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Sobbing in the Shower

I am home from a fabulous nurtuing weekend in the desert. A weekend alone with my family, a weekend without obligations, emails or telephone calls. A weekend that marks the end of the High Holy Days, a weekend that left me feeling pure, alive and exhilarated. During the three days I had time alone with my son, and then some time alone with my daughter, and time with just my husband. Everyone had one on one time with one another. And it was good.

As my second week of using Celebrex began, my hand was fairly nimble and my hips and knees only hurt after walking on stone floors, or when walking down flights of steps. Up, I’m okay, down, I’m weepy, because it’s the kind of pain you had when you were a kid. It stings like hell, and it’s a direct insult, it’s something you can’t do.

So the weekend was full of things I could do. I could enjoy my family, I could move well in a swimming pool, and I could observe my son, who never stops moving.

We visited my Mom and Doc, and it was a wonderful few days. And then I returned home this evening. There was no glass of wine at the end of the day, because tomorrow morning I’ll be taking Methotrexate, Folate and Tramadol (I’m still not convinced I’ll fill this one). Today is my last day that I’m just sort of a stiff achy lady with pains. Tomorrow I become a Rheumatoid Arthritis patient.

Being an RA patient probably means that I’ll feel an awful lot better tomorrow than I do today, but at that same time being an RA patient means my body doesn’t work properly.

Which makes me sad. It makes me mourn the body I once had.

I’m not mounring a slender waist, or better breasts. I’m not mourning a jawline that isn’t jowly, or arms that aren’t flabby.

I’m mourning a body that didn’t attack itself, I’m mourning a body that was trainable. I’m not sure that if I tried I’d be able to run a marathon again, even with the drugs.

I’m mourning my good heath. And I’m sobbing in the shower, where no one will see or hear.

Because I’m supposed to be really fucking grateful that there’s a solution, and I’m sure I will be, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. But today, right now, I’m inconsolable because my whole body is broken, and it’s been hurting me for so long.

9 thoughts on “Sobbing in the Shower”

  1. I think that being “ungrateful” at the moment is perfectly normal. I’ve seen first hand what RA can to do a person’s body and soul. Keep your mind strong and positive. I hope that you know you have support all around you that will be there for you any way possible. You just have to ask. ;)


  2. There is a rule, really, if someone comes to you and says, “At least you don’t have _____ (insert some other illness)” you are allowed to say, “At least you don’t have my foot inserted in your asscrack.”

    And another rule that allows you to actually insert your foot if you so wish.


    1. I’ll have to save that one.

      I’ve been in your spot. It’s a dark and depressing place, so go ahead and complain. I was in the best shape of my life when RA hit. After not being in great shape most of my life, it seemed like a cruel twist of fate. But here I am, well-medicated and fairly nimble; wishing you the same.

  3. Jess! I am sad for you. Can I shed some light for you on Tramadol; I went to my gynecologist a few years ago complaining that my period had me at gunpoint. I was mean and sad and HOLY GOD I thought I was in transition labor every single month for two entire days. I hate taking pain meds and I have to be able to function. He gave me what I now refer to as the wonder drug, Tramadol. I used to save that term only for Xanax.

    It made me human again.

  4. I cannot say that I understand or even begin to understand what you are going through, but just wanted to send encouragement vibes your way… women are silent sufferers, but I hope you are surrounded by positive energy!

  5. Just reading this now and I’ve been there and heck I probably break down and cry, more like sob uncontrollably, in the shower weekly. I hate that we have RA & horrific pain, but I’m glad I’m finding others like you to be able to see that I’m normal when it comes to what I’m going through. Thanks for posting your stories like this. They really do help even if I find them 7 months after you post them. I find them when I need the support most.However, I’m going to sign up for your email RSS, so I can know when you post asap b/c I can use a little inspiration delivered right to my inbox. Thanks…no pressure either :)

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