Friday, I received some fairly distressing news and I haven't been in a place to try and write about it. There is a plus side. Once more, I discovered just how great my new GP is: she let me do another trial with the Celebrex full dose just to be doubly, triply certain it is the culprit with regard to my kidneys. You see, when I went to a half-dose of Celebrex every other day—something that brought arthritis pain on a daily basis back into my life—my kidney blood work moved back into a much better range. I took the Celebrex twice a day, but I still did not have a single ibuprofen pill. I was certain I would be fine, that it couldn't really be the Celebrex that was a problem. However, after just two weeks, the numbers that have been ruling my life for a few months now started their downward trend again. It was crushing to see the test results posted up on my online chart.
I wrote a sad message to my GP thanking her for the trial and saying that I would go back to skipping doses. I did, however, propose one small change. Skipping as I was resulted in 7 days of 14 being at half dose. I suggested that instead of every other day, I do MWF. That would result in 6 days of half doses out of 14. I would like to see if that would work. Actually, what I want is to try S/TH and just do 4 days of 14 and work upward. However, given the depths of my numbers, I know it is safer to work backwards rather than forwards. My GP wrote back herself and agreed to my proposal. So, tonight, I'm missing another dose.
It is crushing to think about having to deal with yet more pain.
It is devastating to have definitive proof that the Celebrex is the culprit because, if things are par for the course, this means my body is starting to develop a dislike for (intolerance to) Celebrex and eventually I won't be able to take any at all.
I have tried so very many arthritis drugs. Celebrex works. Nothing else has. I am not sure I can endure another loss. And, frankly, I see absolutely no way of surviving a complete lack of Celebrex. SIGH.
I was surprised to see the GP's note, but sort of not surprised. Twice now, she has called me at the end of the day and talked for about 45 minutes about the things we are following. She is interested in the whole of me, not just my physical self, so I have felt a bit more comfortable talking about attempt No. 5 at therapy. I thought I was No. 4, but I was wrong. Three times at the free place and once at the low-income place. Free meant two counselors who left and one who was ... not healthy. Low-income meant a time limit. What I want ... what needs to be ... is long-term.
The therapist I have found is, I think, what I have needed. She was a nurse for 15 years before turning to therapy. So, she gets me. She understands that I am drowning in being ill. And she specializes in sexual abuse. With the co-pay, I could only afford once a month, but I was ... I am ... a bit desperate. And when she learned of the co-pay, she said that she would see me for half, so I could come twice a month. After seeing her twice, I think, I about begged to come weekly, throwing financial caution to the wind. After seeing her a while more, she said something that sounded like I wouldn't have to make the half co-payment. I couldn't quite believe that, given being someone who is long-term. It wasn't until this past week, when we started over since I leapt right over intake and started telling her just how overwhelmed I am, that I dared to ask her what she really meant. The guy at the desk had not taken my money for the past three sessions, so I was looking at having to pay $80 that day.
She looked at me and said, "I wiped the books."
"How can you do that," I asked, "when I am ... long-term."
"This is why I work here. So I can do precisely that when I want."
It is ... odd ... that I went from such a conversation such as that to, the following day, staring at what felt like my doom on a computer screen.
I felt the need to DO SOMETHING, especially since I made the executive decision that I would no longer try to walk Amos on the weekends, to give myself (and my terror) a break. So, this is what I did.
Can you see the carrot seeds? [Yes, I braided my hair today. I've missed my braids.] My broccoli was all nothingness, which my friend Emily confirmed it had gone to bolt. I didn't know that it is a cool weather plant. Anyway, I pulled up four the the six plants (before I chatted with Emily and realized I should pull up the last two) and planted carrot seeds on either side of the two remaining plants. I really, really, really want to plant carrots, but I just don't know how to do so. I know my failing in this area—at least for now—is because I haven't made a good faith effort yet. I planted the seeds differently on both sides in the hopes that I will end up with carrots.
This is my new raised bed over by my haven. It is a bunch of herbs (thyme, sage, basil, oregano, marjoram, and parsley), my second attempt at carrots, and three young summer squash plants that I most fervently hope will bear fruit (my first attempt at summer squash last year was a ginormous bust). I had dill and cilantro in there, but they went to bolt and so I pulled them out and dried them. [The rosemary is over in the two back corners of my haven.] I am hoping that one or two of the carrots might actually grow in this bed. I think one of my failings has been that I do not properly thin them.
But maybe the problem is that I do not know how to grow roots.
I am merely good at growing leaves.
In all things.
I was all hot and sweaty by the time I finished pulling up and planting and watering (including rinsing and filling all three bird baths), but it felt good to be in my braids. And to have done something.
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