keeping honest
Been a hard week for the writing, what with work, freelance, and the "unspecified inflammatory arthritis" apparently blowing into a full-bore "rheumatoid arthritis" diagnosis. I've been in pain for so long that I don't notice it. (Since I was a teenager, actually.) But if I pay attention, I know when I'm having an easier or harder time with stairs, or when my walking pace is faster or slower. The pain in the joints is background noise, but mobility issues are more obvious to me.
But it's gone on long enough that I'm no longer used to being athletic and graceful. I was thinking it was just part of age, but on the "good" days, the strength and grace come back and I realize it should be that way all the time, that it's not simply age. Other people my age can do stuff all the time that I can do only on "good" days.
The tests show it getting worse, so next week is an appointment with the rheumatologist to see what to do next. I suspect we'll be stepping up to one of the biologics, since methotrexate isn't doing it anymore. My natural disinclination for medication has been keeping me at "this is tolerable, I can deal" stage of pain, but now that medication isn't enough. So I'm inclined to say, "If I have to keep taking this shit, let's get the GOOD shit and make it all better entirely."
Stupid body. I used to love you.
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Writing has slowed, but that's okay. It happens. I'm going to keep putting 100 words a day, or 50, or whatever. I know at some point it will break open again. October has historically been a good writing month for me--I think because it's my favorite weather--so I'm hopeful. And by that time the Hellacious Freelance Project should be winding up. I'll still have work to do on Harry Connolly's epic series, but that's a much more pleasant job.