Where's my modeling contract, Tyra.

One of the most evilest of evil rheumatoid arthritis commercials has a voice-over that says that a body in motion stays in motion. However, what Newton's First Law of Motion fails to mention, is that if the object decides it's a splendid idea to just run to the grocery store, my doctor's appointment, and lunch then said object (the object is me) will immediately regret this decision by about two o'clock (or really as soon as I've gotten to aisle three in the grocery store).  Even though the most strenuous activity that I participate in is wrestling my cat down from the window screen when she's being too stubborn to come inside at night, I still feel completely wiped out and exhausted all day. There's plenty of people who count my constant mental countdown until it's semi-acceptable to take a nap as laziness– and there's a lot of laziness running rampant through my veins, obviously– , but when it takes too much energy to play videos, go to the movies, or even write a blog post, it's more than just my young-adult-laziness because I'd definitely choose to be playing Batman: Arkham City rather than sleeping roughly fifteen hours a day (that's how much cats sleep a day, so maybe my crazy cat lady-ness is just slowly turning me into a cat, that'd be a more awesome explanation than just that I have a shitty immune system). 

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What motivated me to write this blog post was actually this picture that I'd come across on the eighth wonder of the world– Pinterest. I'd actually been lying in bed after the physically draining activity that is attempting cleanliness, because it hurt  me to even think about getting up and finding my pajamas so I could promptly lay back down. That ten seconds of movement felt exactly like I'd been inside the UFC Octagon for two rounds (well, I'd happily go two rounds some of those fighters any day, but that's beyond the point), and now I'm buried under heating pads and fueled by pain medicine. Ir reminded me that my chronic illness and it's rein of terror hasn't only happened to me. Obviously, there's different levels of severity of each disease and symptoms, but everybody that has a chronic illness knows all about deciding what is important enough to do with your time without exhausting yourself completely – and if you're apart of the great and mighty chronic illness community then you know this as *dramatic music* The Spoon Theory.

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It's the  insane idea that some people don't have infinite amounts of energy boosts to take when there is a lot to do. If I've already done six everyday things–  i.e. waking up, taking a shower, getting dressed, straightening my hair, preparing lunch, etc. as well as those things that are energy draining enemies– this is starting to sound a lot like I'm talking in video game – like going to the mall with my friends, going grocery shopping, or even spending the day in the doctor's office, then there's an absolute likelihood that I'll be unable to participate in living tomorrow. In fact, one of the most depressing things that has happened to be lately was when my mother had brought up the idea of a vacation to Disney World (because all depressing stories start with the happiest place on earth, obviously). To most people, going to an amusement park, or on a family vacation, is only horrible because of the overpriced sticker price on happiness, or the crowds and heat or spending time with people. However, calculating the amount of physical beatdown it would take to walk halfway down Main Street at Disney World, or to wait endlessly to ride Space Mountain left me in tears just at the mere thought. It would take a month of being comatose to store up enough spoons to handle a day there, with my current medical predicament (if I'm ever in remission, somebody better ask me what I'm gonna do next so I can scream that I'm going to damn Disney World). If you have a chronic illness than on some level you're fully aware of the feeling of exhaustion and disappointment that comes with canceled plans and just living an everyday life– because, to the surprise of most, my only wild night is actually going to hang out with my friends for the first time in a month to see the newest superhero movie in theaters (go see Guardians of The Galaxy, go). If you're lucky enough to have a completely rad immune system that doesn't attack some trivial part of your body, please realize that although it's true that I'm a hater of most people, the real reason I'm always canceling plans is because I can't physically do it. If there was a monthly print-out of overage charges from spoons, then you would be shocked that I'm even able to move most days. So, that being said I'm gonna go take a nap– and for my chronically ill  friends, may the spoons be ever in your favor.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Hugs + Kisses,

Julia.

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He maketh me lie down    

-Psalm 23:2 (the bible is always up for interpretation)

Actual photo of my actual horrible bangs.

