Being me really pisses me off

I’m going to tell you the truth: I am really pissed off.

I am pissed that my body hates me, that I can no longer eat sweets, or fries, or bread, that I can’t control the tremors in my hands, that my mind doesn’t work the way it should anymore.  I am pissed that I am no longer the person I used to be, that my looming unemployment is doubling frightening because I have so many limitations, that no matter what I can’t seem to get all of my illnesses in check at the same time.

I am just pissed.  And there’s nothing I can do about it any of it. I know I need to accept who I am and find a way to see the good in myself and my life.  But what I really want to do is throw an epic temper tantrum and then hide in my bed under the covers.

Today I just don’t know how to pretend to be “normal” because today I want to answer honestly when someone asks how I am.  I want to spew the truth and tell everyone what is like to live with a chronic illness (or three, in my case) that controls your life.

But I can’t. I know I have to function, I have to say “I’m fine,” I have to find a way to make peace with myself.  But wow, I am pissed today.

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F’ing Winter

I have been really fortunate so far this winter.  It’s been fairly mild- not too many super cold days, very little snow.  Which, of course, means very little weather related pain.  This week I have been feeling progressively crappy. I chalked it up to having my period and not walking enough (have I mentioned that I have found a definite link between how much I walk and how I feel?).  Anyway, I’ve been chugging along, assuming that it would pass.

Last night it snowed, our first actual snow (snow less than inch isn’t actual snow when you live in Wisconsin).  We have a couple of inches on the ground, very cold temperatures.  And my body just….hurts.  L asked me if my joints were hurting and I answered that my hips hurt, and my back hurts, and my hands hurt.  Then I stopped and said, “So, yes, my joints hurt.”  It took me actually adding up all the pains to put it together in my head that yes, I am having a very bad day.  In the back of my head, a little voice is saying “Be prepared for a flare.”  I have been so lucky this winter, these last several months actually, to have been getting progressively better, to be responding to treatment.  I have been so lucky, and I have known it.  So now on this bad day, I am scared.  Could this be more than one bad day?  That’s one of the many things I hate about chronic illness- the fear.

So today, I gave into feeling crappy and didn’t go into work.  I am alternating walking around my house and wrapping myself in heat through my heating pad and my heated throw blanket.  I am drinking lots of water.  I am trying not to feel stress. I am stretching, as my physical therapist has shown me.  I am trying to do all the things I can do to stop the bad day in its tracks.  But none of that prevents the fear when I look down at my hands and see the red joints, which has been gone so long I had forgotten their ugliness.

F’ing winter.  I can’t wait for spring.

Still Hanging in There

Clearly I lied, and I haven’t blogged regularly (again).  Again, I have no good reason except that I haven’t had much to say.  People ask me how I’m feeling, and all I can say is “today is a good day” or “Hanging in there.”  Even on my good days, there’s pain, there’s making accomodations for my limitations.  There’s always an awareness of my diseases lurking in the background.  Frankly I haven’t wanted to blog about that and repeat those things to you because chances are if you are reading this you either a)know exactly how I feel and are tired of it too or b)know me in real life and have to deal with complaints there.

But really, I’m hanging in there.  The Enbrel/MTX/plaquenil combo seems to be just what I needed.  I am down to 7 mg a day of prednisone (woo!).  This Saturday I am going down to 6mg.  Except for withdrawal symptoms, I haven’t had much problem going down on it, in terms of joint pain.  So that’s been pretty amazing.   The fibro pain is still pretty icky, but I am not sure what to do about that.  We’re at the top of the dosage for lyrica.  Dr. K thinks I just need to get more active.  So..I’m trying. I’m trying to walk more.   Started physical therapy again for my back, which seems like it’ll be good, too.  I have a great physical therapist, and I already feel like it’s been worth going, after one session.

So, back to walking.  I’ve discovered this really interesting thing (interesting to me anyway!).  A couple of months ago I got a pedometer so I can see how many steps I take a day, and I pay close attention to the number of steps and how I am feeling.  I have found a direct correlation between how I feel and how much I walk.  In fact, I now know that if I take under a certain number of steps, I am going to feel crappy the next day.  So I have a baseline now for how active I have to be, which has been really helpful. And it’s also been great to feel like I have control over one thing that can make me feel better.

The trick has been that I live in Wisconsin and it’s cold outside!  So getting enough steps takes some creativity, lots of pacing around my house.  Lots of short walks with the dog.  I am toying with getting an elliptical machine so I want to have to go outside but I can still be active.  Anyone have suggestions?

