Treatment du Jour
I’ve tried almost every “drug therapy” and wierdo alternative I could lay my gnarled hands on. There was the usual to begin with. Nothing doing. So I moved on too. Still no relief for the agonizing pain and the increasing crippling. I tied hot mineral soaks, hot wax dips, extended stays in the desert at spas, lolling around in the coffee-colored acidic water emitted by mangrove trees, an unorthodox hormone treatment, gold shots….and so many other things I can’t remember them all. And the pain went on. And the crunching up of bones went on.
When I started taking enough prednisone to make my face round, my back hunched, and my weight intractably high, there was some relief. OK, so I had to sign on for cataracts (yep, I got ’em), weakened bones (hello, osteoporosis), agitated digestive system (oh, no! Acid reflux! And a hiatal hernia) and who knows what others of the countless side-effects using “Ole Devil Prednisone” (as I familiarly call it) brings with it. But you always get something when you make a deal with the Devil. The pain became bearable. I could walk short distances without a cane.
I didn’t even have to use the crutches I’d ruined my wrists and shoulders hanging from while following another quack’s advice to “Hold on as long as you possibly can before you get knee replacements because the technology will be improving.” Well, how do you know when you’ve taken as much pain as you can? I stretched that torture out to three years, blindly obeying the quack’s advice. Well, he was right: the technology of joint replacements does keep improving, but I’ve since learned that (like buying a computer) you just have to jump in and take the current state-of-the-art if you’re in need. Next week something better will come along, but at least in the meantime, you’re up and going.
When I got my first knee replacement, my adorable orthopaedic surgeon gently mentioned that if I’d come in sooner, there would have been much less bone wear and deterioration, making his job easier. It’s always a good idea to get a second opinion, and if I’d had my head screwed on straight, I would have questioned the quack. But I was in intense pain, and I suspect that effects the functioning of the gray cells, too.
I think it was between my second and third knee replacements that I noticed a difference. Sometime in my thirtieth or so year into arthritis (you notice, I don’t call it “my” arthritis!) I noticed that, Wow! That original smug doctor was right! Either I was learning to live with it or I’d hit a plateau after all this time. I continued taking minimal doses of prednisone and weekly jolts of methatrexate. Maybe that’s what was doing it.
At any rate, by now I’m 72 and have left the intense onset-pain of the disease behind. I guess I was lucky to go through that when I was young (30) and strong. I’ve had a long time to get used to it, though it has change-ups and spin-offs, and by now the pain is minimal and the mobility good enough to allow me to spend unmeasured time at the computer; I can drive comfortably as far as gas money will take me; I can use my Disabled placard to park in places close enough for me to lurch the short distances I want to walk, and I lead a fairly normal and productive life. Life is beautiful and I have no complaints. Now, how many people can say that?
© 2006, Anne Peterson
