Permission to speak freely?
I feel like $h!t. Excuse my French.
A week and a half ago I was running... chasing my wonderful 6-year-old son through the Redwoods in our favorite park. My daughter and I were having dance parties. Working in my garden was easy and irresistible.
And as of 48 hours ago, I can't move. I'm not scurrying. I'm back to creeping down the stairs. Every joint hurts, my hands are back to feeling like flippers, and worst of all, I have new finger joints involved.
I'm back to square 1. Maybe even square 0.
I'm assuming this is the Remicade wearing off. It sure feels like a hangover.
When you have a chronic illness, there is an interesting psychological tendency to believe you do not have that illness during symptom free periods. I frequently get trapped in that delusion. "Maybe I'm really better this time" I've recently been thinking, as I run and play and plant. "Maybe I don't need all these medications... maybe I just need love and seedlings".
My next Remicade infusion, which is Thursday, will be the true test. I hope it makes me feel better. But if it does, it will once again prove that I, indeed, have a chronic illness. I wish I didn't need these constant reminders. But needing to be reminded means I am feeling better. It's a terrible vicious circle...
Bring on the mousie.