Next week I see Dr. K again.  And then we’ll see where things stand, I guess.  Hoping you are all hanging in there, too!

Keep On, Keepin’ On

I had a rheumy appointment yesterday, a simple follow-up appointment.  I guess I’ll be having lots of those from here on out.

Anyway, things looked okay.  No weight gain from the prednisone (yay!), blood pressure holding steady.  The “squeeze” test showed a lot less pain in my hands, which was great.  Still some pain in my feet and my arms during the test, but overall much improved. So the basic message from Dr. K was to keep doing what we’re doing.

A couple of things stood out for me during out visit.  First, I have to start weaning off the prednisone.  Which is good.  But also bad.  It’s going to suck, and I know it’s going to suck, so I don’t want to do it.  At the same time, I would love to be off of it.  So after my next MTX dose, I am going to go down to a lower dose.  Fun!

I find Dr. K’s approach to things  really interesting.  She phrases things like this “you can lower your dose.”  Not “you should” but “you can”.  My partner says it’s because she wants the patient to be part of the treatment, and I think he’s right.  Ultimately when I lower my prednisone is up to me, in Dr. K’s mind.  I like that, knowing that I have some choices.  At the same time, I would love there to be one right way to do things, one perfect path that will make me feel better.  I guess that’s the difference between treating curable illnesses and chronic (incurable) ones.

The other big stand out with Dr. K was a conversation we had about managing multiple diseases.  Our big challenge, she said, would to be to make sure that we are treating each disease correctly, to make sure that we can identify what is causing each kind of pain.  So when I go down on the prednisone, an increase in back pain is not reason to put the dosage back up, nor will my back pain improve with the MTX.  It’s a separate entity.  I knew already that this was a challenge, and that it was important for me to pay attention to my body so I can decipher what is really flaring up or improving, but it was nice to know that she’s paying attention to this.  It’s almost as if she is treating me as three separate, but entwined patients, in order to find the right level of treatment for each problem.

So for now, I am going to keep on, keepin’ on.  And maybe we’ll get somewhere on this path!

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

I just posted something on facebook that I decided would be a good blog:  “I am going to pretend that all of my hair that is falling out from my MTX is my newly found gray hair. I am also going to pretend that I look good in my new sun hat. Pretending is good.”

After I wrote this, I started thinking about all the other lies we tell ourselves.  Oh, not just as sick people. Everyone does it.  Things like: My job will get better if I am patient or This dress makes me look thin or He hasn’t called in a week but that doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.

We all do it.  It’s how we cope with life, how we go through the day to day.  Sometimes those lies turn into full-out dangerous denial (he hit me because he loves me too much), but for the most part it’s normal.

We (sick people) do this, too.  We convince ourselves of positive outcomes because how else can you go through each day in terrible pain.  We tell ourselves things like:

Tomorrow I will feel better.

This medicine won’t have any side effects.

My doctor knows best.

Those could all be true, of course.  But we have bigger lies we tell ourselves:

I am not missing anything by not being able to go out with my friends

Moon face is actually flattering on me.

It’s my fault I’m sick (if you are telling yourself this one- CUT IT OUT! And yes we all do it)

Today my lies are all about vanity.  I hate to buy a bigger sun hat today because the first one I bought (that did look not terrible on me) didn’t shade my face enough.  I don’t have lupie sun sensitive (thankfully!  sorry to those of you who do!), but I am on several meds that will make me photo-sensitive so I am being cautious.  Anyway, I bought a bigger hat today and I completely trusted my style-deficient partner to tell me which looked best on me.  I looked in no mirrors.  All very dumb.  But I bought it anyway, and now I’m going to tell myself I look fantastic.  Because that’s what I need to believe.

I also need to believe that those gray hairs I have spotted lately are the ones falling out in bunches everyday.  That lie kills two birds.  Look how efficient I am.

So, what lies do you tell yourselves to get through the day?

 

 

Good Days and Bad Days

We have good days and bad days.  All of us.  I didn’t think much of them when I was well.  It simply was either a good or bad day, and I knew the bad days would pass and I would have a better day tomorrow or maybe the next day.

It’s all different now.

