Do you think it’s possible for a person to hit a sort of medical bad luck quota?

So far this year, I’ve sprained an ankle–with a torn ligament, had a questionable mole removed, and racked up a fair share of pre-deductible medical expenses for my RA.  Basically, I’m klutz with bad luck to boot.

Every little medical bump in the road, I think to myself, “Really? Now, what?”

It’s a crummy mindset for sure. But when you’re feeling down, there’s always a reason to stay there.

Point is, I want to be healthy!

Always a frustrating situation.  The meds I’m on compromise my immune system. So if I happen to get sick, it sticks with me longer than it would for others.  If I get a cold sore, I have to go off one of my RA meds or the damn thing will never clear up.

It’s a constant balancing act.  Medicine versus health.  Oh, what an odd series of compromises we make in one lifetime.

Around this time last year, I took a juice cleanse at my yoga studio.  At the beginning of the class, they said take what you like and leave the rest — talking about food related things seems to polarize people and they wanted everyone to feel comfortable.  The folks running the cleanse are raw vegans and talked a lot about what that diet means to them physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Raw vegan sounds really intense.  It’s a huge lifestyle shift for many people–one that I have no intention of making at this point in my life.  But there’s a lot to learn about food and eating from our vegan friends.

During the cleanse, we discussed a book called The Anti-Inflammation Zone: Reversing the Silent Epidemic That’s Destroying Our Health.  The premise is that certain foods raise the level of inflammation in our bodies, everyone’s bodies — even our non-chronic friends.  I’ve definitely experienced swelling after consuming certain kinds of foods and beverages.  Alcohol, dairy leaves me feeling terrible the next day, not just that hang-over or that over full feeling, but swollen and in pain.  It’s part of the reason I no longer drink.

I have the book.  So I’ll be purusing it a reporting back.  For now, I’d say try to notice how you feel after you eat specific foods, grains, vegetables, and drink certain drinks.  Try to isolate what leaves you feeling crumby the next day, and what you don’t feel in your system the next day!

I have health insurance and I’m grateful for that.  Right now, I’m grateful that health insurance providers, among others, cannot discriminate based on genetics.  What the LA Times called the “most sweeping federal anti-discrimination law in nearly 20 years,” went into effect this past Saturday.  Knowledge of the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act could probably have stopped me from putting up with a very inappropriate situation.

Rheumatoid arthritis is a genetic condition. As a consequence of it, I have a lot of doctors’ appointments…  When I first started work at this shiny, new exciting firm, I let my manager know that I had a couple doc visits coming up.  She flipped, escalated it to the HR, who implied that I was faking it and required that I document everything (this is the situation outlined in our privacy policy).   Of course, this situation was probably a violation of my rights under previous regulations and legislation, but I am grateful that I am very clearly protected now.

There I said it. I don’t want to take them. Not because of any side effects or anything like that. But just because I don’t want to. Every time I look down at my handful of pills (at night I swallow around 10 pills in a myriad of colors, shapes and sizes) I feel like throwing them at the wall. Because that isn’t my life. I’m not a pill taker. I’m not sick. I’m in my 20s. I’m healthy and happy and carefree.

Only. I’m not. Yes, I’m in my 20s. But I’m not healthy. And when I don’t take my meds I’m usually not that happy and definitely not carefree. And I do take pills. Lots of pills.

S and I have talked about this a lot over the past year of our friendship–how there is a psychological block or disconnect–that maybe, just maybe, this time we won’t need our meds. That today our bodies will remember they are young and virile. That if we ignore our symptoms, pretend they doesn’t exits, that they will cease to. Mind over matter. Right?

Unfortunately, hell hath no fury like a body deprived of it’s meds.

And so, as I sit here, my stomach roiling in acid, my bones feeling as if they are going to implode and my brain foggy like London, I tell myself that today I’ll remember to take my pills. Today I’ll pour the Gastrocrom into a glass of water and drink it all. And in a few days I’ll be feeling better.

That is if I don’t throw them at the wall first.