I was getting into a good groove with my arthritis. We were getting along, as much as you can get along with a chronic illness, and I was feeling pretty good after a cortisone shot in my elbow. I could finally straighten it, flip pancakes if I was so inclined to make them (I was not), throw a baseball if I wanted to (I did not), or hold my iced coffee comfortably (I did, many times over). I was gaining weight. Life was golden.
But then I got a virus. A very strange virus that affected only my throat and brought me many tiny ulcers all up in there. TMI? Sorry, I can be an over-sharer. I couldn’t work for a few days. I couldn’t eat or drink comfortably, so I lost a few pounds. I didn’t even want to hold my coffee. And worst of all, I had to skip my meds 2 weeks in a row. Not that I love them so much. No, I don’t relish the thought of methotrexate hangovers every Saturday morning, my one true day off. No, I’m not a big fan of injecting the mystery substance that is Actemra into my body. But I need these medicines. They keep me moving, and probably in the grand scheme of things, alive.
So even though my throat no longer feels like it’s covered in tiny knives, I feel kind of crappy. My wrist is doing its weathervane thing, aching and telling me it’s going to rain. My ankles are protesting the walk to the bus, and they’re sure as heck not going to enjoy standing all day at work. And I’m pretty much just achey all over, muscles and all. I don’t feel good, my constant refrain.
But we press on don’t we? So I’m back to work, drinking my coffee, eating, writing, and living. One step at a time; forward, back, forward, back, forward. I’ll come out on top eventually.