The holidays were approaching, yet another specialty medication wasn’t panning out in the way we had hoped, and I found myself in a full-blown Rheumatoid Arthritis flare, longing for any kind of relief from the pain. I called my Rheumatologist to report on my condition and his instructions were, “Lay low and be patient. We have to wait three months before your insurance will accept another change.” Reluctantly, I agreed to restart my pain meds, even though prednisone plays havoc with my emotions, as it was the only relief available for the moment.
God, where are you? And why are none of my usual coping methods acceptable any longer?
I used to be really good at “walking it off” when my mind filled with darkness, and the satisfaction of a job well done could lift my eyes away from my problems, giving me a jolt of hope that maybe my problems weren’t so all-consuming after all.
But now? There was no walking or chore or service that my body would allow. Caring for my basic needs took every available ounce of strength.
The low point came when I looked at the calendar. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away. We love when our adult children and their families gather at our home. We cook and eat our way through a day of feasting and fun, but this year something had to give, there was no hope I could prepare for that kind of gathering.