Human Pincushion February 4, 2013

The bruise encircles a pinprick on my thigh, the site of yesterday’s injection.  I must have screwed up, placed the auto-inject pen at a slight angle instead of going straight in.  Plus, yesterday was my left thigh’s turn to get lucky, and it’s a crapshoot how things turn out then.

To give myself  the injection, I need to ‘pull up’ (ugh) some adipose tissue (say it, FAT) to receive the needle.  The tops of my thighs don’t have quite enough to perform this task with ease.  The upside of not being in the best shape of my life is there’s more of the aforesaid adipose tissue on my abdomen, and at least four out of six injections end up there.

My husband discovered my injection chart the other day.  I had taken a picture of my abdomen with my Photo Booth, and every six weeks I mark a circle of dots around the belly so I can keep track of where I prick myself and when.  He said he was a bit shocked because you just don’t expect someone to have a picture of their belly laying around.  True.  However, this whole RA (rheumatoid arthritis) business has changed things up in my life, to be sure.

Like every two weeks I stick myself.  They say not to inject in the same place twice, to avoid veins, to avoid scars, to avoid moles.  I try.  I’ve been doing this for about 1 1/2 years now, and I suspect I’m now making my own scar tissue.  As there’s no cure for RA, I imagine I’ll be continuing my injections for the duration.  Or until they stop working, or start hurting me.

I’m grateful for the medicines that make it possible for me to live a “normal” life.  I can walk with ease, usually.  My elbows are only a little cocked.  Although some aches persist, I can’t say I’m in pain.   I’m especially happy that I don’t have to inject every freaking day, as I’d have to if I was diabetic.  Life is good.

An occasional bruise is a small price to pay.

Well I’ll be…… October 2, 2011

Was finally prescribed ‘something more’ by my rheumatologist.  We decided on Humira, as he said it was comparable to Enbrel, but only needs to be injected twice a month.  Both are biologics, the newer wave of ra drugs that apparently target certain parts of the immune system rather than taking a broader approach.  They’ve been on the market for about 10 years and carry some risks, the most obvious being you can get sick, really sick, easier because your immune system is knocked out.

Another downside, of course, is they need to be injected.  However, they seem to work really well for a lot of people, and if you’re an ra sufferer it’s not long before you reach the point where you’re willing to do just about anything to get your life back, even if it’s shortened somehow.  RA will do that anyway, from what I understand.

The idea of poking myself with a syringe was pretty off-putting.  Even though I’ve been stuck maybe more than the average person in my life, due to a variety of disorders, and watched other people injecting medications, the thought of doing it to myself made me pretty queasy.

This is why I decided on the autoinjector.  It looks something like an epi pen, the big selling point being you don’t have to see a needle.  Just put it where you need to inject and push the button.  I could do that, I thought.

I always thought knowledge was power, so in an attempt to get some control over this whole injection thing, I went online to see how other people fared with the autoinjectors.  Not such a good idea.  There were a few people who said ‘no problem’, a few more who said there was some pain, but worth it, and a large contingency of bloggers, community members and you-tubers who said, ‘IT WAS THE WORST PAIN I EVER FELT IN MY LIFE …LIKE BEING STABBED WITH A KNIFE AND HAVING SOMEONE THROW A LIGHTED MATCH IN AAAAAAARGGH!”   I mean you wondered how they survived the injection.  Now I know that a lot of times people who actually post, especially repeators, are sometimes sort of …..over the top.   Er, present company excluded of course.  I also know that everybody’s pain threshhold is different.  But I managed to get  myself pretty nerved up about the injection.  Luckily, this also made me search for ways to make the injection less painful.

I set a day and a time to do the injection.  When it was 45 minutes before countdown I took the Humira out of the fridge, which is what everyone from bloggers to nurses recommend, but is not stated on the Humira site.  They say to keep it refridgerated.  Apparently ice cold Humira getting shot into your system is a great way to feel like you’re getting embalmed alive or something.  Fifteen minutes ahead I iced my thigh,where I had decided to give myself the injection.  I’d also practiced pulling up the skin and going “3-2-1” in preparation for pushing the button.  I’d viewed the instructional video a number of times AND made written instructions.  As the moment approached, I called Thor for moral support and to time the injection which was supposed to only take 10 seconds.  A little yellow marker also stops moving in the pen when it’s over.

I think my brain was probably frozen with fear, but my thumb obeyed and pushed the button.  I heard the click and at first felt nothing.  Some folks say you don’t really feel the needle.  As I waited I could feel a warm, slightly burning sensation that built and probably crescendoed at about 6 sec.  I remember thinking that I hoped it didn’t get worse, even though it really wasn’t too bad.  Then it went down, and Thor told me time was up.  I looked at the window and there was the yellow marker.  Surprised, I withdrew the pen and dumped it in the sharps container.

After accepting congratulations from Thor on being gutsy, I cleaned up the stuff and started moving around.  I swear I could immediately feel a slight difference.  As the day progressed, I found I had more energy, was more alert, had less pain, so of  course I overdid it and chugged on until 8 at night when my feet and ankles were hurting and I was exhausted.  Yep, still have RA, I thought.

This morning I woke and realized my legs weren’t hurting as they usually do in the morning.  I sat up.  Just like that.  I didn’t feel my way carefully through each movement, groaning as I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the side.  I just did it, almost like before this whole thing happened to me.  I walked, not shuffled, out of the bedroom.  I found myself reaching for things, climbing steps, kneeling, doing things I usually can only do much later in the day or not at all.  It’s  now 3 p.m.  I’ve been out shopping, I’m make dinner, I cleaned out my closets.  The only thing I can compare this to is being ‘normal’, or when I’ve been on prednisone therapy.  Thor is amazed.  We are filled with hope that we mights be able to have that life we planned on after all.

Being who I am, I am kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Subsequent injections may not be as easy as this one was.  Some folks say the pain varies.  Yes, there are risks and the things that can potentially happen with these meds are scary.  Plus, it’s not unusual for meds that work to stop working for ra patients.

But right now I’m raising up prayers of thanks to God.  I’m enjoying every minute of feeling good.  Not perfect, but good.  I can still feel the ra in my body, but it’s just not a big problem right now. And it’s funny, how when you feel almost back to normal, it’s easy to forget that you haven’t been for some 6 long months.