Tag Archives: Dumb

Crazy Prednisone Dreams

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I have weird dreams when I’m on Prednisone.

Granted, I’m in the process of tapering it off because my face looks like a damn jackolantern…but the dreams still continue and probably will for a little while longer.

A couple days ago I woke up in panic complete with flailing arms because I very vividly dreamed that there was a strange man standing over me.  Awhile back, I dreamed that Oprah was the mother of Michael Jackson’s children.

Um.  Okay.

I can’t figure out where the Prednisone dreams come from- normally I can trace my dreams to events of the day or tv shows I watch before bed.  But Prednisone dreams are just all over the place as far as rhyme or reason is concerned.

Last night, I dreamt that I was on an episode of ER.  And a specific episode to boot.

Strange…I haven’t watched ER since probably high school.  I used to watch Grey’s Anatomy but am more inclined to watch House now because the doctors on Grey’s seem to always kill their patients whereas patients on House tend to survive the episode.   It’s just a quirky personal preference stemming from the fact that I have health problems and don’t want to give myself a complex about having to go to the doctor.  But I’d still love to know why I dreamt about a very specific episode of a show I haven’t seen since probably 1998!

The plot is this: a patient comes in requesting an amputation of a leg (I think) and they put him on a psych hold.  Another patient is brought in by ambulance after having an accident with a chainsaw and, of course, brings said chainsaw.  One thing leads to another and the psych hold/would be amputee commandeers the chain saw and becomes an actual amputee.  Everyone bemoans the whole tragedy but the new amputee is fine and there is some discourse about how the patient felt a disconnect with the leg he so unceremoniously lopped off.

So I woke up and thought…well, that was random.  And my next thought was…I totally get it though.

I sure as hell feel a disconnect from some of my joints.  Especially when I’m flaring like I have been.  I think it makes it feel like less of a betrayal to me although I do still feel that.  A lot. And what if the patient had some excruciating condition on that leg that was completely unresponsive to medication and removing the leg would end the pain?  I realize that it was a psychological thing in the actual episode but taken from a pain perspective, boy do I understand.

Seriously, if someone told me that I could stop my RA pain forever by just removing said joint, I know I would seriously consider.

I also know that, in my case, I would have to lop off joint after joint and would end up resembling the Black Knight from Monty Python with WAY MORE than ‘just a scratch.’  And that even then, I would still have the fatigue and everything else to contend with.  Also, I would probably end up with vicious phantom RA pain because that is how my luck tends to run.

That would really suck!

Wow.  This has ended up a little more ‘dark’ than I intended.  I’m fine- I’ve actually had a very good weekend.  I just thought it was an interesting scenario.  Thoughts?

Here’s to hoping tonight’s dreams feature subject matter that is a little bit more warm and fuzzy!

I need to feel my age again!

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There are so many things I’d rather be doing this summer.  SO MANY.  Like traveling, drinking and chatting it up with hot guys while scantily clad on boats, briefly wearing killer heels outside a club before I switch them for the flip flops in my purse, and that whole acting like I’m 30 instead of 90 kind of thing.

But no.  Nope.  Instead I’m recovering from the flare I am now calling How To Spend A Ridiculous Amount Of Money Very Quickly And Have Absolutely Nothing Whatsoever Tangible To Show For It At All To Include Incriminating Pictures Or Embarrassing Stories: Part III.

NO BOAT DANCING HERE.

Sigh.

Ok, so maybe I’m a little bitter.  I’ve been really tired the past few days.  And then last night, my friend and I went to get yogurt at a place up the street from me.  And we saw these three girls walk by, dressed to impress, and one of them dared to give both of us a judgemental look.

OH HECK NO.

Sure, it was a Saturday night and sure, we were out in public with both of us wearing gym shorts and tank tops but you know what?  WE DIDN’T LOOK LIKE B LIST STRIPPERS.  (If you’re interested in a concise definition of a B-List Stripper, it is a stripper who is scheduled to work daytime hours.  Just sayin.)

