Mr. Methyltrexate, the “Big M,” has been a resident of my body for 2 months now. It’s the newest little fish in my red sea. At my rheumatologist appointment tomorrow, I find out if the “Big M” has enough fighting power to kick “Evil P” off the top of the food chain. I’ve been waiting and waiting for this day, especially after Imuran smacked my liver around and didn’t make the cut. And here it is. Tomorrow. Or at least I hope it’s tomorrow. I’ve been known to set myself up for some majorly disappointing anti-climactic drama.
On the eve of what I hope to be the beginning of the end of this recent stint with the Evil P, I’ve written a little note to my little white pills:
You stir up a lot of hatred in me, Prednisone. Primarily, I hate that I will never be able to fully hate you because you saved my life. A little much with the guilt trip, don’t you think? We’ve been through a lot together these last 10 months. You’ve done a lot of really shitty things to me, but you’ve also gotten me to a really good place. In fact, I’m stronger now then I’ve ever been. I know what you’re thinking and I’m not an idiot. I know I’ll probably need you again one day, but that doesn’t mean I need you all the time. So here’s a heads up, Evil P, tomorrow’s D-Day. I think it might be time for me to survive without you for a while. And if it’s not, please promise me you’ll keep the gloating (and the bloating) to a minimum.
Thank you kindly.
Signed sincerely, your host body,