When you have a chronic illness, the bad days are the norm.  There are, of course, levels of badness.  There are the normal bad days that pass as average to us.  There are the really bad days which mean we have to stay in bed all day.  But, honestly, most days are some level of bad.  Sure, they aren’t all miserable and horrible.  They are just days when our bodies hurt.  When our functioning is compromised by pain or disability.

Yesterday, I had a good day.

It was maybe my first really good day since I started getting sick.  It was a damned good day.  I had very little pain.  I was high-functioning.  I was able to do things like clean out my closet, go through old clothes and sort out for Goodwill, take care of general household chores.  I was able to do things.

It was pretty great, honestly.  I had to try to pace myself but it was hard not to try to cram everything into that good day.  After all, I don’t get many so I figured I should take advantage.  By the end of the day I was tired, worn out, achy.  But no pain pills yesterday, so that was pretty great, too.

Today, I woke up and I didn’t feel too bad.  I thought- hey, cool, maybe another good day.  And then I got out of bed and could barely walk.

Today, I am having a bad day.

And it sucks, after having experienced a good day yesterday.  It sucks.  But at least now I know a good day is possible.  I know it might happen again.  So, today, the thing that can get me through the bad day, is that the little possibility; what has to get me through all of this is hope.

Nothing is at all the same

Today’s blog is going to be random, mostly because I haven’t blogged in two days and I have a whole bunch of little things I want to say.

First up: my hair is starting to fall out.  Thanks, MTX!

This was mother’s day weekend. I dislike mother’s day, partly because of my own  very challenging relationship (or non-relationship) with my mother. I could bore you with all the reasons mother’s day is awkward and not my favorite, but I won’t.  Instead I’ll get to my point (for once!).  My middle child gave me a frame with a poem he wrote at school.  It’s called “My Mother” and I am sure the assignment was to write some poem to honor your mom.  Anyway, his starts with “I don’t see you on weekends or during summer vacations, you are always at work. But I love you anyway.”

Ouch!  (I should point out that I have only started to always be at work the last two years so he had eight years with me being primarily at home, and “always” at work means I am home by six).  Anyway- him saying that reminded me how grateful I have been the last few weeks to have so much extra time with my kids.  I have been home for homework and snack time; I have been around to talk to them about their day.  So, yeah, it’s totally sucked to be sick, but it’s been very nice to be home more.  Going forward I feel like I need to find a healthier balance between work and home.  I don’t want to miss out on all the good stuff with my kids, and I definitely don’t want their memories of me to be as someone who was “always at work.”  Of course, that seems less likely now anyway, with my broken body telling me to chill out.

My other interesting weekend tidbit: I went to the theatre where I work so my daughter could see the children’s theatre performance.  It was a challenge getting there: my partner had to drive us, I had to take pain medication before we left, etc.  When we got there, I was nauseous and light-headed (thanks again MTX!), and it became evident pretty quickly that I needed to use my cane.  So, I hobbled into work with my cane, and ran into both my boss and my boss’ boss.  It was hard for me.  Part of me is so embarrassed  that I can’t be at work, that I am so broken.  Part of me was embarrassed I had to use my cane in front of my co-workers.  It was hard to be back there, to see things that are different that I didn’t have a part of, to meet a new employee that I didn’t help train, to be an “outsider” at the place where I have spent so much time and energy.  It was great to see everyone, but at the same time, I was so uncertain of my role there, of their opinion of me, of everything.  It was all just strange.

I guess some of it comes down to this: I am different now, both physically and emotionally.  I have a different perspective on everything.  I have different priorities.  I think differently.  Every choice I make now is based on my body.  I am no longer the person I was, but looking at me, the only difference is a cane, a slower walk, more deliberate movement.  I look the same, essentially, but nothing is at all the same.

Even my hair.  Maybe if it falls out enough I’ll look different enough to signal the changes to the people around me.  I hope not.  But I guess I need to find a bright side right?   If I find the bright side (like time with my kids), maybe I can find some peace with this whole new normal where nothing is the same.  Peace would be nice.

 

Mornings=Pain

I feel like I should warn you: I’m in a bad mood.

I really hate morning.  I was never a morning person, but now mornings are so awful, so painful, that I just absolutely dread them.  For whatever reason, the first two hours of the day, so many parts of my body hurt, parts that don’t hurt any other time, from head to toe I hurt.  Oh, I am always pretty sure it’ll dwindle within a couple of hours, when the prednisone, naproxen and Lyrica hit.  Til then I am miserable.

It’s hard to deal with mornings when you are in this much pain.

