll bring it up with him.

Meanwhile, a well meaning friend continues to send me all sort of information about anti-inflammatory diets, miracle cures for RA, my need for exercise, and lots of other advice.  Look, I fully realize that doctors and pharmaceutical companies are making a freaking fortune treating rheumatoid arthritis.  Maybe my friend is right and there's no incentive for them to find a cure.  I just know that the very kind and helpful Dr. L says 99% of what's written about RA cures is pure, unadulterated bullshit and that he will help me to the best of his ability.  He seems like a better bet that a friend with no medical degree and lots of books and healy-feely cures, right?  Maybe I'm doing all the wrong things.  How do you know?