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June 2001

Monday, June 11, 2001

What a weekend I had. It was the type of weekend that I did everything and saw everyone as much and as often as possible. And with no ‘down-time’, the aftermath spells disaster for how I feel.

It started Friday night when a friend of mine and I went shopping for food because we decided we were going to light up a little barbecue action. Twelve burger patties and 20 chicken strips later, two “party sized” bags of chips and 40 buns/rolls, the six of us were ready to get started. Lesson number one: next time a half a dozen college kids want to cook for themselves, they shouldn’t go to a discount wholesale warehouse to buy the food. After cooking the obscene amounts of food at Jim’s house, we needed an hour or two to relax. We had to spend the next 90 minutes giving our body its full energy to digest what we had just eaten. We were ready to go swimming immediately after eating, but decided to double the amount of time necessary just in case something disgusting was about to happen.

They say that swimming is the best thing you can do for arthritis. What they don’t say is that unsupervised, college ‘pool games’ are probably the worst thing that you can do. After playing 3-on-3 pool-basketball for an hour, I felt like my body was going to fall apart. I forgot to stretch, and even three days later I am feeling that mistake with every move I make. Lesson number two: just because a pool is involved doesn’t mean that the arthritis will be helped.

Saturday was spent recovering, but Saturday night was the night out with the ‘boys’. Andy, Derek, Foster and I went to our favorite local ‘pub’ for a good dosage of buffalo wings and greasy food. Watching Derek get turned denied a beer despite the three forms of ID was enough to keep us laughing and joking for the rest of the night. Though the buffalo wings and cheese steak sandwich was good, I felt like I had eaten too much bad food too quickly. Lesson number three was one that I try to avoid thinking about: you are what you eat. Which really sucks in my case I guess.

And finally Sunday was more time spent with friends in a much more relaxed environment. The entire weekend I had two hours to myself, spent getting some much needed nap time on the couch so that I would be ready to have fun.

What was upsetting about the weekend was not being able to spend it with Shayne, especially since it was her birthday yesterday. Her 4-week program back at school means that she isn’t included in the parties, the fun, and the relaxation. But that will all change when she comes home in two weeks. I’m counting on it.

Monday, June 18, 2001

Another Father’s Day comes and goes. Uneventful – as they usually are – but if I had to comment on it as a whole, I’d say this: At the end of the day, when I put my head to the pillow, I thought about how lucky I was to at least share the day with those I love. Who knows how many more of these pseudo-holidays I’ll get to spend with my entire family?

I did hear a rumor that turned my stomach. It was about the girl who took Sulfur antibiotics – I think – for some kind of infection. They tell you not to go into the sun when you’re taking a sulfur drug (AKA Azulphadine, as in the stuff I take 2 grams a day of), and apparently this girl dismissed those warnings. And as a result, all of her toenails fell off. Pretty freaking gross to think about, eh? I mean I swallow two grams a day of this crap, and the sad part is that it really helps with how I feel. But toenails falling out?

Urban legend that Mr. Pharmacist imagined just to scare the kids? Unlikely. Disgusting tale 3rd year medical students tell to remember Sulfur drug interactions? Even medical students aren’t that bad. Could it have been true? I kind of hope not, because I plan to get a good tan this summer. Talk about living life on the edge, huh? How many people do you know stay out of the sun so that their toes don’t fall off. Or nails. Or both. (I can see how this rumor can get out of hand.)

If this turns out to be real, and not just a sick joke, the only thing I’ll have going for me is a good 5 o’clock shadow. Even at 10 a.m.

Tuesday, June 26, 2001

If you have arthritis, how can you possibly wear cowboy boots? I have never done so much as touch a pair in my life – because New Yorkers usually don’t – but I can only assume that they’re heavy and they’re bulky. But they seem so cool. If I woke up cured tomorrow morning, one of the things I would do during the day is go out and buy a pair of cowboy boots. Maybe I would jog to the store – I’m sure there is a country western place somewhere around here – and jog home with my new boots in hand. That would definitely be something I would do. And at night, when I would go to parties and stay out until the wee hours partying (and not worrying about my stomach, my medicine or my arthritis), I would wear my new brown faded cowboy boots with a pair of boot-cut jeans (that I happen to own for some reason). And a gray t-shirt. That’s one of the things I would do and that’s what I would wear if I woke up tomorrow feeling like an ordinary guy.

But I’m not an ordinary guy. I have a disease that makes walking hurt, that makes partying a headache to pull off, and that makes that pair of brown faded boots something I can only dream about. Which when you think about it, I’m not asking for a lot. There must be millions of cowboy boots in this country, and every day millions of people put them on before they go to work, or go out to play. They don’t think for one second how lucky they are to wear those boots. But here I am, wishing more than anything to be able to wear them and not be in pain.

If I didn’t have this disease I definitely would wear cowboy boots. For an hour.