So a while back my fridge died. Which is what it is, except my Orencia, the med that treats my RA and somehow also my lupus (I’m guessing by keeping my inflammation in check?) must be kept cold and didn’t survive the meltdown.
Fate being the delightful will o the wisp that she is, I had just received my three-month shipment of weekly injections, so I am now sitting on approx $6k (retail value) of saline-filled syringes.
It takes a while to wear off, so I was doing that “is it or isn’t it” hopeful dance, because there’s no way to know for sure if the med is bad except to keep injecting it and see if you get sick (which I realized I was when I woke up one morning and wondered who had put me through the spin cycle with a bag of rocks). Now I’m doing that “come on come on” urgent dance waiting for my refill to show up and horking tons of prednisone and generally acting like a lunatic. Sleeping 14 hours a day and spending waking hours in bed watching TV and considering cutting off my right leg because it might just hurt less. Oh yeah and mowing down cookies like I’m an alternate for the Olympic Cookie Eating Team. Me wanty cookie, me wanty cookie.
Which brings me (FINALLY) to my topic: OHHHHHMG I wanna go to rehab.
TiVO has (seemingly in preparation for this event) racked up 32 episodes of Intervention, that show where drug addicts are intervened on and (for the most part) eventually and grudgingly go to rehab. The majority freak out and NONONONONONONO I WON’T GO I CANT GO NONONONO. All I can think is “Wait. 90 days to go to a beautiful place (they’re all in like Malibu and stuff) and be treated by medical professionals who specialize in my illness, go to therapy to explore how my life has changed and come to terms with it, and do arts and crafts and stuff, all at no cost to me or my family? Damn skippy I will get on the plane today at 2pm. Is there an earlier flight?”
Look, I’ll even act out and pretend to hate the idea, if that helps. I understand optics and televisuals. Frankly, I’m not a million miles away from overwhelmed at the moment; just knowing I need to fill up the car with gas has me in a tizzy so I could just focus on that for a while and that would probably get me there. Throw on a hoodie, smear on some eyeliner and I think we have a nice setup. Just as long as somebody brings the cookies.
Two things for the record:
I believe that drug addiction is an illness and I’m not minimizing it. This isn’t about that. This is about how much RA and lupus just plain suck and how much I’d like 90 days in Malibu for free to be treated by specialists. I hurt every damn where and I’m feeling sorry for myself. The rehab I’m talking about here is a magical imaginary rehab that doesn’t exist but should.
I don’t take pain meds generally because I don’t like them. I have control issues. Plus opioids make me itch super bad. I take them only if it’s one of those Hey I think this pain is making me die.