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Skinny Love

Irritable sadness has been around a lot lately with me being on Prednisone. It’s a real son of a biscuit, creeping up in moments of silence and peace, making itself known by an extreme feeling of disdain for anyone and everything. I try to shoo it away, but then I’ll have an ache or I’ll look at something with my cruddy vision and the flood gates open. How is it being twenty-eight and diagnosed as terminal? Pretty crappy. I’d love to use other choice words, but I’m a lady.

I’m used to random aches and pains, they’re part of my everyday routine, they let me know I’m still alive but when I’m on prednisone, those same aches and pains feel like death. Not figuratively, like ‘OMG I feel terrible’, but an actual ‘I’m dying and it sucks.’ Walking through Home Goods is usually great therapy and I’ll pick up a couple odds and ends, yet today I had to leave because 1). the pain was intolerable 2). I couldn’t focus on anything and lastly because I was so damn irritated that all I could see was red. Dramatic? Probably.

Prednisone gives me moods that I can’t explain other than saying, “it’s the medication I’m on”, I don’t feel like myself, I don’t like myself while taking it, and I feel terrible for anyone close to me who has to deal with me while on it. It’s a mean drug.

These bits of my life aren’t shared for pity or attention, rather a glimpse into the life of a chronically ill, terminal, newly wed. These blogs are for my friends, in hopes that they understand that sometimes our plans may be cancelled last minute because a 103 fever randomly appeared, or I can’t move from the couch. For my family, near and far, the ones who don’t see me regularly but want updates. For my parents, who raised a ‘highly functional’ daughter (the highly functional part comes from a visit note I just read, I guess I shouldn’t be capable of retaining a full time job or social life) who loves anything educational and is a rather quirky human. For my Husband, so one day when I’m no longer here to pester him, tickle his feet while I walk by, or smother him llama kisses, he can remember all of the things I love about him.

That’s some depressing stuff, huh? That’s reality and it’s what cruel stuff my Prednisone filled brain likes to remind me of 2836382929 times a day right now.

3 comments on “Skinny Love

  1. rachael awad says:

    I am in love with reading your blog. I love you strength. I love your “quirkiness”. You are loved.


  2. Gah! Prednisone is THE worst! I started out at 60mg in January and my dose has been up-and-down since then, as I have been trying to wean off of it. I’m finally down to 27.5mg and hoping to be done with it in a couple more months. What I’m trying to say is–I understand how you feel about prednisone. I don’t feel like myself. And this flare almost killed me, so I don’t think I’ll ever be the same–I’m a “spoonie” now. Not diagnosed terminal though. I can only imagine how that feels, moment-to-moment, sometimes you might feel light as a feather and other times the weight of it could crush you. I will have to google CNKD, as I am not familiar with it. Looking forward to following you–I like your style. XOXO, MLACS

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m still dealing with the after-effects of pred and I can’t stand it! I absolutely love connecting with others who have chronic illness, makes me feel like I’m not alone in this boat! Xoxoxo.

      Liked by 1 person

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