Archive for category Dealing
Injection Insights
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing, Drugs, RA/RAD, Uncategorized on April 18, 2012
But I think it gets easier...
In the last post I said I’d become a stabbing pro. I may have exaggerated a bit, but I will say that it has gotten much easier. It still hurts and it’s still not fun, but I don’t have to give myself a five minute pep talk before injecting myself anymore. I don’t have to countdown from 10, just to start the countdown again (it only takes the one countdown). I just take a deep breath, breathe out and press the blue top of the injection pen, count to 15 as the medicine flows in and I hear the second click and, walla!
I will share a few slight incidents in the Enbrel Chronicles however.
First up, traveling with Enbrel.
My third shot would find me on a trip to Costa Rica, which meant traveling with a medicine that had to be refrigerated but couldn’t be frozen. I packed it in my backpack with the Enbrel travel ice pack and a larger ice pack. This actually stayed cold enough to make it through six hours on a plane and five hours in a car.
I lucked out, because in Costa Rica I had a fridge in my room. When we arrived the room wasn’t ready, so the very, very nice woman at Hotel Luna Lleyna in Playa Tamarindo (I highly recommend this place, but that probably belongs on a different blog) stuck my medication in the beer fridge. When the power randomly went out for a day, she filled a big container with ice to keep the medication cold.
All of this refrigeration was a bit of a pain, but dealable. Laughably, when I finally gave myself the injection, I didn’t let it warm up enough – it didn’t quite make it to room temperature – and the shot hurt quite a bit and left a bruise that lasted for the rest of the trip. I won’t make that mistake again!
Second, the glitchy blue button…
I was feeling confident about my injection after Costa Rica. I had done this a few times. It hurt, but it wasn’t that bad. I also now knew to make absolutely sure it was at room temperature, so I let the pen warm for 35 minutes before sitting down to give myself the injection. I did my little internal pep talk (not the five minute version, the 30-second elevator pitch version) and my countdown and pressed the blue top, nothing. I adjusted the pen, did the countdown, and pressed again, still nothing. I did another countdown, changed my finger placement and pressed again, nothing.
I began randomly pushing it from every angle, nothing, nothing, then randomly CLICK! I think I visibly jumped, but did manage to hold the pressure to my leg.
Not sure why it was so glitchy, but some of the medication definitely ended up on my thigh rather than in it.
Finally, a weird injection site welt.
After the startling injection the week before, I was a bit nervous, but this injection turned out to be easy and pain free. I was relieved. I felt I was finally making headway.
Then, about 12 hours later, while at work I may add, my thigh started itching. I was wearing a skirt, so I scratched and was appalled to find an orange-sized welt at the injection site. I Googled it and found it was relatively common, so I refrained from freaking out.
I used hydro-cortisone cream and the welt eventually turned to a bump and eventually faded (it took about 24 hours for it to disappear). I’m hoping that was a one time thing, but I’ll keep you updated.
This Sucks
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing on April 16, 2012
“It really sucks,” I told my mom, fighting back tears.
“I know. It really does,” she replied.
And that is the epitome of what I feel right now. Two days ago, I felt great. I was sure my meds were doing their magic. Today I’m sore, tired, it hurts to walk, my feet are swollen and my stomach is lurching.
So, yeah, it just sucks.
It sucks to be in pain. It sucks not to have control. It sucks to be young with this disease and heading home while all of your friends go to a concert because your feet hurt, you’re tired, and you can’t drink because of the methotrexate.
It sucks to feel sorry for yourself. It sucks to have people feel sorry for you. It sucks to have people not understand. It sucks to never give yourself a break.
I was going to end this post on a light note. To tell you that despite it sucking, it’s not your whole life. That you aren’t your disease and it doesn’t control you. But here’s the thing, I don’t feel like it tonight. I’m tired, I’m achy, I’m lonely, and I want a moment to wallow in self pity.
Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ll be ready with a better outlook and a brighter smile. But tonight, don’t tell me it’s going to be OK. Just take a note from my mom, nod and agree, “Yeah. It really does suck.”
Learning to Stab Yourself In The Thigh Isn’t Easy
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing, Drugs, RA/RAD, Uncategorized on April 14, 2012
Alright, I have to admit I’ve been a bit of a slacker at updating this blog in real time. By now, I’ve (almost) become a pro at injecting myself with Enbrel, but I wanted to share my experience of my first injection.
OK, so first the good news. After some runaround with my insurance (and contemplating the worst case scenario of having to move back home because of expensive drugs), I got approved for Enbrel at only $30 per month. I was thrilled. I immediately filled my prescription.
Now the not so fun part… I went to the nurse to learn how to inject myself. I was nervous. I hate needles. In fact, one time, when my little sister was about 7 and I was 16, the nurse had me get my flu shot first to show her how “easy” it was. I nearly fainted. (Embarrassing, I know.)
Anyway, the nurse was very sweet. She sat with me and gave me all the information – the injection sites (I’ll go for the thigh, thank you very much, the stomach still freaks me out), warming the Enbrel to room temperature, possible problems and side effects (that part was scary). Then she informed me that I would be giving myself my first injection.
I went a little pale. Yes, I know I was there to learn how to do it, but I thought she would just tell me and then give me the shot. After all, it was my first one! But no, the nurse kindly informed me that “it doesn’t matter how long it takes – and there are no cameras in the room, so if I want to cry, I can cry – but I wouldn’t be leaving without giving myself a shot.”
I gulped. We practiced with a needleless pen. The thing I had the most trouble with was applying the right amount of pressure and not getting startled by the “click” noise. Finally, I felt I was ready (mind you, this was about an hour later). I got the pen ready, held with one hand perpendicular to my thigh, the pressure making the blue tip disappear into my skin. Then with the other hand I pulled the trigger (OK, that’s a little dramatic, I just pressed the blue button). I heard the click, counted to 15, and watched the blue replace the clear liquid in the pen’s window. Then I released, my first shot over, a spot of blood on my thigh.
Yes, it hurt. Yes, it was gross. Yes, I was a bit shaky and white. But I was elated and proud. I had “graduated” from stab school. I had conquered my fear. And hopefully this was the beginning of beating my RA into remission.
Meeting My Rheumy: Well, at least I didn’t cry.
I finally had my appointment with my rheumatologist today after a week of going through potential outcomes. I brought my mom with me to have another pair of ears and the support.
The diagnosis was immediate: “You have rheumatoid arthritis.”
I can’t say it didn’t suck to hear it like that. I’d expected a little bit of mystery, deliberation, maybe a “you’re OK.” But I also can’t say I was surprised. I nodded as he went over the reasons why he was sure – positive for rheumatoid factor and anti CCP, bone erosions, clear inflammation.
Then he asked questions that shed a light on ALL of the symptoms I’d been feeling but hadn’t linked to my “sports injury.” Have I been tired? Down? Depressed? Experienced insomnia? Anxiety? Stomach issues? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, yes and yes. Majorly. Dry eyes and mouth? No (something I don’t have, yeah!).
I walked away from the appointment with a diagnosis, a plan and an odd sense of hope and relief. My rheumy believes we can get this into “remission” in six months. My rheumy says I’ll be able to have a family in the future if I choose to. My rheumy says that we’ll minimize permanent damages. That there are a lot of good drug options.
So, of course I left the appointment sad, with a million additional questions and overwhelmed at my new drug plan – A cancer drug? Giving myself injectables? But I was also relieved to be doing something and to have a name to put toward everything I’d been feeling.
I promptly filled my prescription for methotrexate, prednisone and folic acid and started the process for getting insurance approval for Enbrel.
I went to happy hour with my mom and close friend, nervously going over the prescription info and bringing my friend up-to-date.
