Tuesday, March 12, 2013

I Am Not Ashamed- Prednisone Rant

Wellllll, actually I am. I am ashamed of my moon face. I don't like to look in the mirror and I don't want others to see me like this. Tonight while talking to my mom in the kitchen I got a good reflection in the microwave.
But this is what I see in front of me tonight when I had to tread a few feet and burn two M&Ms: My mom's little scripture mastery cards on the Tread Mill. It is in Romans... and I can only keep saying the first line- I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.
But prednisone isn't the gospel..... or is it part of my understanding of it?
Yes, I am up. Prednisone Insomnia.
Note to Dr. who I can't get into until April- sleep med not working. If you read this. And not that you can do anything about this but I can't feel my big toes. Sort of. They tingle. Feel like lead. My hands too.I feel like someone has wrapped floss around them really tight and they just may get floss bitten and fall off one of these days.
So I sat up and went in search of someone who can relate; forums where we Prednisone ranters complain. And I am put in check by a few of the stories that give thanks.

So I go walk, barefoot, in the middle of the night, to get through a few more moments on this dang drug. And to buck up.

(Shameful feet, eh? I imagine I'm Bruce Wayne climbing a Mtn right here.)

 I read about a gal that has been on prednisone since she was 12. She is now 31
I will admit that I have laughed at people who have bemoaned being on the drug for a few weeks and gotten onto a forum and let loose.
"oh, boo hoo! wah, wah! A week on prednisone!"
A couple months. Sob.

I am now in check.
The poor girl is younger than me by a bit, hasn't had any weight gain however- but she can't eat, really.
(I really can.)
She mentioned all of the problems the drug caused to her bones. Hip and knee transplants... Total disability at 31. Stays with her folks, too. (doh)
Described the weight distribution on the trunk and moon face even though she isn't very heavy. AND then said she was as hairy as a
Readers, non- prednisone using readers- sorry I have written a lot about this lately but it is A LOT about me. When you are comparing yourself, and it is a pretty good assesment, to a gorilla- you aren't in a good place.
A zoo would be better.

Another person ran with an idea of  Prednisone shirts and has come up with several good ones....
dang it. She has Wegener's Disease and a good attitude. And a 3 year old at home who wouldn't recall her if she were to pass early. Which is staved off by a cocktail of chemo and prednisone which keeps her alive. And she is HAPPY to be alive. So she made some funky shirts that bring attention to her rare immune disease and has a section on prednisone.
This made me shape up and made me feel a tinge
 guilty for indulging in one person's Pred rant riddled with swear words. (she really did deserve to swear)
But then...... a young lady posted about how prednisone saved her life. Sje is young, had an organ go ker-plunk and was on huge amounts of the Beast. She told how kids at her school made fun of her and then she realized she was alive, what was on the inside was what counted.
Dang it. I hate when young ones are so wise.

Where is my gratitude? Have I forgotten who I am????????????????

And who am I?

Not Batman/woman.
Although I'm sure he has great insurance and Fox could figure out a cure.
I am a
The Elk reminds me.
(I put in backpack for inspiration as well. So I can look at it from here:)

The equivalent of my Kilamanjaro. My Denali. Where I work off a few M&Ms in between switching loads of laundry. And resting. And going through the mental torment of Prednisone.
But I am more than just my name....I am so sorry I have been ashamed. I have a body. I am alive. I need to hold onto that. But, like, Mammoth Depression said in her rant on a forum: It's really hard.
Dang hard. Nothing has been this hard. The physical is one thing but what your head tells you about what others think of you. What your family is sick of dealing with, with you being "sick". The burden that you could possibly become..... these are real fears and are what keep me going.
Sometimes. The rest of the time my glands are trying to figure out what heck.....
So I am ashamed, still. And maybe, just maybe- I will somehow find a way to let the gospel pull me through this........

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