The car next to mine takes a puddle head on, sending a wave of murky water thrashing against my windshield. I’m blinded momentarily in the blur; frozen somewhere between the muted street lights and the rainy dark. I find myself caught in the metaphor, blinded by the blur of the movement in my life.
Two days ago, I walked out of Dr. H’s office entrenched in the surreal feeling that has defined my “post-cerebritis” life. I was on the very edge of it, looking over, disoriented. “I’m there,” I thought.
I’m getting off Prednisone.
The process will be slow – down 2.5 mg every two weeks if my body reacts well. My natural ability to produce prednisone has been suppressed, so my vulnerability to illness has exponentially increased. A heightened level of lupus activity will stall the process, so saying goodbye to Evil P could be a drawn out farewell. I don’t mind. I’ve waited this long. I can wait some more. I’m one step closer to taking back my body, one step closer to feeling whole again… and that’s all that matters.
Two days ago, something else happened. One of my keepers had a beautiful baby girl. I don’t know why, but I feel like I have to mention it because it makes me happy, because it’s another example of the constant “blur” of life – this jolting forward into the unknown. We do our best to keep ourselves grounded, rooted so we can enjoy the ride and not get lost in the rainy dark of our insecurities and fears. All he knows is that he loves her… and that’s all he needs to know. I take great comfort in that love tonight. It keeps me grounded during this chaotic swirl of time.
The beginning of the end of Prednisone marks a new phase in my medical treatment as a patient and my overall recovery as a person. With all the changes happening in my life, all the “letting go” I have to do, this is one goodbye that isn’t bittersweet.
It’s just pretty damn sweet.