Orally Fabulous, That's What

So, I had a bunch of crunky oral surgery last week, right? I mean... it was okay. I had nice "hypnotic" (I didn't even know that was a thing) drugs to make the time go faster, and they let me have a blanket and all... apparently my finger isn't a great place to continually check my pulse and I am oddly sensitive to penicillin, but hey. You learn something new every day.
Anyway. Things went pretty normally. After the first twelve hours or so I didn't need painkillers anymore. Which shocked me, honestly. But, yeah... so things have been pretty good. Except...
You know what the awesome part of auto-immune disorders is? The insanely out-of-proportion inflammatory response to EVERYTHING EVER. I imagine the inside of my mouth will eventually go back to normal... I hope I live to see that glorious future day... right now I am just happy that I only look a little bit like a chipmunk with seeds in his mouth (which was not the case yesterday). Can't worry too much about the fact that my gums look and feel a bit like the inside of a bike tire, right? I'm sure the feeling will come back eventually.

My surgeon is like "take 800 milligrams of motrin!" and I'm like "I can't take motrin, ibuprofen, naproxen, aspirin, relafen, or any other NSAID because I take a fairly high dose of Meloxicam every day and I would rather not have my kidneys fail, mmmkay?" You chop people's faces open every day, how is it you've never met someone with rheumatoid arthritis, before?

This sounds all bitchy but it's not, really! She did a lovely job chopping my face apart, I swear! And, I am not just saying that because she is going to chop it open again in four months and I am afraid for my life!

The Tears Of Angels

See this little bottle of bluish stuff? This is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. I call it the Tears Of Angels and it is pretty seriously the only thing that gets me through the work week right now.
A couple of years ago the arthritis in my hands was giving me a lot of gyp (not that is ever doesn't, but some times are worse than others). I already take a prescription Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory (NSAID) drug every day, and I am not allowed to supplement with any other oral medication in the same class of drugs (they are pretty dreadful for your internal organs). That means aspirin (I occasionally take a single migraine-strength excedrin when I am getting a headache, but don't tell my doctor), ibuprofen, aleve (naproxen), and every other thing that might possibly help is off-limits. I can take tylenol (acetaminophen), but it's worthless, honestly.
Anyway. You can get topical anti-inflammatory medications with a prescription. When I asked my doctor about trying a topical NSAID he agreed that it might help. He said he would write the prescription if I wanted to try it BUT my HMO (Kaiser) wouldn't cover it and I would have to pay (the not-insubstantial) price out of pocket. He suggested switching me to a new oral NSAID instead (it worked okay but ultimately gave me an ulcer so I had to switch back).
And then I realized something. You know those ibuprofen gelcaps (or softgels, or liquicaps, or whatever dumb-ass thing they are calling them today) that are filled with liquid? These ones?

The liquid inside comes right out of them if you poke a hole in the pill. For reals. Easy peasy. I tried it out, and it actually worked fairly well. I just squeeze out the goo, put a few drops on my hands, add a little lotion (or a bengay-type "pain relief" gel. They don't do much but distract you via skin irritation, but why not?), rub that shiz in... and ta-da! It works pretty well on my hands, and helped a lot when I was suffering from constant shin splints, too. It doesn't do as much for my knees, I must say, but hey. Considering that I work with my hands so much that even my non-athritic counterparts complain about cramping and pain?
Yeah. I will take what I can get.



Please note: if you are going to take medical advice you find on the internet you will get precisely what you deserve, whether it's good or bad. You are the keeper of your own health and the decision-maker for your own body and mind. I really shouldn't have to tell you that.

Injured and Complaing About It, Thank You Very Much

My little ballet world has been pretty frustrating, lately. After the horrible "cat + laptop Vs. my poor naked foot" incident I knew I was going to have some bruising. But, did you know that non-steroidal anti-inflammatory (NSAIDs, in other words: first line treatment for RA) medications can cause excessive blood pooling and therefore bruising? Which can take a really long dang time to heal? Yeah, I didn't know, either. I have now missed five whole classes, and had to sit out center work for three more. I am pretty unhappy about it.
But here is the weird part. I always bitch about ballet hurting me, and it's true! It does hurt me. It gives me shin splints and broken toenails and foot cramps and you get the idea. But while I've been taking a bunch of time off I've noticed all the ways that ballet makes me feel BETTER. Without class my back hurts. My knees hurt even worse than usual. I thought my shin splints were coming back but it was actually some thin little muscle running along the front of my leg cramping up. My ankles hurt! My toes on my foot that ISN'T bruised!
Geeze!
So, I have decided to just take barre until I am ready to use my foot properly, again. I tried doing center work on Tuesday and it did not work out for me, but OH! The pretty combination we got to do before it all went to hell! Balancés and waltz turns, swishy port de bras... and I felt almost competent for a few glorious moments!
And then my foot was like "what do you even think you are doing, woman?"

