Certain dates just stick out don’t they?
I don’t remember the exact day I met my husband, but I remember the date of our first kiss. I remember the day I graduated from college and the day I was hired at the job that has been my career. I remember the day I started this blog and the day I said yes to following my dreams, and enrolled in my health coaching program.
Birthdays. Anniversaries. All days with special meaning.
December 20, 2017 is a day that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Like a branding iron to my brain, it is seared into my memory with an intensity that does not give me permission to forget. December 20, 2017 was the day I received my diagnosis.
Psoriatic arthritis. An incurable disease. An autoimmune disease.
My choices were to start medication or start medication. My rheumatologist told me about the disease and it’s likely progression if I didn’t start meds. Medication to slow the progression of the disease, not to cure it. I had to donate vial upon vial of blood for testing which would determine if I was a candidate for said pharmaceuticals. I was given pamphlets about the medications and told to read them over at home. We would discuss treatment at the next appointment, once my blood test results were in.
I walked out of the office in a haze. Overwhelmed with life changing information, I was stunned into silence. I sat in my car, too shocked to cry. How had this happened? I had always been healthy. I was rarely sick as a kid, let alone as an adult. I had heard of autoimmune disease before, but I had no idea what it was. No clue all of what those words encompassed. How had I gone from good health to falling victim to a cureless disease?
I was confused. The devastation happened later that night as I powered through Google searches: What is psoriatic arthritis? How do you get psoriatic arthritis? How do you treat psoriatic arthritis? What is an autoimmune disease? Is there a cure for autoimmune disease? And then there was the deep dive into the medications and potential side effects.
I learned I would live with this for the rest of my life. There was no cure. There was, however, a but. Autoimmune diseases do not have a cure, BUT remission is a possibility. I learned I did not want to go on medications unless it became absolutely necessary. The medications my doctor wanted to put me on scared the hell out of me. They are the ones you see in commercials where the possible side effects are the longest part of the ad and you think, The side effects sound worse than the disease!
As much as it wrecked me to receive such a weighted diagnosis, I was glad to finally have one. For a year weird things had been happening to my body that none of my doctors could explain or properly diagnose. Once I began learning about psoriatic arthritis I began seeing how all of my symptoms were linked to this autoimmune condition. I was suffering from multiple symptoms, but they were all intertwined in psoriatic arthritis. Knowing this was a relief of sorts. I wasn’t crazy. My body really was falling apart and it was because somewhere along the way my body learned to attack itself.
Since getting my diagnosis two years ago a lot has changed. The title of “Psoriatic Arthritis” bestowed upon me has upended my entire life. I eat differently now. I think differently now. I am taking 500,000 different supplements… okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but it feels like that most days. I am now on one of the scary medications. I have learned and educated myself on my disease as well as a host of other health related topics tied to my disease. I am getting truly healthy for the first time in my entire life.
I am raising my boys differently because of this. They aren’t old enough to understand the ins and outs of the complicated sentence I’ve been dealt, but they know Mama has bad days and can’t always play with them they way they want me to. This disease is helping me teach them empathy and differences in others in a way I would not have been capable of knowing myself if not for this having happened.
My husband and I are even closer than we were before this disorder ravaged our lives. There have been hard days. We have fought through the sludge. We’ve had to have very honest discussions about our life and our goals as a family… as a couple. The tough stuff has made us stronger. The hard times making us much more grateful for the good days. We recognize the fragile beauty of life. Thing do and can change in an instant. Because of this we are striving to lead the best lives possible. On our terms.
Two years ago the path of my life took a detour. I couldn’t see it then, but this road I now find myself traveling is the one I was always meant to go. Instead of being a victim to this disease, I will live a better life than I could have ever dreamed. One of the worst days of my life has turned out to be one of the best. Isn’t it funny how certain days are remembered?
