The last time I skipped probably pre-dates my diagnosis of Ankylosing Spondylitis, and was most definitely in an effort to embarrass Megan in a public place.
I just skipped all the way from my cube to the bathroom, did my thing, and skipped back.
Fortunately for me, most of my office is empty – they've all gone to some meeting leaving myself and a few colleagues behind to continue working. So part of the reason was that I knew I wouldn't get funny looks. The other part was that I am kind of surprised with how good I feel. It strikes me as odd. Like a new feeling. It's like the first time you burn your hand on a hot stove. You just don't know what to think.
So far so good. Test 2 will be how I feel tomorrow morning.
Oh, and I'm not dead, which is cool.
The first thing that went through my mind this morning as I was climbing out of bed, trying to stretch out the aches in my back and the pains in my hips and legs, was how disappointed I was that I wasn't on my way to Dr. R's office to have my first dose of Remicade administered. I've heard and read of people having a positive reaction (stiffness and pain disappearing) as quickly as
during their first infusion, and to be honest – that's probably the worst possible thing for me to have heard at this point. I am the classic hope-getter-upper.
The damage is done. My hopes are up and like a kid who convinces himself he's getting a puppy for Christmas, if I don't get what I want, I will be sorely disappointed. No amount of telling myself that it won't be the end of the world will save it from ending in my mind. I will be inconsolable and incommunicado for a few hours, and then once I've gotten it out of my system, I'll be right back where I am now: With high hopes for improved results in the near future.
To be fair, I will be happy if the treatment works at all. The thought of spending the remainder of my time on this earth in the same or a worse state (like New Jersey! Ha!) is depressing. If it helps enough for me to play an active role in my children's development – running, wrestling, etc – and enough for me to be a good companion (instead of a cripple) to my wife, then I don't care if it takes a week or a year to get there.
My dad used to say something to the effect of, "I would shovel shit out of a ditch if that's what I had to do to put food on the table;" and at the time I knew it was his way of telling us that he loved us. Only now – having found someone I care for in the same way, and approaching the cusp of starting my own family – do I actually understand what its like to feel the same way about my loved ones. As much as I say it's a miserable feeling living this way, and how I dread the thought of different treatments not working – I would endure it for 10 lifetimes with a smile on my face just for the opportunity to share that time with them.
It's Fantasy Football time again, and I have a few spots open in our league. Send me an email if you're interested.
