It All Started To Come Together

The pneumonia, the ever-present joint pain, the crushing fatigue....it all hounded me for the better part of 2013. With the exception of the pneumonia, none of it was very alarming. I kept putting off the return to running for little aches and pains, convincing myself that they were nothing. The weekend before Christmas I had been wrapping gifts and preparing for a large dinner at my house. I was not surprised when my lower back started spasming...I didn't think much of it and popped 4 ibuprofen. My friend offered her TENS unit with some simple instructions on how to use it. I spent the next few hours wrapping gifts and being softly zapped every few seconds.

I woke up the next morning unable to pick up my arms or move my legs. It felt as if every nerve ending was on fire. I was terrified. My husband helped me out of bed and helped me get dressed. I spent some time on my exercise ball, trying to stretch out my back in hopes that it was what was causing all of the pain. I took some Tramadol that I had left over from my shoulder surgery and waited for it to take effect. I can't explain the shock and horror of becoming an invalid nearly overnight when just 12 months previously I was finishing a marathon in just barely over 4 hours! I could not comprehend how, once again, my body was turning against me. The Tramadol helped and I was able to continue preparing for the large dinner party that night.

Eventually the sharp pain reduced to a much tolerable level, but it was replaced with an achy stiffness in my hands and feet. Getting out of bed required patience because I was unable to put any weight on my feet without "warming them up". My waking routine because a series of flexing and rotating of my feet and hands until I felt comfortable enough to use them. I made an appointment with my primary care physician, sure that she would send me back to my physical therapist for some back work. I vowed to never run a marathon again.

She instead gave me large doses of steroids that offered such great relief that I was able to forgive the awful side effects: massive weight gain, acne, mood swings, brain fog... After a myriad of tests, ruling out MS and a host of other scary diseases that I had never heard of, I was sent to a rheumatologist. I knew that my Grave's Disease diagnosis so many years ago made it more likely that I would be diagnosed with yet another autoimmune disease. Knowing this, I was still not prepared for the new label I was given: Rheumatoid Arthritis.

My thoughts were immediately consumed by images of my freshman year Biology teacher whose hands were so deformed (by what I now know was RA) that he had to wedge a piece of chalk with one hand into the other hand so that he could write on the board. He was unable to demonstrate a proper dissection of the earth worm because he lost most of his fine motor skills. His hands were so twisted and gnarled that I could hardly stop staring at them all those years ago.  Tears sprang into my eyes. I looked from my hands to my new doctor's eyes and back to my hands. He finally paused and said "You're not hearing me, are you?" I shook my head and he decided to send me down to the lab to get my baseline x-rays. I had to have x-rays of my hands and feet in various positions as well as my lungs.

My head was spinning. I was in shock.