During the twelfth year of an awkward existence, there was a lot that I discovered about myself: that my athletic ability is less than ideal to play volleyball; that my terrible blunt homeschool bangs were the worst thing to ever happen; and that medically I'm a mess– well, if we refer back to the bangs, then altogether I'd been a mess. 
The initial diagnosis that had brought me into the doctor wasn't actually the arthritic fun time that is rheumatoid arthritis–  it was actually the fact that on a daily basis, I took great pleasure (ha!) out of puking my guts out, and the inability to keep anything down (sorry, various hotels, stores, and restaurants for upchucking on your floor– especially you, Cracker Barrel because you're the bomb). However, besides the acid reflux it inevitably turned out to be, my gastrointestinal doctor noted that we'd had a family history of autoimmune disorders. It was after a stomach scope and a blood panel, it was discovered that I'd had the hypothyroid disease as well, Hashimoto's –which makes me a fatty and moody, and forced me to see an endocrinologist (with hair like a cross between a hedgehog and a 90's boybander). Luckily, it's since been in remission for quite a while. 

Actual picture of Dr. Weiser 

However, autoimmune diseases don't like to party alone, and usually come in groups of two or three– just like teenage girls, and they're just as annoying. Which is how our regular family practitioner (who had just  gotten out of medical school, and was deathly afraid of my mother, as anyone should be) noticed my swollen knees and my awkward, painful hobble. It was cause for concern, further blood tests, and a worry that it was lupus (then I would've really been Dr. House); which is how my rheumatoid arthritis–dun dun dun–diagnosis came to be. This started a whirlwind adventure of doctors, hospitals, and hurt. The first rheumatologist that we'd seen was local and a major league hater, which made the three-hour trek out to Birmingham, Alabama to visit the pediatric rheumatologist worth it. The man that became my constant rheumatologist for the past five or six years, is a dorky, hilarious, great person who bears a striking resemblance (both in appearance and accent, but probably not in evilness–maybe) to Gru from Despicable Me. Sadly, just like pizza and Netflix marathons, all good things always come to an end– since I'd turned eighteen, they decided I'd been too amazing to handle and decided to kick me to the curb into 'adult' care. 

Homegirl.

That adventure began this past Thursday, and only required a trek of forty-five minutes into Auburn, Alabama and just like everything expectedly is in College Football Town, USA, the new rheumatologist is inside the sports medicine clinic and therefore is decorated like football fields. It's enjoyably laughable that I'd been sitting in a waiting room at sports medicine facility considering, as before mentioned, my lack of coordination and athletic ability made me the prime candidate for the sidelines bench at volleyball games, and now I'm just crippled. It was odd being apart of a waiting room that completely filled with everyone being past middle age (including an elderly man listening to a blaring western on his phone) considering the Children's Hospital is predictably full of screaming toddlers, and Dora The Explorer muted on the television. The lack of stickers, aquarium wall murals, and Highlights magazines in the waiting room, however, brought a deep sadness to my heart; but, the new rheumatologist lived up to his praise from my pediatric doctor– he was just as ridiculous as well as helpful about my medicines, school accommodations, and noted that the 'shade where you are in pain' part of the introduction paperwork was completely a black shaded figure because homegirl is in pain everywhere. Our experience is new, and about as exciting as you'd expect spending endless hours in a waiting room to be (like DisneyWorld, obviously). That being said, it allows me to be able try new dosages and medicines that I'd been banned from in the kiddie cripple world–  which is sadly exciting to me, it's quite obvious I need to get a life and not sound so much like a druggie. On the plus side, they're uppin' my dosage on my Orencia, which will occur at the new infusion facility on Thursday. Let's see how this goes. 
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Law & Order: SVU to catch up on. 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Hugs + Kisses,

Julia.

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What's comin' will come an' we'll face it when it does     

—  Hagrid (Harry Potter)