But after I got over how angry it made me and after I successfully used Austin Powers moves to navigate my car out of the itsy bitsy parking space that was made more complicated thanks to the brand new Mercedes on the right that only gave me 7 inches for margin of error, I realized that part of the reason I was so angry was because I miss being that girl who gets dressed up every Saturday night.

I hate resting.  I hate taking medication.  I hate that my friends invite me to things and then react with complete and utter shock when I actually show up.

I don’t necessarily want to be wild and crazy.  For the record, I got the bulk of my demons out in early college.  But you know what…I would just like the OPTION of being wild and crazy if I felt like it.  Hey Amanda, want to conduct some extensive experimentation with illicit drugs?  Why yes, I’d love to. Not really.  Not ever actually.  But you know what?  If someone were to ask me that, I’d like to at least feel that I had the choice to say YES. Maybe I’m weird. :) But feeling like I don’t even have the option…sucks.

I feel like I’m missing out on so much. I moved here a year ago and while I have wonderful friends here so far, there are big chunks of time where I don’t do anything with them.  I’m terrified: out of sight, out of mind, right? And I don’t even add those periods of time to the period of time I spent when I was newly diagnosed- isolating myself from everyone and just being pissed off at the world.  It was QUITE healthy.

I miss being myself.  I miss feeling like myself.  I miss looking like myself.

Except I never looked like a stripper. Thank you very much.

Blah…

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You know the drill…

You’re starting to feel better.  You sleep in gloriously late on a Saturday morning and wake up to think about a date you had the night before. No, he’s not Mr. Right.  Hell, he’s not even a contender for Mr. Right Now.  But it was nice to have a good looking guy WANT to buy you a glass of wine and listen to you prattle on about mundane details of your life.  Except he’s really really boring.  So you sigh, mentally file him back in the Rolodex, roll over, and sleep for another half an hour.

You get up and you feel no better but also no worse than usual.  You’re okay with that.  You proceed to spend the next 3 hours laying on the couch watching movies and playing online.  You finally get off your butt to go do one of your most favorite things in the world: MASSAGE!!!!

You spend an hour getting pampered and relaxed.  An added bonus is that thunderstorm that comes along in the middle of it- thunder and the sound of rain always relaxes you so this just makes awesome more awesome.  It even makes you forget that, as always, you really need to shave your legs.

You leave the massage and hit up two more favorites: PEDICURE!  SHOPPING!  Afterwards, you pick up some junk food in preparation for movie night at your place with friends.  You’re actually having a really good day.

And then something (usually stupid and usually trivial) happens that reminds you about your RA and it completely ruins the rest of your day.

On Friday, it was the receptionist at my rheumatologist’s office who pissed me off so much that I found myself mad at my rheumatologist, which then made me mad at my old rheumatologist in SC, which then made me hate rheumatology in general.  At that point in time, I was suddenly morally obligated to ABANDON THE PATRONAGE OF ALL RHEUMATOLOGISTS EVERYWHERE so I called a naturopathic doctor I’m trying to get in with only to realize it was completely out of my budget so I then hated all naturopathic doctors too, and then I started thinking about insurance companies…

It is a vicious cycle that only makes me feel like I’ve lost something all over again.

Oh yes, and psycho.

On Saturday, it was seeing people running in my neighborhood.  I know that most people see people running and think “oh, they’re being so healthy.”  But I sometimes look at them and think they’re taunting me.  Stupid runners with your stupid healthy joints and your annoying ipods. And you- YOU- in the pink shorts with the blond ponytail and the HOT shirtless guy…I despise you.  I bet you have those fabulous heels I drooled over today.  You know, the ones that I am physically incapable of wearing.  IT IS SO NOT FAIR- THOSE SHOULD BE MY SHOES.

Like I said, psycho.  P-S-Y-C-H-O.

For the record, I did not verbalize these thoughts.

I continually come back to this overwhelming feeling about just how unfair this whole disease is for me.  For all of us.  Even when I’m feeling better, even when I have a million things going on that are positive, I just can’t shake it.