Add to that, no one in my house seems to get it.  I mean, how can they?  Until you have experienced this kind of pain on a consistent basis you can’t really imagine it.  So the uninitiated, the normal people, can try but the most they can come up with is a stubbed toe or maybe even the time they broke their arm.  After all, that kind of pain is bad, no one would quibble with that.  But I don’t think that’s a good comparison.  I am not saying my pain is worse than that, but that it is different.  Having a continual amount of high pain is different, is wearing on the mind and body, in a way that short-term pain just isn’t.  A big chunk of why this pain is so awful is the knowledge that it will be with me forever, that I may have breaks of days or weeks, but this pain is mine.

So no one in my house gets it, and that’s understandable.  And I try not to lash out.  I try hard not to tell everyone to leave me the hell alone until at least nine.  Most days I succeed.  But wow, it’s hard.

Today, it’s just a lot to deal with.  I hurt all over (in case you’re wondering my pain right now is probably around a 6-7 from head to toe), and I have a full day ahead of me, including physical therapy, and all of that just seems like way too much to handle. It feels like too much to expect of me to handle kid pick up, acupuncture, physical therapy, dishes, dinner.  It feels like too much to expect me to keep a positive attitude on top of all of that, to listen sympathetically as everyone else expresses their frustrations which seem so silly to me.  I know I am being unfair, and I don’t care.  I know everyone’s feelings are equally important, but today I just don’t want to do it.  I don’t want to be kind and supportive and understanding.  Instead, I want to take pain medication and hide.  I want someone to take care of me, to be kind and supportive and understanding of me.

But…that’s not the way it goes.  So, I need to pull myself together, ignore the pain until it becomes more tolerable, find some energy to go out and manage my day.  I need to find some damned spoons, because it’s just not going to work if I am out before 8 am.

Yeah, I hate mornings.  And pain.  And pain in the mornings.  But what can you do?  This is my life now, so I guess I have to make the best of it.

Please tell me I am not the only one who feels this way!

Being Selfish: Learning to be a Parent Who is Chronically Ill

I have three children, ranging from age 8-14.  I have been a single mother for a large chunk of the youngest’s life, so I know a whole lot about self-sacrifice.  I know a lot about having to put their needs before my own.  I have had years of practice.   There were times I absolutely gave them too much, put myself too far into the background.  But for the most part, I think I struck a mostly healthy balance of their needs and mine (with mine, nearly always, in the background).

I can’t do that anymore.

Don’t get me wrong.  They are still at the top of the importance scale.  I still make sure they are tended to, that all their needs (and many of their wants) are met.  My partner does the same.  But I am no longer a distant fourth to them.  I am pretty well tied for first.  And that’s a huge, difficult adjustment.

Example:

This morning, I drag myself out of bed and start my morning, which includes eating breakfast, taking pills, and trying to survive the morning pain and stiffness.  The kids have gotten themselves out of bed (too early-grrr), gotten their own breakfasts and gotten ready for school.  Youngest comes out from brushing her teeth and says to me, “My throat hurts and my head hurts.”  My first response (and one I unfortunately said out loud): “Crap. You can’t get sick.”  Because I am selfish.  Because I can’t take care of another sick person right now.  Because I absolutely can not run the risk of getting sick myself.

I feel so guilty that I no longer seem capable of completely selfless responses.  I feel guilty that I can’t seem to be able to just put my own feelings in the backseat.  At the same time, I am totally aware that right now, it would be bad for everyone if I did put myself last.  The truth of it is: I need to get better.  I need to do all of the things I am doing right now to feel better, so that I can be their mostly selfless mother again.  I need to feel better so I can take care of them, and enjoy being with them.  And I have to take care of myself, have to put myself near the front of the line, in order to feel better.

I feel so so guilty, so much like a bad mother (even though deep down, I know I am not a bad mom. Maybe just not a great one right now). But I keep reminding myself of something that my best friend says when we as parents are making a choice for our kids (usually it’s deciding whether to buy some odd toy or whether to take them to, say, Chuckie Cheese): “You have to love yourself, too.”  That has helped me steer clear of so many toys that would have made me crazy, so many choices that I would have hated, and my kids have survived every one of those decisions intact.  So, now, when I am struggling with the guilt of making my health a priority, I remind myself that I have to love myself, that I have to do this for myself, for my sake and for theirs.  It makes it just a little easier to live with the decisions I make each day.