NSAIDs: A Cautionary Tale

So. How have you guys been? I spent my weekend feeling like death on toast. The NSAID (anti-inflammatory medication I take twice a day for my rheumatism) that I've been using for the past 9 months or so landed me in the hospital on Saturday night.
Friday morning I was fine. I even ate a sensible salad for lunch and took a short bike ride with my dad. But at about 2pm I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling like I'd just been speared through the chest, right at the base of my thorax. I tried to wait it out but I couldn't sleep at all that night and after a short stint at work on Saturday morning it was quickly becoming evident that it was here to stay. I immediately figured it was probably an ulcer but couldn't get any over the counter remedies to help. I called the Kaiser advice hotline to ask if I could get in to see my doctor any time soon. I got transferred around for a while and they told me they'd call me back later in the day.
So I talked to a very twitchy little doctor on the phone at about 5pm. She was the kind of confused and baffled doctor that instills a real sense of security and faith in a patient. Regardless of the fact that the Kaiser website states that "ulcers can cause nausea, dizziness, and intense pain radiating in to the back" she urged me quite vehemently to hurry down to the ER, which I did. Well, sort of... because FOR REALIOS WOMAN it is an ulcer not a heart attack. Yes, I am dizzy. Probably because I HAVE AN ULCER. I should not have to guide you to these things. I actually had to reassure her at one point that stomach bleeding goes along with the whole ulcer thing, so even if I was dizzy I probably didn't actually have a terrible ruptured whatever-the-hell.
Sigh.
I did eventually get to the ER (about 5 hours later), mostly because I know that the regular clinic would take several days to run labs and the ER would run them in less than two hours. And the sooner I got this you-know-what over and done with the better (theater season just started. Ain't nobody got time for that.) They hooked me up to an EKG machine and put so many stickers all over my body that I am still not sure if I got them all off. There must have been six just on my left boob. I felt awkward, not for myself but for the poor nurse who had to cover me in boob stickers. Obviously it's her job and all, but it still must be contrary to your sense of social propriety. My own sense of social propriety ends at the point when I have to hold a little plastic barf bag and wear a gown with the butt all open, sorry. The doctor came in and we had a brief conversation about how it's basically almost certainly an ulcer (or gastritis, the precursor to an ulcer) and you can point your finger straight to my shitty rheumatologist for refusing to TREAT my ACTUAL condition and instead leaving me hanging on high doses of particularly nasty NSAIDs for several years running. He scrunched up his face when he laughed and he was terribly young. I felt old and silly and wished that my husband was there (they forgot to tell him it was okay to see me after the EKG, so I was basically hangin' out there in my boob stickers by myself for an hour) because otherwise my ER quiet room wit (which consisted mainly of pretending my large penis-shaped barf bag was, in fact, a large blue penis while trying to interpret the oddly coded ER intercom announcements) was utterly wasted (hey man, it was late and I felt like hell, okay?). I eye-balled the spare rolls of exam table paper in the cabinet. Because you know what exam table paper is great for? Pattern making.
Eventually they made me drink three small shots of tutti-frutti flavored lidocaine (they tasted like Satan, basically) and sent me home. Two IVs for nothing, man (one in my right arm that didn't work out properly that has left me with an aching blue bruise the size of a golf ball, and one in my left by a slightly more competent nurse). I tell ya what, guys. IVs suck.
I still feel non-stop nauseous, hopefully the heavier-duty acid control pills I now have to take (every morning. That makes 8 pills PER DAY, now) will do me some good. I'm not allowed to have caffeine or chocolate (I think I might cry, guys) or tomatoes or ... well. Anything good. I can eat oatmeal (without milk, naturally) and brown rice. I guess I can add some thrilling tofu in there for protein.
I already had a chocolate chip cookie. One a day can't kill me.
My husband brought home Mexican for dinner. It was a very sweet gesture. But for reals.