I Sing the Body Electric, Rheumatoid Arthritis

Set Phasers on Stun


It turns out that even in a moment of crisis, or recognition, or incoming reality, I think of Star Trek.

And so.

When I try to put words on going back to see the doctor and getting his assessment of my ongoing ailment, which at first seemed like one thing and then another and then perhaps another yet, when I try to put words on hearing that it is really the middle one, and it's not the worst news ever compared to some things, but it's also not that great, I think of the geekiest metaphor available to me.

For although I knew it was likely the news I would get, that the doctor would say it's rheumatoid arthritis, I feel a bit like I imagine the theoretical aliens, the bad guys and even the red shirts did when they were hit by the phasers set on stun.

Sometime soon I'll get up off the ground on this alien planet of the inner landscape. Someone will help me back to the ship; maybe Scotty will even beam me up! We'll talk things over and figure out what to do next. Bones will remind me that he's a doctor, not a bricklayer or a mechanic or an escalator, for that matter, and explain about the treatment I'll be getting. Spock will raise an eyebrow and suggest a different and no doubt more logical perspective on things. I will open hailing frequencies (because when I played Star Trek on the playground in 1st grade, I was always Uhura) and figure out where communication needs to occur.

All the parts will come together, and although there may be no magic answers, there will be help and coping and learning to live with what is and to make the best of it.

All that will happen.

I believe it.

But for now, I need a little time to get over being stunned.

24 thoughts on “Set Phasers on Stun”

  1. (((((Songbird))))) I’m reminded of my life’s mantra… I can’t control what will happen in my life or to me, but the one thing I can control is how I let it affect me and my life. Once you are over being stunned, you will do what you have to do and move forward because that is who you are. The RA will not be in control. You will find your way, and we’ll be here to cheer you on. In the meantime, hope you feel the prayers and love being sent your way.

  2. Damn. Prayers for you and your joints and your coping mechanisms, my friend.

  3. Holy crap. I just read the Wikipedia for methotrexate.
    It did say “very effective” for RA, though. So I hope you get some relief.
    Or you can wait for Star Trek TNG, when the doctor just waves her PDA over you and you’re all better.
    Not-too-squeezy hugs.

  4. Oh, man. I’m awful sorry.
    Hairpats? those won’t hurt will they? and virtual hugs.

  5. Love you, whatever the condition of your joints – or your battered psyche xxx

  6. Not happy to hear your diagnosis but happy a treatment plan is in the works to help you feel better.
    I know what it is like to be stunned. Doesn’t feel good but it helps me think through the new thing stunning me.
    I love you big time. Can’t help it.

  7. Songbird, I’m sorry. Chronic conditions like this suck. I’ve watched my brother as he has battled and accumulated coping techniques for MS. I hate the diagnosis, but at least now that you know you can begin addressing the root of the problem. Prayers that treatments will be effective – and quick.

  8. The diagnosis is not what any of us would want for you, but now that you know what it is, you can fight back, Songbird. Knowing what it is and how it might effect you means you and your doctor can find ways to help manage it and perhaps even stave off its progression. Even if it’s a little sore, you now have the upper hand, thanks to medical technology. Plus, you’ve got Doggie Molly to empathize with you – and better yet, curl up with you anytime you need it.

  9. hugs, good thoughts, and best wishes for a great relationship with a great rheumatologist!

  10. Oh my. Hugs and prayers for sure. Enjoyed the meetup! (And the custard pie.)

Comments are closed.