I took my first dose of Indocin yesterday. It’s an arthritis-specific anti-inflammatory, and I did not have very high hopes — I was pretty set on getting some good painkillers and an air cast, but the doctor I saw on Sunday was pretty set on treating the problem fully rather than temporarily. My mom paid the absolutely ridiculous price of the drug for me (seriously, $52 for something that doesn’t even knock you out?), I swallowed the first pill, and then I waited. It’s a pill you only take once a day, so I resigned myself to a couple of weeks of pain before anything improved.
When I woke up this morning, the swelling and bruising in my foot was almost completely gone. My fingers look like fingers again, rather than knotted purple bratwursts protruding from my arms. I can wiggle my toes for the first time in a couple of years. My knees are knee-shaped — apparently, the beach-ball appearance they’ve been sporting was not caused by my fat. Oh, and I slept for 13 hours last night. Apparently, pain keeps you awake. Who knew?
I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis when I was 12 or 13, but it wasn’t serious enough at the time to need treatment. Since then, I have been on a merry-go-round of insurance coverage and income level fluctuation, and I just haven’t been able to get treatment. It was something I kind of forgot about after a while; I knew that I was increasingly deformed and in pain, but getting treatment for my arthritis fell pretty far down on my priorities list — somewhere below paying rent, buying food, stashing some cash for emergencies like last year’s surgery, getting clothes for Connor, keeping the car running, and ensuring that we had little luxuries like electricity and water. I’ve always been the kind of person who will soldier on through any amount of pain in order to keep everyday life operating smoothly, and the arthritis was just something I lived with.
Never let it be said that I suffer from an excess of common sense.
I don’t know what other treatment I might need. I don’t know if I’ll need to take Indocin forever — if that’s the case, I have to get very, very serious about finding insurance and increasing my income. I don’t know if it’ll continue to work, or if it’s something that’s temporary. I do know that today I feel fucking great for the first time in five or six years. It seems that not everything can be treated with aspirin and a nightly hot bath, and I would be very wise to keep that in mind. I would also be very wise to go hit my Pilates mat while I feel this way, just because I can.