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I woke up one morning at the ripe age of 31 aching. My joints in my wrists seemed stiff and my fingers are swollen. I figured that it was just the way I slept or possibly a little too much gym time the previous week. Little did I know I was about to embark on an almost decade-long journey of pain, inflammation, and hopelessness.
During high school, I played baseball, football, made forts in the woods—pretty much anything a typical boy would do. Once graduated, I joined the Navy and served four years and continued to be active in the gym. The gym was my time to decompress from the work day and life in general. Now, I feel “old” after turning 30.
I gave it a few days before I finally went to a doctor who diagnosed me with ganglion cysts on my wrists which, I’m not a doctor, but I knew better. My wrists looked puffy and not cyst-like so I looked for a second opinion. I found a rheumatologist who ran a battery of blood tests on me and ordered x-rays and an MRI. Oddly, my blood came back normal but my MRI showed tenosynovitis and synovitis which simply put, is an inflammation of my tendons and tendon sheaths. A course of steroids should do the trick.
Five months after that second opinion and I’m worse! Now multiple joints throughout my body are in pain and my hands aren’t even able to open or close fully. I’m miserable. No more playing with my kids or lifting weights. I was even slightly emasculated because I no longer could open jars or even pop a top on a beer. I was depressed over it and I wasn’t feeling any better. Doctor after doctor had changed diagnoses many times from reactive arthritis, psoriatic arthritis (without psoriasis), rheumatoid arthritis, Crohn’s disease, and never forget ganglion cysts!
My right hand was worse and I made the executive decision to seek out surgery for a carpal tunnel release on that hand without notifying my Rheumatologist. She was slightly livid but I regained some functionality in that hand post-surgery. Still, a firm diagnosis was elusive. The only thing that seemed to work was prednisone; a steroid. Doctors are hesitant about prescribing it because of its side effects but mine had no issue prescribing a biologic medicine which has a pleasant side effect of death by way of lymphoma. No thanks.
Over the years, I’ve either moved or my doctor has changed and I’ve been seen for the last two years by the same doctor. I’m not well per se, but I’m much better than I was when I first started this adventure. I live with a diagnosis of seronegative rheumatoid arthritis, which, I suppose, seems to be a somewhat reasonable diagnosis as I’ve just turned 40. I take a medication that’s proven for close to a hundred years. I declined the biologic until I’m completely crippled. I’ve also learned to manage expectations and set limits for myself.
Now, I try to eat slightly cleaner. I find that too much red meat increases my pain and inflammation which saddens me but is livable. I’ve traded in weight training for Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I know. Seems odd for someone with joint pain but I’ve found that if I’m sedentary, I hurt worse. If I use my joints, I get some relief. One thing that I’m still struggling with is the mental aspect of it.
Being a solidly built man, I have trouble with a jar, or the caps on water bottles and it’s still embarrassing. My close circle understands my plight and they can see when I’m experiencing pain or inflammation. Others though, whether they think it or not, could see a large man who is weak for such a simple task. Or I’ll get questioned for instance, at work to those not in the know. I explain my situation and the response is usually the same: “You’re too young for arthritis!”
No. No, I’m not, but I’m making the best of it.
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