Lordy, it’s been a hot minute! I can’t believe how much time has passed since my last post, which I can only attribute to my switch from Enbrel to Cimzia, which has me feeling perfectly healthy. And, feeling healthy means writing an RA blog is not top of mind.
This summer I found myself traveling quite a lot. As my readers will know, I’ve done a lot of traveling with Enbrel, which has been approved to safely remain out of the fridge for two weeks (a traveler’s dream!).
Cimzia is another story……
Part I – A Trail of Water
So, I packed up my three month’s worth of drugs with ice packs and spare Ziplocs for the ice I knew I’d need on my journey to Berlin – a domestic flight, a three-hour layover, an international flight, a twelve-hour layover, a taxi ride —> finally, fridge in Berlin, Germany.
Most airlines will not help you out by putting freezer packs in a freezer or drugs in a refrigerator during your flight. American Airlines was no different, but they did give me ice in a bucket, which helped a bit. But byy the time I got to Zurich, just halfway through my journey, my ice packs were dripping and I was worried about my drugs warming up.
I got off the plane in Zurich and immediately went on a mission for a waterproof cooler and ice. Apparently these things are hard to find…. I ultimately found ice at a restaurant, but not a cooler – even after being in grocery stores and pharmacies.
So me and my cloth cooler and dripping bags of ice went on a tour around the city, leaking water every step we took. I stopped at many cafes, got dirty looks from many waitresses as I asked for ice, and alternated between cursing my drugs and being grateful that I had them so I could travel at all.
I felt a huge relief getting them in the refrigerator in Berlin – their home for a month and a half.
Part II – This Bar Has Ice…. and Alcohol
I met my parents in the Netherlands and the hotel they booked didn’t have a refrigerator. For a ormal traveler, this wouldn’t matter in the least. For someone traveling with drugs that have to be refrigerated, it’s a total pain.
We got in late so the lobby was closed. I talked my mom into walking to a bar to try to convince the bartender to give me a few bags of ice (and, you know, maybe grab a drink or two).
We lucked out and got a late night glass of wine and enough ice to sustain me until the lobby and kitchen opened up and I could stash my RA drugs in the kitchen fridge.
Part III – So Much For the Good Seats
I flew from Germany to France to meet my friend in Bordeaux. The journey included a flight and long train ride, but at this point I’d gotten used to it and had plenty of ice packs to get me through the journey. At the hotel, I realized we didn’t have a refrigerator in our room (again!), so I asked the hotel to store my drugs, which they graciously did.
When it was time to depart to the coastal town of Biarritz, we were running late. We checked out in a rush, Ubered to the train station and sat down with relief that we made it. It was about the time that we were celebrating the proximity of our seats to the bar car that I realized I’d left my Cimzia in the hotel fridge.
“I left my drugs, I’ll meet you in Biarritz!” is all I had time to say as I grabbed my backpack and bolted off the train just in time to see it leave.
I took a cab back to the hotel, grabbed my drugs, cabbed back to the train station, realized my tickets were non-refundable and the next train wasn’t for awhile, booked a bus ticket, waited for a bus that was two hours late, and finally made it…..
Part IV – No Pain, No Gain
Yes, traveling with RA drugs is a pain. I wish I didn’t have to do it. But I am so grateful I get to travel. I am so grateful my joints are strong enough to grab a bag and run off a train. I am so grateful I am health enough to wander around Zurich for twelve hours. Drippy ice packs or not, I can only channel gratitude. I hope that RA drugs don’t stop you from going to the places you want to go!
If you live with a chronic disease, you’ve been told some variation of “you can cure your disease if you eat this or don’t eat this”. I’ve been told to eat ginger, turmeric, be vegan, go paleo, cut dairy, cut nightshades.
The list goes on, and I’m generally skeptical of these suggestions. But there’s nothing like mounting symptoms to get you to try anything.
So last fall, I decided to embrace the Autoimmune Protocol completely for 30 days and slowly add in foods. To help, I bought
- The Autoimmune Wellness Handbook: A DIY Guide to Living Well with Chronic Illness
- The Autoimmune Paleo Cookbook: An Allergen-Free Approach to Managing Chronic Illness
The diet is strict – essentially having you cut anything that could trigger a reaction, reset your gut, and add foods back one by one.
Here’s the guide I followed, created by Mickey Trescott:
After a month of following the diet, and a few months adding foods back in, here’s what I learned:
- Life is just not the same without coffee and wine. 😉 Seriously, I don’t care if my symptoms flare a bit, these “food groups” have been added back and are staying.
- The diet makes eating out nearly impossible. For me, this was difficult as I eat out a lot. Being forced to cook so much was a learning curve, but I’m now a much better cook!
- I now know how to cook all sorts of meats. Before this diet, my kitchen was essentially vegetarian because I didn’t like cooking meat. Now I cook it weekly.
- Nightshade vegetables DO cause achy joints for me the next day, particularly tomatoes and peppers.
- My gut feels better with WAY fewer grains in my diet. Though I’m currently not gluten free, I generally now stick to rice and corn if I’m eating grains.
