I’ll Go Down Swinging My Cane

Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash

When I got sick 10 years ago, I wasn’t planning on getting sick. I was actually planning to grow my web design business, save up the good salary I was making, and have a family. I wanted three kids. I’d only just started dating Mike, so I can’t say I was planning on marrying him, but I was an 18-year-old woman with hopes and dreams. I didn’t plan on getting sick. My goal was not to leave the workforce and become homebound because of my illness. I wanted to travel, to eventually set down roots and buy a house. I didn’t plan on going on state insurance because my husband and I couldn’t afford his company’s plan. I didn’t foresee setting aside my dream of having a family.

Let me be clear: I love my life. I’m happy that, even though I’ve lost a lot, I have been able to pursue my other dream—being a storyteller—even while bedridden. But I did not plan on getting sick.

No one does.

Mothers don’t hope to give birth to a baby who loses a kidney before he can even walk. Veterans don’t think they’ll spend their retirement years battling cancer instead of enjoying their grandchildren. Hardworking women who once worked multiple jobs don’t pencil in getting emphysema and pneumonia on their schedule.

But it happens, because life happens.

Today the Senate voted to continue working to repeal Obamacare and replace it with Trumpcare. The proposed bill blocks people with pre-existing conditions from getting insurance, takes away funding from state insurance that helps low-income people, and all but cripples healthcare assistance for the elderly and disabled.

All of this right smack in the middle of my disease changing.

Aside from worrying about family members and friends who will definitely be affected by the Senate’s decision today—possibly mortally so—I’m concerned about me. Because not a day goes by that I don’t wonder how different things might be for me if I hadn’t gotten sick. Would I have a mortgage and three kids? Ironically, if I hadn’t gotten sick, I could afford to pay for my healthcare.

I didn’t get a chance to really blog about it, but I’m having bladder and nerve issues that may be related to my UCTD—that may indicate that it’s developing into Lupus. I’m waiting on labs that my new rheumatologist ordered to check on my kidneys. I’ll probably be seeing a urologist to figure out what’s going on with my bladder; a neurologist ruled out carpal tunnel and said she thinks my nerve pain is from my autoimmune disease. My rheumatologist said that Plaquenil can be great for some things but not others; I may be looking at adding another medication to my regimen.

More tests, followups, and medications that I cannot afford out of pocket.

Under Trumpcare, I’d be blocked from getting insurance because of my pre-existing condition. Right now, I truly don’t know what’s going to happen to me.

And I’m trying like hell right now to not think about the people I know who will actually die without their medications and treatments. Because if I do, I won’t be able to breathe.

Today my country made a shameful, disgusting decision—all because part of the government can’t stand that a black president dared to try to help sick, disabled, and low-income people. They can’t bear to let Obamacare exist, just like they couldn’t bear to allow the original bill to pass. Instead of trying to fix the things that are wrong with Obamacare—like the annual fee for uninsured people that, ironically enough, the GOP helped create because they bickered over the original bill—they’d rather burn it all down, out of spite. They’d rather not examine the exorbitant cost of healthcare and medication in this country. And now 24 to 32 million Americans face losing healthcare. Of those 32 million, a good percent of them will die without it.

I cried all afternoon. My eyes are swollen, my heart is broken, and my autoimmune disease continues to attack my connective tissues, nerves, and bladder. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me or my loved ones. I keep trying to find some hope tonight, something to hold onto. Because I’m one step closer to losing my healthcare, but it’s not over yet.

My Autoimmune Disease is Getting on My Nerves… Literally

Photo by Matheus Ferrero on Unsplash

I had a nerve conduction test with my new neurologist yesterday. The test was to see if the numbness, burning, and tingling in my hands is because of carpal tunnel. I was referred by my old rheumatologist.

I liked Dr. Z instantly. She is straight to the point, but really nice. Mike’s been seeing her, so I was already familiar with her and right at ease. Still, I was a bit nervous. Since my old rheumatologist referred me back in April, my symptoms have progressed.

  • the tip of my right index finger has a constant burning sensation
  • the area beneath my thumb on my left palm goes into spasms
  • my feet now get burning and tingling sensations

I had a feeling I wasn’t dealing with carpal tunnel.

During the test, Dr. Z and I chatted about my symptoms, my autoimmune disease, and which doctors I’ve seen. Even though she can seem brisk because she gets right down to things, I found her very warm and personable.

When the test was over, she explained how it worked. Basically, the computer measures how long it takes the electric stimulation to get from Point A to Point B. She showed me the normal ranges and where mine are: normal.

The good news is, she said I don’t have carpal tunnel.

The bad news is, she said it’s likely my autoimmune disease attacking my nerves.

In further good news, Dr. Z said there’s no nerve damage yet. She only tested my hands, and told me that if I’m still having the sensations in my feet in four weeks, to come back. (Since it’s a new symptom, she prefers to wait another month before testing.)

Next week I see my new rheumatologist. I really hope she can put these puzzle pieces together; neither bladder inflammation nor nervous system problems are really a UCTD thing. They’re more of a Lupus thing, and since Dr. S had said my UCTD could be pre-Lupus, I’m a little concerned.

Now that my joint pain is under control and I’m not bedridden or dependent on Mike to help me get dressed, I’d really like to address these other symptoms. I just hope that my new rheumatologist is willing to figure this out with me.

Autoimmune Diseases Suck

Photo by Hailey Kean on Unsplash

One of the things that suck the most about living with an autoimmune disease is the unexplainable symptoms that put your body under siege. Like, for example, feeling like you have a UTI—when you don’t.

It starts out of nowhere. You feel a burning sensation in your bladder. It also feels like you really need to pee. When you go, though, you only urinate a teeny tiny bit. The burning only eases a little.

It happens again and again, so you figure you must have a UTI. You make an appointment with your doctor. They run a urine culture… and it comes back negative. No infection. There’s nothing wrong with you.

But it keeps happening.

Regularly.

And every time, there’s no infection.

None of my doctors have ever been able to explain this to me. I’ve just learned to live with it. I had a tiny flare a few weeks ago, and a few weeks before that. Last night, though, I had a major flare.

For hours, I was miserable. I desperately looked it up, trying to find some kind of remedy. (When you have a UTI, you can get antibiotics from your doctor. So what do you do when you feel like you have a UTI but you don’t?) I found information about interstitial cystitis and Lupus cystitis, both of which have symptoms like what I experience.

“Cystitis” means inflammation in the bladder. Usually it’s caused by bacteria, in which case it’s a UTI.

Because I have UCTD that could be pre-Lupus, I try to note any changes in my “normal.” A few years ago, when I had another bad flare of this weird non-UTI, my doctor at the time found blood and protein in my urine. No one was ever able to explain why to me.

I suspect it’s yet another piece of the puzzle—a puzzle that’s slowly taken shape over the last decade.

I see my new rheumatologist next Thursday. Who knows? Maybe her fresh eyes will help make sense of all this.

In the meantime, I read on Mayo Clinic that taking NSAIDs and an antihistamine could help ease cystitis. It worked like a charm; I still feel dull burning, but it’s way more comfortable than it was.

Autoimmune diseases are so fun. 🙄