And then, with a ton of trepidation (Is this severe of a treatment really necessary? What about the side effects? Will it make a difference?), I popped those six itty-bitty MTX pills and began my new life. A new life on drugs, but also a new life on the pathway to some sort of relief and recovery.
Feeling Beautiful (or at least trying)
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing, RA/RAD, Uncategorized on April 11, 2012
Despite not looking like I have a “disease”, RA has certainly done a number on my self esteem. It’s something about knowing that there’s something wrong with you. It’s something about being so hyperaware of your body and all its flaws.
Anyway, given that, I really enjoyed this article: http://www.islandmeetscity.com/2012/01/feel-beautiful-autoimmune-condition/ Hope you do too!
Living in Suspense
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing, Doctors, RA/RAD on April 10, 2012
Me, worrying about all things related and unrelated to my symptoms and blood tests, prompted by that information black hole we call the Internet.
I had one week before my rheumatologist appointment, meaning one week to Google every related illness and RA horror story known to man. Cancer? Lupus? Rheumatoid Arthritis? Something worse? Permanent disability, 10-15 years off your life, systemic disease spreading, scary drugs, high medical bills. I read it all.
It was probably one of the scariest weeks of my life. I cried myself to sleep and came to terms with the worst case scenarios. High medical bills? I was about to turn 29 and loved my apartment, but I could move back home with my parents to save money. Disability? This one gave me shivers, but I could deal. I could work from home some days and adapt as necessary. Not being able to have children? This one sucked. It was a hard one to think about, but I even made peace with perhaps never having children of my own.
On Thursday, one day before my appointment, I got the call from the lab. “We got your results, and based on your blood tests, which show you’ve tested high for Rheumatoid Factor and Anti-CCP, we believe you have Rheumatoid Arthritis.”
“Shit,” I thought. “Um, OK, um…Thanks,” I said. I’d read, I’d mentally prepared myself for a range of diseases and this one wasn’t as bad as some of the possibilities, but it still stung. It still ripped me apart and made me wonder, “Now what?”
Apparently “now what” is spending the night at my parents like a kid and getting all my tears out, so that I wouldn’t cry at my appointment the next day. I was DETERMINED not to cry at the doctor’s. And, guess what? I didn’t. But that appointment’s the topic for another blog.
The Wonderful World of Self Diagnosis
Posted by My RAD Life in Dealing, RA/RAD, Symptoms on April 7, 2012
Add Seasonal Affective Disorder to my list of self-diagnosed, but totally – in my mind, at least – manageable issues (carpal tunnel syndrome, sports injuries, poor footwear choices, non-orthopedic office chairs).
Starting in mid-December, post half-marathon, I suddenly found myself in a state of sadness and fatigue. It was hard to drag myself out of bed. I couldn’t sleep at night – not because of painful wrists, just an undefined worry and discomfort. I got overwhelmed and tired in social situations easily. I was prone to bursting into tears (and I’m not much of a crier). My stomach had been thrown for a loop too. I lost my appetite and, with it, weight. Food didn’t seem to agree with me anymore, but I didn’t even want it (for a total foodie, this was just crazy!).
The only time I seemed to feel normal was after a couple cocktails, but soon that didn’t help either. Better than a cocktail was my bed.
I told myself I was just in a “funk” and maybe had a case of the winter blues. At any rate, I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t much fun to be around. I felt like my life had just crashed, and was crushing me under the weight of the rubble.
A pretty low point was the night I threw a party, but couldn’t seem to even lift my body up enough to sit. I finally guiltily snuck away and spent the night fast asleep in my friend’s bed, exhausted and anti-social.
In hindsight I think my body was doing everything in it’s power to tell me that things were not OK, to get me to finally listen. I’m curious how many people feel this flu-like depressive exhaustion with their RA. It’s something you don’t really think of as being related, but it is a powerful, powerful, destructive thing. It really did a number on my self-esteem to feel so low (energy and emotion wise), something I am still trying to rebuild two months later.
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