- I have continued to eat more vegetables, meat, fermented foods and kombucha and feeling better for it. Most mornings, I still make myself a green smoothie to start the day.
I’m not about to tell you this diet will cure you. I’m feeling better, but I think that’s largely due to a change in medication (switching from Enbrel to Cimzia). Adding the “light” version of this diet I’ve landed on to my lifestyle keeps me healthy and makes me feel good. I recommend testing it for yourself and would love to hear if you have experience with this diet in the comments!
A good collection of first person stories of living with Multiple Sclerosis: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/well/patient-voices-multiplesclerosis.html?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&clickSource=story-heading&module=second-column-region®ion=top-news&WT.nav=top-news
“I just don’t know how much pain I’m expected to endure,” I confided to my friend.
And so, I had to admit to myself that I’ve been living with more pain, more morning stiffness, more burning sensations in my joints waking me up at night than I was willing to tolerate.
Because the pain is scary. It makes me think of my X-rays when I first got diagnosed, showing the pain that I had ignored had turned into bone erosions – permanent damage.
And because the pain is exhausting. Emotionally and physically exhausting. Invading my thoughts throughout the day. Throbbing right wrist, stiff left pinky, swollen left ankle, burning right elbow — Oh, was I supposed to be paying attention in this meeting? Invading my sleep at night. Invading my optimism that I had this disease under control.
And then I had to admit it to my rheumatologist. And then I heard him asking if I wanted to get on Prednisone. No. Methotrexate? I’d rather not….. I like a drink. I like to know if I get pregnant I won’t have to abort the child. I like not feeling nauseous one day a week and shedding copious amounts of hair. What else is there?
So now, Plaquenil. A malaria medication, which is a DMARD used to treat lupus and rheumatoid disease (though the printed information the pharmacist gave me states “they don’t know why it works to treat these diseases” — encouraging, right?).
Following the appointment came a struggle. Reading the side effects, wondering if more drugs were the right course, determining to also try lifestyle and diet changes.
Wondering if this was somehow because of something I could have prevented. Something I did. Eating the wrong thing? Stressing about my breakup and work too much? What if I could meditate and eat more kale? And cut out nightshade vegetables and gluten and dairy and sugar and caffeine and never drink again and basically become a monk? Would this disease leave me alone then?
And then depression. And acceptance. And sadness.
Because I’m back here again. Wondering if this treatment will work. Remembering that this disease is labeled chronic and I’m probably stuck with it for the rest of my life. Trying to remember how to feel optimistic and hopeful.
And two pills a day. And one shot a week. And less gluten, dairy, sugar, nightshade veggies, caffeine and alcohol. And more acupuncture.
And maybe starting to feel better. Maybe remembering how to have hope.
Love to all of you dealing with the taxing ups and downs of autoimmune diseases. I would not wish this on anyone, but it does force you to slow down, to be aware of your body, to appreciate the moments that are pain free and the moments where you surprise yourself with what you can do and what you can bear.
If anyone has experience with Plaquenil – good or bad, I’d love to hear it!
Heather Kirn Lanier’s article on raising a daughter with Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome might seem removed from my life experience, but it hit home for me, as I’m sure it will for many of you.
Too often, I feel like I am to blame for being sick, for having Rheumatoid Arthritis. Like somewhere along the line, I did something wrong. Had the wrong diet, was too stressed out, was too hard on my joints.
And on the days I am strong enough to not believe that I caused my disease, I have to live with the fact that other people do believe it. They think that I wasn’t [insert fun adjective here – fit, healthy, happy, mindful] enough. That if I’d [insert condescending verb here – taken vitamins, run more, meditated], I wouldn’t have RA.
Well you know what? Fuck that.
The article isn’t about RA. It’s largely focused on motherhood, something I’ve yet to experience. But it doesn’t matter. It resonates just the same.
I’d believed I could control the body because I could not stomach the truth: that the body is fragile, ephemeral.
Here’s the thing. If you buy into a false narrative that the body is controllable, that illness can always be prevented, then by proxy you are left with a disturbing, damaging, erroneous conclusion: the belief that a person’s disability is their fault.
Perhaps the point of life was not to achieve some kind of perfection. Perhaps illness was an integral part of life’s dance. Perhaps fragility was built into our very design. Perhaps fragility was also strength.
So the affirmation-uttering woman might more honestly say into your ear: It will not be easy, and it will not be comfortable, but it will be, and you will become.
Here’s a challenge: love your body.
I mean it. Dance in front of a mirror and tell yourself your beautiful.
Love your tall, your short, your skinny, your fat. Love your freckles, your dimples, your birth marks. Love your hips, your boobs, your butt.
Love your joints that don’t quite straighten. Love your rheumatoid nodules. Love your body’s quirks and imperfections.
I mean, why not?
Next time you catch yourself “if only-ing” about your body…. If only my eyes were blue. If only I lost 10 pounds. If only my face was perfectly symmetrical. And I was taller, thinner. And I could run without sweating. And eat without gaining weight. And stand on the beach as though salt water were a hair product.