Update

Just in case you were wondering, 

magical thinking is alive and well here in St Louis; 

in fact, MY house would seem to be the epicenter
for the region. 

While I’d accepted, long ago, that there was no magic pill
that would immediately 

render me smarter, wiser, thinner or richer, 

I apparently still harbored the fantasy
that there IS a magic pill somewhere, 

that would restore me to my previous, totally taken for granted,

 pain and fatigue free style of life. 

How do I know I believed that? 

Because I was absolutely crushed during a visit this week to my Rheumatologist 

when we discussed the addition of a ‘biologic’ to help control my RA – 

and he refused to prescribe it. 

A few caveats here before I proceed with my end-of-the-year-litany-of-complaints …

I know there are people in far worse pain, 

with far more serious medical conditions than I. 

My autoimmune disease probably won’t kill me – 

unless death by whining becomes a real thing.

I know I have the totally first world problem of being called out of retirement 

to a job that’s rewarding, making a difference in children’s lives 

and involves working alongside
creative, funny, talented and compassionate people; 

so I’m more tired now when I do it, 

boo hoo, right?

At least I have 2 kinds of health insurance that allows me to see all these specialists 

who can’t figure out what’s going on with me … 

which puts me ahead of, oh I don’t know,
3/4ths of the country’s population. 

I’m not oblivious to my privilege … it’s just my pain sometime obscures it. 

And no amount of Vitamin I
(as pilgrims on the Camino call Ibuprofen)
is making it go away. 

So, it’s no wonder I was looking for a quick fix; 

a shot to give me a shot
at having the life, energy and mobility I had before…

and apparently, that doesn’t exist. 

The oncologist is still not sure what I have – 

but he’s willing to give it more time to develop or declare itself.

He’s not willing to do a bone marrow biopsy at this point, 

thinking it would be premature and not yield enough new information 

to warrant either the expense or distress. 

My Rheumatologist is not willing to prescribe a biologic, 

which would suppress my immune system
even more than the methotrexate I’m currently on, 

and, in his opinion, 

allow whatever is going on to develop full blown and irreversibly 

(most likely leukemia or a lymphoma).

Until I have a bone marrow biopsy to say what IS going in my bone marrow, 

he’s not going to be the one writing a RX which would start me 

sliding down the slippery slope. 

Which leaves me stuck in the middle, 

feeling like crap, 

and, after decades of working with all kinds of doctors,
totally understanding,
where both of them are coming from. 

He WAS willing to try a much milder drug 

(which only blinds 1 in 5,000 people and was developed to treat malaria 

but seems to work on RA as well), 

and I’m 2 days in – with no notable difference – 

but hope springs eternal. 

I keep remembering a scene in a movie
when Jack Nicholson walks through a therapists waiting room,
looks at all the miserable schlubs sitting there 

and loudly says, to no one in particular,

“What if  THIS  is as good as it gets?” 

That single question was enough to make me hate the movie.

I’m not ready to admit that THIS might be as good as I get – 

although conversely,
and superstitiously, 

I do recognize that things can always get worse.

I’m glad the year is coming to a close. 

I need a mind re-set.

Surely there’s a magic pill
or an easy button for that!