What a difference a year makes.
It amazes me to think that this time last year I was actively looking to leave journalism. I was desperately unhappy with my work situation and having to work insanely long production days simply because of a lack of planning on my boss’ part. I’m convinced this was, in large part, responsible for the insane flare that eventually saw me back on Enbrel, methotrexate and Plaquenil, a therapy I’m still on to this day.
Now, I’m the boss. I am working more hours than I was at this time last year, but I love every one of them. I have discovered a knack for writing columns—thanks, I’m sure, to this blog, which has helped me develop a more conversational tone than is appropriate in the average news story. Even on the verge of crazy weeks, such as this—a back-to-school section, two weekly papers, a monthly paper, the start of football season and weekend events galore—I’m excited to be up to my elbows in what I do.
And though my psoriatic arthritis is not completely controlled and is not where I’d like it to be—and that pesky tendonitis in my left wrist still bugs me from time to time—I’m living well in spite of it. That’s not my goal; I’d love to be back in the remission I enjoyed after my first, long flare. But even if that’s not in the cards for me right now, I’m surviving, even thriving, where I am. And that’s enough.