Oops! I forgot to post yesterday, and it's nearly eleven p.m. tonight. What a drag, man. Things have happened that have distracted me from my habits. The new medicine came by FedEx today, and I wasn't expecting it. I didn't know how they would get it here, because it has to remain refrigerated or it goes bad. It was packed in a high quality styrofoam box with frozen packets placed strategically to keep it cool enough enroute.
It's really here now, and I've got to deal with it. It's not really a decision of mine to decide whether to use this medicine or not, but I have read the list of dangerous side effects that plainly state that my immune system could be made so vulnerable that a simple infection could lead to death. That's about as serious as side effects get.
Using this drug by it's patent name of Humira and it's genetic name "adalimumab" can really, really help with the symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis or kill you. I can't not take the risk for more reasons than one. Since I couldn't ignore "the diagnosis" and the follow-up that confirmed it for the medicos that specialize in reading these particular kinds of signs.
When I was informed (and it seemed done as a duty or legal obligation pushed by the insurance companies) I was told I had a couple of different types of arthritis, and some sort of osteoporosis I don't recall the particular type of. Psoriasis? They said I had a kind of arthritis that evinced a symptom like psoriasis. Makes sense. It showed up in my feet, but I thought it was a fungus, but anti-fungus cream didn't cure it.
On the other hand, my concerted effort to deal with what I didn't understand by making it turn out to be a fungus infection brought me into a conscious awareness and a cure for every fungi infection of any type in my entire body.
What I couldn't cure by my own research and my own prescriptions was the weird lesions that popped up periodically on my feet, and those symptoms that antifungals couldn't cure was the external symptoms of psoriasis arthritis. At least, now I know why I couldn't heal myself, and it may have something to do with my ruddy complexion. All these symptom by diagnosis are considered mild, but mild for me is wide-eyed, jazz hands freakout!
I'm not going mildly into this good night. Philosophically, I can work up a powerful rhetorical tonic and affirmation as modest as with the absolute best of them, but my body couldn't give a fuck about being philosophical when it comes to pain.
I think the way I have romanticized the hard times even I admit were tough have created an immune system of such aggressive power, that when it isn't needed or called for it turns against me. That's what the deal is here from everything considered. It's been stated outright in the documentation of the medicines that have been prescribed to me, that the specific characteristics these drugs attack are an over-amped immune system.
What was designed by nature to save me from the inner and outer confrontations with that which preys, is turned upon itself. The drugs attack my immune system to keep it from killing me chink by chunk of who-I-think-I-am-is. In other words, if I somehow develop just about any sort of infection with my immune system so repressed it could kill me before any defensive measures could be mounted. Well, as long as it's quick and I'm not super aware of all the needles.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