You have to love yourself, too.  A lesson for all of us, not just the parents.  A definite lesson all of us with chronic illnesses need to learn, to remember, to believe.

You have to love yourself, too.

Building a Team

One of the first books I read about chronic illness, You Don’t Look Sick by Joy Selak and Dr. Steven Overman, talked a bit about building a health team of doctors you feel like are really on your team.  These aren’t just doctors you go to because they were the first in the phonebook or because your insurance company made you.  They are doctors you feel have your best interests at heart and who really get what you want in your journey.  At the time that I read that, I had had exactly two doctors, both of whom I liked just fine, and I wasn’t really thinking about needing an entire team to help me.

But since then, I have had been to a few more doctors.  I have had a whole lot of conversations with various people.  I have expanded my care.  And I am realizing that I do, in fact, have a team behind me.  My team includes:

My Primary Care doc, Dr. W, who didn’t blink when I went in and said at the end of an appointment for something else, “oh and I have been really feeling awful for several months.  Very tired, weak; everything is hard to do.”  Instead, she ordered a ton of labs and promptly referred to me to an excellent rheumatologist.

Which brings me to Dr K, my rheumy.  I like her, though she isn’t warm and fuzzy.  There’s something about the way she doesn’t think you’re odd when you explain a symptom, the way she even remembers the phrasing (“my arms feel heavy”) to ask you about it later.  I also very much like that she and her staff never seem to hurry through an appointment, and yet never keep you waiting for long.

Next up, and this one seems silly probably, is the entire staff at the CDI (Center for Diagnostic Imaging) that is located within my rheumy’s building.  I have now been there for two ct’s and several xrays, and every person there is friendly, knowledgeable and helpful.  They explain everything they are doing, and truly have the patient’s best interests at heart. I will have all of my imaging done there, if I can help it.

Even though he’s an odd duck, I also have to add my shrink to the mix.  Dr. A always tells me weird stories about articles he read in journals, or books he’s read.  But he also explains his clinical outlook, and he doesn’t dole out meds like candy, the way so many other psychiatrists do.  I like that about him.

I also feel like my team is made up of some non-doctor types.  My pharmacist, Michelle, who knows me by name, remembers all of my medications and diseases, and always asks me how it’s going.  There’s my acupuncturist, the newest addition to my team, who isn’t intimidated by high levels or multiple problems.  She truly loves what she does and it has made me a believer in acupuncture, as a healing mechanism (even if it doesn’t work for me- jury is still out).   There’s Jean, the nurse at my rheumy’s office.  I have never met Jean because she’s not the nurse who helps with patients in the office, but every email and every phone call is routed through Jean, who always answers promptly and who is always supportive and helpful.   I also feel like I need to add my best friend L to my team, not just because she’s my best friend, but because she is so knowledgeable about all of the stuff I have been going through because of her own health journey; she has also been the one to encourage me to try alternative treatments and who found me my acupuncturist.  L is on my team because she gets how I feel without having any doubts, because she helps me figure out ways to feel better.  I couldn’t ask for a better friend (or team member!).

NOT on my health care team: the urologist who was so disorganized and so incredibly unhelpful at my own appointment with him and who has never called me back with test results over a month later (I got the results on my own, thank you very much).  But that reminds me, I need to find a new urologist!  *Sigh*

So far, I feel pretty good about the team I assembling.  I hadn’t thought at the beginning of this that I would need a whole team, but I really do.  Today, I am hoping to add a physical therapist to the mix, but we’ll see how I like them.  The truth is, these diseases are hard; living with chronic pain is hard.  We can’t do it alone, and we shouldn’t try.  I have been so lucky to have found a good team without too much effort, but I know it won’t always be this easy.  I know it isn’t that easy for most people.  But, I feel so strongly that it is necessary that all I can really say to people who don’t have a good team is keep trying!  It’s worth it.  Because we all need to know that we have a group of people in our corner, people who don’t just have good attitudes but who genuinely want us to be well and don’t feel like there is only one right way to get there. We need doctors, and health providers, who have open-minds and a willingness to try new things.  We need people who will answer our questions honestly, who will give us information and allow us to make our own decisions (when possible, of course).

I have been feeling pretty blue lately, pretty discouraged with how crappy my body feels all the time.  But I do know, at the bottom of all that worry and fear and sadness, that I have a team who will help me feel better eventually.  I just have to stick with them and be patient.  I just have to do my part on the team, hard as it may be.