In case you haven’t noticed, winter has returned here in the Second City.
This morning I forced myself out of my bed (my joints hate hate hate all this weather changing) and dragged myself to yoga, where despite feeling like I was struggling, I completed one hour on the mat.
I’ll take that gladly even if it’s the only success of my day.
Yesterday, due to the fact that the changing of weather every five seconds and the wearing off of my shot seem to be happening at the same time, I spent some time searching for what might soothe my inflamed joints out on the internet.
Aside, of course, for the stern talking-to I’ve started giving them on a regular basis.
It goes something like this: hey there, cells? It’s cool. Disease is not attacking my joints. You’re doing more harm than good. So I appreciate your jump to arms, but really, call off your dogs. Relax already.
Strangely enough, this doesn’t seem to be having much of an impact, but it makes me feel a little better, and sometimes, that’s enough.
Anyway, I found some more tips on what to eat and what to stay away from (admittedly, most of what I find out is common sense), and then, nestled in there, I found out that one of the side effects of RA is weight loss.
And then I laughed, because it seems like I’m not reaping the benefits of the one ever-so-slightly positive symptom of this bizarre little disease.
In fact, when I first went to my Romanian no-nonsense doctor about my ailments, she looked at my charts and asked me why I’d gain ten pounds.
Probably because I spend all my time on the couch wondering why my ankles are the size of watermelons, I thought as I shrugged my shoulders at her.
I mean, something’s wrong. It’s not like you’re just getting fat.
If you want someone to speak plainly, guys, seek out a Romanian with a medical degree.
I can’t even fault her, since obviously, she was right.
Guess I’ll keep hitting that kettlebell class in the meantime, chickens.
Stay dry out there!