On the wrong side of the karma stick

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I may have purposely forgotten to mention that I may have been a little rough on one of the nurses at my rheumatologist’s office last week.

I may have been a little frustrated that it took them 2 days to return an urgent call.  I may have been more frustrated because it takes at least 2 days to get a response on anything from them.  A two day turn around on a random question is gray area (in my opinion); a two day turn around on an urgent question is never acceptable (in my opinion).

I may have spoken a little harshly with the nurse who had the misfortune of calling me back after I left a second message asking for a response.  Perhaps a little more harshly than was warranted for said situation and definitely too harsh based on  the fact that she really was taking the time to try to understand what I was asking and trying to help me.

I may have been a complete brat and she definitely didn’t deserve that. As soon as I hung up the phone, I felt awful.

Enter karma.

At my appointment yesterday, I may have had my labs drawn by….you guessed it…the nurse who I was not terribly nice to on the phone.

I was immediately embarrassed and told her I was sorry for how I spoke to her on Friday.  That I was really frustrated but it was no excuse for me to talk to anyone that way, let alone someone who was trying to help me.

She was super nice about it, said she understood why I was frustrated and not to worry about it.

And then…don’t you see this coming…she got to go fishing in my arms.

No, I know she didn’t do it on purpose.  My veins just like to roll.  This is not the first time this has happened and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

Complete suckage yet simultaneously totally hysterical.

Moral of the story: Don’t yell at people who may have to stick needles in you.

Duh.

A New One For Those Keeping Tally

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Excuse the language.  Or if it bothers you, just skip this entry. I’m still a little upset.

“No, I don’t run anymore because I have Rheumatoid Arthritis.”

Momentary awkward pause while his hot little brain mulled this tidbit over.

“But…but…but you’re so pretty…”

Blink.

Swallow.

Vein twitch.

ARE YOU A F*CKING IDIOT?

At what point do you think that something like that would affect me having or not having RA or anything else for that matter?

Do you think immune systems ‘immuno-select’ who gets these things based on how people look or how much is in a bank account or what their last name is?

DID YOU FALL AND HIT YOUR HEAD ON CONCRETE?

That argument has just as much validity as you being very honest and telling me that “I’m dumb as a brick” and me responding with a whiny “but you look like an Abercrombie model.”

And what do I say to something like that? Um, thanks?  I think?

That’s almost as offensive as telling someone who’s lost 2 pounds that they look “SO MUCH BETTER.”

Really?

I mean  SERIOUSLY?

Seriously?

Can you at least follow it up with a well placed question like maybe ask me what RA is?  Anything? I realize that would ask an awful lot of the gerbil running the wheel in your head but just leaving it at that and then uncomfortably staring at me makes you look like Lord of the Douche, getting ready to do a little jig for me, and makes me feel awful about myself.

Yes, I know Mom.  I know I am being rude here.  You’re right- I was raised better than that.  No, please don’t give me the guilt trippy “I’ve raised horrible children” speech.  You’ve made that point numerous times in my life and I forgive you for making me so mean sometimes.  (I kid.) Yes, I will make sure to let everyone know that you sent me to Cotillion.  Twice.  Yes, I know it was expensive and I’m not entirely sure it was money well spent. Yes, I think you’re right that  maybe his parents didn’t send him because maybe (gasp) they didn’t think it was important.

I’d like to point out that it is YOUR daughter here, valedictorian of Cotillion, who is posting f-bombs online.

But seriously, “you’re so pretty?”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

To myself in a flare

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Dear Amanda- In-A-Flare,

Please print this out and carry it with you until your flare subsides.  Just a few observations on your recent behaviors and maybe a few tips to make things easier for you once you’re no longer a whiny b*tch.

