Today was my long-awaited trip to see my rheumatologist to find out if we could come up with some kind of plan to get me back on track. The Professor was with me, and he was very good at making sure I didn’t leave anything out—and if I did, he piped up. I definitely felt as though she heard me and understood how unlike myself I’ve been feeling.
The NP seemed shocked by how poorly I was doing when we ran down the list of symptoms: lots of pain, joint pain in new places (like my jaw, which pops all the dang time now), sleeping poorly, muscle pain, fatigue, brain fog, the weird (and likely) pleuritic chest pain…. It felt like the list went on and on. Both she and the student physician’s assistant with her gave me a full exam.
She decided to pull me off the sulfasalazine, but keep me on the methotrexate, the hydroxychloroquine (Plaquenil) and the NSAID. (She was flatly against the idea of Celebrex, which I suspected she would be. We’ll see how Dad takes it, though.) I’m back on the Enbrel, and she gave me a few samples to take home until I can get things straightened out with my insurance and the co-pay assistance program. Since Darvocet was taken off the market (and I wasn’t a huge fan, anyway), I’m going to give Percocet a try. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be on the Tylenol with Codeine, since I’m super sensitive to pain killers. She also suggested a steroid injection before I go up to Canada for the holidays, since it should help me get through the stress of driving up and driving back.
I’m hopeful this will work. I was certainly doing better while on Enbrel, and maybe in conjunction with the Yellow Dart and the Plaquenil, I’ll start feeling like myself again. Maybe I’ll even be able to pull my heels out of the closet again. That seems so far from where I am right now. But after that appointment, one phrase is back in my vocabulary: I hope.