Without Prednisone for over a month now, my hands feel a little plumper. That sounds better than a little swollen, doesn’t it?
And a little stiffer. They look the same, but they don’t feel the same. And they don’t act the same. The Prednisone made them more limber, yet I still had some trouble with the digital multitasking of yore.
Today, my hands work better performing one gripping task at a time. Hold a pen, or hold the phone, or hold the notepad, or hold the remote, or hold a glass. If I try to manage several items at once, one invariably hits the floor.
My heart stops when it’s my phone that crashes on the tile. How can anything be so expensive? But in the grand scheme of things, it’s a small price to pay in exchange for pouring less medication into my system on a daily basis.
I wasn’t content to nix only one med, though. I told my rheumy I also wanted to wean down on the Methotrexate and he asked me a funny question.
“Can you afford it?”
I noticed the sudden perplexed look from the medical student shadowing him that day. One doesn’t consider paying for less medication as something one cannot afford. But I knew exactly where he was coming from and I didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I said.
“Because when I’m stable, I have to leave things unchanged,” he said.
He, unlike me, has to show up to work at his office every day. He cannot afford a flare.
But I can. My office is at the other end of the house. I don’t even have to get out of my jammies to show up at my desk.
I don’t want a flare, but I’m willing to take the chance. So I’ve been counting out nine tabs, instead of ten.
If worse comes to worse, I’ll go back to ten tabs a week. If a flare comes calling, I’ll chase it away with a Prednisone hit. After all, we’re not divorced, only separated.