And they multiply like gremlins
There's something to be said when I willingly take a round of prednisone. Clearly, I'm on a crappy road of pain, fevers, rashes, and exhaustion. This time I'm only on it for seven days, but sevens days can feel like a lifetime . . . sometimes. A decade ago I took several rounds of prednisone, and they were the extended rounds of a couple of months. One word: unpleasant. When I went on it this time my mother said she's glad she doesn't live near me (and she didn't a decade ago as I was in NM and her in VA). When I called the house two nights ago she hesitantly answered the phone. Clearly, she was fearful that the prednisone had sent me into an emotional flurry of fire, rage, and cloudy gray. It hasn't. An old friend, who lived through predinsone 90s-style with me, keeps reminding me to not kill my students. She seems very afraid that I'm going to get all ragey and go apeshit. Naw. Not this time. Besides, I'm too tired and achey to do that.
Instead, I suck down mutli-vitamins, irons pills, the heart pill, and a week of pred. Lovely. In seven days I have gone from iron pills to four bottles with more in the wings. I see the lady parts doctor today, and since the Franks* have been rearing their ugly heads for awhile I'm sure there will be discussions of things female. Lovely. My pills and complications multiply like gremlins mistakenly fed after midnight.
These days I feel like the universe is using me as a punching bag, again, and that I'm not sure if I'll catch my breath anytime soon. Time to take a deep breath, but not too deep or I'll feel my chest hurt. Lying awake at night with chest pains is never fun. Coming home after the reality of filling another pill bottle . . . it is what it is. I cry in private, put on more jokes in public, and attempt to find a way to live and cope. Easier said than done.
Today I took my prednisone, ate a 690 calorie danish (I know, right?!), and headed off to teach. I do what I love, and I love what I do, but I do not love my body these days. I'm so damned tired, so achey, and so worn out. These are all things that have been going on for sometime, but I've kept things silent more often than not because there was little I could do. Though, I will say even with health insurance I feel like there is little I can do. I eat healthier than not, I walk on the regular basis (i.e. I haven't ran since early this summer on account of Lupus 101 and knowing my body), and I generally keep the checks my body writes in cashable values. Yet, I still can't catch a break.
Ignore my sad state of affairs of the moment. Sometimes, sometimes I just need to say it as it is without bells, frills, and laughter to cover the sad reality that I often live. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be back to some strange tale of the lady parts office, insane drug store clerks, and interactions with all things New York.
*Ovarian Cysts.
Instead, I suck down mutli-vitamins, irons pills, the heart pill, and a week of pred. Lovely. In seven days I have gone from iron pills to four bottles with more in the wings. I see the lady parts doctor today, and since the Franks* have been rearing their ugly heads for awhile I'm sure there will be discussions of things female. Lovely. My pills and complications multiply like gremlins mistakenly fed after midnight.
These days I feel like the universe is using me as a punching bag, again, and that I'm not sure if I'll catch my breath anytime soon. Time to take a deep breath, but not too deep or I'll feel my chest hurt. Lying awake at night with chest pains is never fun. Coming home after the reality of filling another pill bottle . . . it is what it is. I cry in private, put on more jokes in public, and attempt to find a way to live and cope. Easier said than done.
Today I took my prednisone, ate a 690 calorie danish (I know, right?!), and headed off to teach. I do what I love, and I love what I do, but I do not love my body these days. I'm so damned tired, so achey, and so worn out. These are all things that have been going on for sometime, but I've kept things silent more often than not because there was little I could do. Though, I will say even with health insurance I feel like there is little I can do. I eat healthier than not, I walk on the regular basis (i.e. I haven't ran since early this summer on account of Lupus 101 and knowing my body), and I generally keep the checks my body writes in cashable values. Yet, I still can't catch a break.
Ignore my sad state of affairs of the moment. Sometimes, sometimes I just need to say it as it is without bells, frills, and laughter to cover the sad reality that I often live. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be back to some strange tale of the lady parts office, insane drug store clerks, and interactions with all things New York.
*Ovarian Cysts.
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