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Four years ago, I woke up with pain and stiffness in my hands. Within a few days, it had spread to my feet. Within a couple of weeks, it was making it hard to sleep.
I was terrified. Everything seemed to point to rheumatoid arthritis - an extremely unpleasant disorder that, in time, results in loss of function - and it seemed like my fears were confirmed when a blood test at my primary-care provider came back with a positive rheumatoid factor.
Four days later, the pain was gone, even faster than it arrived.
My rheumatologist diagnosed me with "palindromic rheumatism" - an unusual autoimmune disease mimicking symptoms of RA, but only intermittently, and without long-term damage. He warned, though, that I was not out of the woods - that I could develop RA at any time, and that my positive rheumatoid factor made it more likely.
For me, this was enough to feel better. I had been given a reprieve. With the pain and other factors, 2018-2019 was one of the hardest times in recent memory, and it helped to be told that, if nothing else, I was not in immediate danger of loss of function - and that things might never get worse. I got lucky.
In 2020, I developed symptoms indicative of stomach or esophageal cancer. I won't go into the details, but they were concerning - and my doctor quickly ordered scopes. One very unflattering hospital garment and a painful encounter with propofol later, I had *another* diagnosis of a rare autoimmune-linked disease that can mimic symptoms of something more severe - this time, eosinophilic esophagitis. This means that my body is having a strong immune response to something, or several somethings, that I'm eating - I still haven't figured out what - and it's fucking up my esophagus. When it reacts, it is not the nicest experience, and the problem foods seem mostly random.
Yet again, the emotional whirlwind came and went. I went in wondering if I was going to see age 30, and came out vaguely annoyed that my body was rejecting things for no obvious reason.
I've occasionally had little micro-flares of joint pain - like hazy ghosts of the original flare, usually gone within a week and only a little painful. Two weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with what seems like the real deal - a genuine, bona fide flare. It hasn't been as severe as the original, but it's definitely there.
It hurts. It has not gone away.
I'm scared that this is the part where things get worse.