Rally

At my last appointment, my doctor said my blood work looks good. All of my numbers were in the normal range including my inflammation markers. "This is good news," he said. "I think we should lower your dose of *medication*."

If you've been around my blog, you probably know how I feel about taking medications. I'm not afraid or "anti" about it, but in general, if I can make do without it or with less, that is what I will choose. So I agreed. And he sent the new Rx in to the pharmacy and Mr. Amazing and I left the appointment feeling proud and satisfied.

I was all, Look at me over here, improving. Didn't I tell you I was doing really well? I knew I was doing really well. I could feel it.

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Since the beginning of June, I've been taking half the dose I was taking. (Side note: for reasons I'll never understand, the cost of the Rx at this dose is the same as the cost for double this dose. What kind of trick does the pharmacy think they are pulling?) So I'm at the lower dose and though it probably won't surprise anyone, because as hopeful and optimistic as I felt, it didn't really surprise me, the reality is I've been steadily declining since then.

My joints are slowly and painfully stiffening up. The pain I'd almost forgotten experiencing in my legs, and certainly wasn't missing, is back and keeping me awake at night again. I can't wear my wedding ring because it cuts circulation in my finger. My heel is suddenly and inexplicably painful if I put weight on it.
Everything hurts. All. Day.
I keep getting dizzy spells, which isn't unusual, those never did go away, but they are increasing in frequency again.

All in all, I'm getting sicker.

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I've decided to stick with the lower dose a little longer, thinking maybe my body is just adjusting. Maybe it will just take a little bit of time for me to balance out at this lower dose. But I certainly have to fight against my brain to do this. I just want the pain to go away. As with anyone, I don't particularly enjoy experiencing pain. It's especially not fun when it's chronic.

Part of me feels like I'll be disappointing the doctor if I call and report that I'm stiffening up. Even though, in reality, I know he doesn't care. Or, I mean, he cares in so far as it's his job to help me get into the best, most functioning health he's able to. He certainly wouldn't blame or shame me for not being able to stay on the lower dose. Still, that fear of disappointing him lingers.

Part of me wonders if I am placebo-effecting myself. Like maybe I was expecting this to happen and so it is happening because of that expectation and if I can just change my expectation, all the way down to my subconscious, then I'll be doing better at this lower dose.
       Clearly the intrinsic need to blame myself for all things chronic illness still continues.

The point is, I'm not sure where this is going and I'm trying so hard not to give in to the need to blame myself. I'm working on loving myself and comforting myself while I'm in this pain and just trying to embrace acceptance again. Because it's so incredibly hard to come to terms with the permanency of chronic disease. Even after all these years, I still have that seed of delusional hope that one day, maybe, it'll be gone forever.

Then reality punches me in the face again, and I come back to remembering: It's not gone, it's not going, and I can do this.

I was living with this unrelenting pain for years before this medication came into my life so I can certainly handle feeling this way again for a little while as we determine whether or not this lower dose is going to work for me. And I am certainly strong enough to speak up and go back to the previous dosage if I determine that I need to.

I am strong enough to get through wherever this is leading.

And maybe that's the ultimate point, the thing I really need to embrace and understand.
I Am Strong Enough. I can do forever and it will be okay.