Methotrexate, mon amour

I guess the only good thing about having survived bad relationships is that ultimately, it teaches you how to deal with taking medication, especially when it's a medication that's almost as bad as the illness itself. I've been in too many relationships like that, heaven knows, where living with love and its consequences is almost as difficult as feeling like you're all alone.

And so it is with methotrexate, the weekly wonder shot, the yellow syringe of doom, the drug my insurance company won't pay for me to self-inject, which has enabled me to get to know every one of the doctors in my medical group, many of whom have now experienced the joy of asking me to expose my tushy to the slings and arrows of rheumatoid fortune.

I'm rhapsodizing a bit because today is bad. Labor Day, and yesterday's doctor's appointment, afforded me a little delay this week. Obviously couldn't get the shot on a holiday, and my insurance company in their infinite wisdom, won't allow me to see two doctors in one day. So at 7:45 this morning, I presented butt to the covering physician (my regularly scheduled doc is on vacation) and let the Rear Admiral do the honors. I was fine for about two hours, and then it hit. Stomach upset, throwing up, fatigue, the dizzies...it's just not a good day.

That's a reason why this is sort of like being in a lousy relationship. You hate it, you wish you could find another option, but ultimately, when it's not being a total pain in the ass, it makes you feel a little bit better about your existence. It even, on occasion, succeeds in taking some of the pain away.

And then just when you think you're feeling better, and that maybe you can live with things the way they are, you find yourself head down in the toilet again.

Ugh. I'm off to get a diet cream soda out of the fridge, the best sugar-free low carb cure for nausea that I know of. Any other remedies you can recommend, please let me know.