When you’re autoimmune, you’re also immunocompromised—meaning that because your immune system is confused and attacking healthy cells, it gets ultra confused when you get sick. Sicker, in my case.
When the average person gets a cold, you might be out of commission for a day or two, depending on the cold. Usually within a week you’re back on your feet, though. When I get a cold, it also sends me into a flare: my joints start hurting (or hurt even worse than they already were); the stiffness really sets in; my fatigue knocks me on my ass twice as hard. It often lingers for weeks; I might as well have the flu.
It’s fun times.
Usually I can power through, but this past week I’m getting my ass handed to me by some super bug.
It’s supposed to start off as a scratchy throat, morph into a bit of a throat cold, kick you with some fatigue and brain fog, and then finish you off with some diarrhea—all with a fever. Everyone else had this thing for a day, a day and a half tops. Me? I’m on nine days and counting.
ED: So I checked in with my girl friend; she, her husband, and her daughter all have the same symptoms. We’re pretty sure we all have the flu. I’ll cut a bitch if I miss Xmas dinner.
It won’t go away.
Yesterday I started to feel a tiny bit better; the fatigue lifted to my “normal” chronic illness fatigue level. That I could handle. But then, as if I was in a game of Mortal Kombat, the bug screamed out “FINISH HER!” and pummeled me with diarrhea—all freakin’ day.
I hoped that today I’d start feeling better, but now I’m back to no energy.
Just when Prednisone was starting to help with my joint pain. *sighs forever*
I mostly missed out on Thanksgiving because of my UCTD flareup; if I miss Christmas dinner because of this rando’ sickness, I’m gonna choke someone.
I also have cabin fever—bad. Like, I’m totally stir crazy, in a totally insane way. Last night I was singing to the tune of “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
Just a hungry girl
Living in a hungry world
What? Prednisone makes me ultra hungry (though yesterday I only had four meals instead of my usual five).
I’m not even exaggerating here. I’m officially a Hobbit.
A sweaty, feverish, stir-crazy Hobbit.