-Your home: I know you’re hurting and I know you’re tired but really…it is BAD FOR BUSINESS when it starts to look like an episode of Hoarders.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, just put the dang clothes in the hamper.  Seriously.  This is only a little bit more effort than the floor and you can actually make it fun- aim for the basket.  SLAM DUNK. *imagined people cheering.*

-Your kitchen: Just because you don’t feel good doesn’t mean that you are suddenly Paula Deen cooking up some comfort food.  Nope, you’re Paula Deen getting hit with the ham….Amanda, you can barely boil water.  So don’t put yourself through the stress of “I think I’d feel better if I made myself some corned beef with veggies” because even on the best day YOU ARE COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF MAKING CORNED BEEF, then you’ll be upset about it, and then you will leave the dishes in the kitchen for days because you don’t feel like cleaning them up.  And then the ants will get them.

-Showers: these should be taken daily.

-Those comfy sweat pants and the shirt with stains on it: should never be worn outside the home.  Also, should never be worn INSIDE the home if people are coming over.

-Other people who piss you off: for the most part are not doing it on purpose. Please take a deep breath or a quick walk before deciding how to respondto them.  Trust me on this one. Also, there is no conspiracy- never has been and probably never will be- so once and for all let this idea go. And finally, I realize you were really upset when that eighteen wheeler blew a retread on the highway directly in front of you.  I realize that it was scary that you had no room to avoid it and were very lucky that you had to run over it and didn’t damage your car.  HOWEVER, the appropriate response was to just stay put in traffic or pull off at the exit.  NEVER EVER EVER should you furiously dial his safe driver line marked on the back of his truck while speeding up and angrily waving the phone at him so he could see what you’re doing.  Please now go back and read that whole conspiracy bit again.

-Your mom: Should not be snapped at because you’re annoyed that she always says methotrOxate rather than methotrexate.  Seriously, you’re being really petty.  She’s asking about it because she cares and is concerned, remember what we just talked about regarding that whole conspiracy thing? 

-Major life decisions: don’t go there.  Just don’t. 

Keep in mind that while things suck right now that there are a lot of people working hard to get you feeling better.  In a month, this will all be a distant memory.

Feel better,

Amanda-Not-In-A-Flare

Just a few thoughts on a Sunday

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This is random and scattered.  Just a warning!

-I got my bill for my joint aspiration last month on Friday.  All in all, total cost of aspiration was about $400, most of which was covered by my insurance.  That’s a miracle.  Especially since it was coded as “in office surgery.” If I’d known I was having “surgery,” I would’ve made some special requests.  Namely that awesome laughing gas I received when they took my wisdom teeth.  

- I went to church with friends this morning.  I’m a bit of a church snob because my grandfather is a Methodist minister.  Let’s just say that Granddad would be none too impressed that I went in jeans and flip flops.  I was kinda weirded out by that too but with how my feet feel lately, flip flops are amazing.  Anyway, the pastor was talking about financial freedom and about how he’s not trying to tell us what to purchase and what not to purchase but rather that we need to make decisions that give us freedom from debt.  So I was bored (I know, it’s wrong to say I was bored at church…but I was) and started thinking about if there are any choices I could make that would give me freedom from RA.  Not freedom by not having it (trying to be realistic here) but freedom by marginalizing it, by “putting Baby in the corner.”  

I realize that I need to make better choices about my health.  I live how I live until I flare and then I get all self righteously indignant on how “I had a salad last week dang-it and it sure did have  lot of veggies and I chose the LOW FAT dressing too because that is how terribly committed I am to my health.”  But come on Amanda: if you were as terribly committed to taking better care of yourself as you say you are when you’re flaring, you would’ve had that salad chock full of veggies more recently than last week!

I do realize there are other things that factor into flares but with this one, I am my own worst enemy.  I am very successful at making dietary changes….for about two weeks.

And before I turn people off by appearing to be anything close to deep or broading, I will tell you that I got the silly giggles during the last song (hymn? is it still called a hymn in a contemporary setting?) when everyone around me was swaying with eyes closed and hands in the air.  

-And finally, you know you’re taking Prednisone when you walk in to pay for your gas and find yourself lustfully eyeing everything “Little Debbie.”  OMG Zebra Cakes.