Shot in the Belly

Just thought I’d stop by and tell you how my last Humira injection went.

If you read my last post, you’ll know that self-injecting this medicine has been fraught with jitters for me. It hasn’t mattered that I know the shot won’t hurt as much as my imagination is sure it will. It hasn’t mattered that I know the stuff may send my rheuma-dragon into a stupor and, perhaps, put an end to at least some of the neverending pain that claims so much space in my consciousness each day.

Nope. Doing this twice-monthly jab has simply been crap.

Many, many nice people, fellow-rheuma-travelers all, responded to my post. They commented here, on RheumaBlog, and at RheumatoidArthritis.net, where the post was published in full. The vast majority commented on RA.net’s Facebook page.

I just want to say thank you, right now, to everyone who commented, for being so incredibly supportive. I didn’t really think that I was alone in hating to jab myself, but I had no real idea just how many people who take subcutaneous biologic DMARDs have almost exactly the same fears that I do, and that they face and overcome them every single time they inject, too. I realize, now, that I’m an unwitting member of a huge secret society. It’s called the I HATE JABS Society. 😉

Many of those who commented suggested I switch injection sites from my upper thighs to my abdomen. I chose to inject into my thighs, originally, because it seemed to me that if it was going to hurt, it would probably hurt less there. The idea of sicking a needle into my belly gave me the heebie-jeebies.humira-pen-figure-j-90-degree-angle

But so many people said it hurt less in the abdomen. A lot less. So many people, I reasoned, couldn’t all be wrong. So when I injected the other night, I did it in my tummy.

Heheh. Wow. It … worked. There was no pain. OK, maybe a second or two of “ah, there it is, here comes the burn” but then that went away and there was no burn at all. There was no pain when I removed the pen, and no pain when I put the little bandage over the tiny bead of blood that welled where the needle had penetrated.

No pain. No nothing!

So, I’m pleased to say that I’ve no longer any reason to dread these injections. I am so glad–and so incredibly grateful to everyone who commented. Let me give the advice, now: If you inject DMARDs, seriously consider injecting in your abdomen, even if the idea makes you shudder.  It’s so much better!

Now, if only my super-charged immune system will slack off a bit and let the Humira do its job. That would be the real triumph. Fingers crossed.

Inner Dialogue

Today is the third day of a dull, all-over flare about an hour ago.

I injected my latest Humira dose the day before yesterday. And I thought, “well, maybe I’m hurting a lot more today because I’m at the end of that last, two-week To Dodose.” The thought was both hopeful and resigned. If I was feeling worse because the Humira was wearing off, that meant it was actually working (I felt better after taking it). That was the hopeful part. On the other hand, more pain might simply mean my rheuma-dragon was getting stronger—and the Humira was another useless weapon.

But it’s only been a couple of days. Hopeful Wren tells me to be patient, let the Humira kick in. Pessimistic Wren tells me to chuck the happy-crappy and face the truth. The stuff doesn’t work.

Then rational Wren chimes in. These drugs, she says, can take a long time to work. Usually, three to six months. It’s been almost three months, yes, but that doesn’t mean the Humira won’t ever work. And you know when you see the doc, he’s going to tell you to be patient and give it another three months. And you’ll nod and say OK because, really, what else are you going to do?

Sigh. Naturally, I hoped this fancy, new (to me) biologic DMARD would quickly turn the tables on my rheumatoid disease. I was looking forward to waking up in the morning without being as stiff as the tin man. I thought it would be so nice toGet-Out-of-Flare-Free_21 put on my house robe with hands and fingers that didn’t gripe and yell with pain. I was looking forward to swinging my legs off the bed and standing up—and not even noticing my feet because, of course, there was no reason to notice them. No stiffness, no pain, no nothing.

And I was looking forward to going through my days without being constantly reminded—by suddenly aching joints, sudden twinges, constant low-level soreness, and a mild but insidious fatigue—that I have an incurable disease that may cripple or even kill me one day, whether I take medications for it or not.

Do you guys go through this too? This constant, involuntary inner dialogue you-get-used-to-itabout being sick? I get so tired of it. My mind’s constant grousing makes me feel like 1) a weak, sniveling wimp, 2) a complainer (even if I don’t say anything out loud to anyone), and 3) a histrionic hypochondriac.

Yeah, I know better. I’m really not any of those things.

My life up until age 31 was perfectly normal, with all of the normal illnesses and injuries: chicken pox, skinned knees, an occasional bout of flu, a sharp pneumonia and a couple of bad sprained ankles when I was a teen (platform shoes), and seasonal colds. I only thought about feeling bad when I felt bad, and that was relatively rare.

The same applies to those six years when my RD mysteriously went into medication-free remission. The only difference was that I can only recall a single cold during that period.

But when my rheumatoid disease is active, whether it’s mild or severe or somewhere in between, it forces my mind to dwell on it. And that makes me question my own feelings, and sometimes, my own reality.

On to more pleasant news: Mom and I dragged out the decorations and brought Christmas into our new home. This is a hard time of year for her; Christmas just hasn’t been the same for her since my Dad died, and the holiday brings with it 592014 Christmas 2 years of memories—with Dad as the central character.

But this year she was the one who brought up decorating the place. I’m so glad! She doesn’t miss him less, but maybe living in a place that’s not connected to memories of Dad is soothing her pain a little bit. I hope so. We had a good time putting up the tree, choosing and hanging the ornaments, talking about the memories each one brought to the surface, and setting out Santas and elves and pinecones and sparkly candles all over the place. It made us both laugh and smile, and you know what? There’s nothing better in the world than that.

Thanks for listening to me rant today. Felt good to put it in words—a catharsis, in a way. I hope this post finds you feeling good and enjoying the holiday season and the close of another year on this precious old planet we all call home.