Back BRA (that's "Before RA" -- though, with my recent weight gain, I surely could use a back bra for those annoying new jigglers...), I was something of a prescription and medication whiz kid. Simply because I've always been interested in both medicine and chemistry. (Yes, I am a total goob. A potty-mouthed goob, but a goob nonetheless.) In college, in fact, I did a double-major in chemistry and psychology, and seriously considered medicine as a career.
Anyway, you could say, on a certain level, that I "loved drugs." Really and truly loved drugs. For example, I knew brand names and generic names, effects and side effects, mechanisms of action, and medications in similar classes. I was a walking PDR (Physician's Desk Reference, the "medical bible" on all things prescriptive) whom family and friends would consult for advice on medications. I was so interested in this stuff that I kept the actual PDR (for light reading, not for extra toilet paper) in my bathroom.
But something strange happened to me ARA (that's "After RA").
Sure, initially, I did all of the research on the meds I was trying: As a chemotherapy agent, Methotrexate depresses the immune system... which explains why I got colds and cold sores after every dose. And Leflunomide, well, that causes alopecia (the technical term makes hair loss sound much less threatening, don't you think?), which explains why I developed (and have yet to recover from, dammit) granny hair and had to -- good God! I mean, it's so '80s -- GET A PERM! (So now I'm fat, bald, and slightly fuzzy. Oh, the indignities.)
I actually became obsessed with RA meds. Mostly because they're so scary. Turns out black boxes aren't just found on airplanes, and when you have to consult them, they both contain information you really don't want to have to know.
My obsession had me consulting and re-consulting, poring over information about the bad things that could happen, and becoming hyperaware of my own body: "My throat is hurting a little bit: am I getting a cold?" "OMG -- where did that bruise come from? Do I look pale? Is something happening to my blood?" "I have some specks in my eye. Should I discontinue the Plaquenil?" "I have abdominal cramps: Is that from the Leflunomide or is it from my period? Oh, wait... I don't have a uterus. Nevermind." "Oh God, please, no -- I HAVE A HANGNAIL! What could that mean?"
I was driving my poor husband crazy. Okay, forget about him, I was driving MYSELF crazy.
But one day, something happened. I guess you could call it a cosmic karmic crisis. I just became completely overwhelmed, depressed. I wouldn't get out of bed or eat -- couldn't get out of bed or eat. I actually lost weight. I cried. And cried. And cried. This went on for several weeks. (Again, my poor husband.) As a former therapist, I observed with scientific interest and accuracy my symptoms. As a human being, I absolutely loathed what I was going through. Finally, I realized I was miserable enough both to get myself some help (on a variety of levels) and to seriously change my approach to RA and to living.
So I did.
I can't say it was easy, and I admit to having the occasional relapse into my old behaviors. But I just won't do that any more. I can't afford to do that anymore -- spiritually, emotionally, physically.
So I tossed out my PDR. And when I get a "consultation" these days, I respond peacefully, "I just don't know. I'm afraid you'll have to look that up yourself."
Because what will be, will be. I'll deal with it as it happens, if it happens.
And when people ask me what medications I'm on to treat my RA, I tell them, "I'm on ZENbrel."
Recent Comments