"I want to be one of those patients who does very well and doesn't need to ask for anything extra," I declared at my appointment with Dr. D.
He smiled, kindly. (I don't know how people younger than I am get to be doctors, but I like this one.)
"That's setting up a pretty high expectation."
"I know, I know. I'm the Type A Patient."
I'm only seeing the rheumatologist every four months now, and there's a lot to squeeze in when I do see him. But on the way over–it's a short ride from my house–I often find myself writing the story of my chronic disease in the best light possible. So while it's true that the last month has been one of a return to stiffness, since I felt much better today, I wanted to tell that story.
But I had to admit to reality, which is not terrible, but not an advance either. So we won't try reducing the methotrexate, but we will try a different anti-inflammatory. The amount of exercise I'm doing does not constitute "overuse." Dr. D reminded me to stop if it hurts, which is to say, to listen to my body. And my joints show no signs of swelling, and therefore no risk of damage at this time.
I'll take that and work with the rest.