Age is such a funny thing. The way my illness makes me feel is 90 yrs old. Last year I went to a 90 year olds birthday party. I’ve known her since I was 1. We’ve been pen pals since I was 9. She definitely walked better than I do on a bad flare up day. I need just help getting in and out of the car. It can take such a toll on the mind and soul.
I can’t wait to get off Prednisone. It’s so hard not to eat the entire house, wood and all. It takes extraordinary will power to stay my weight. I first gained 20 immediate pounds before I learned not to eat a 2nd dinner or 2nd lunch. I put tons of fruit in the house so I could munch on that and carrots. I go between 155 and 160 with the highest at 162. I thought I was going to explode I was so upset.
My real weight is 125. I hope I can get back to that once the Prednisone stops. I exercise every day unless it’s just a very bad day (meaning so painful to just be awake and out of bed). I figure at least I’m still working my 60-70 hour week. I work about 10 or more hours each day. I’ve got to keep my business running and my clients happy. God forbid they realize what I’m really dealing with.
A few clients I had to tell due to surgeries and hospital stays. I love what I do and never want to use pain or health as an excuse to do anything less than a regular person. It does kill me, but why am
I here if I can’t follow my passions?