Pity Party

Anger, tears, fears, my husband, mom, and ice cream are all invited to my pity parties. My pity party ice cream is the most important invitee. It is vegan and homemade by my superhero husband. It’s vanilla ice cream with peanut butter swirls, and best of all chocolate covered peanut-butter filled pretzels. Wowzas, it is delicious! Heaven on earth even. With each small bowl, salty and sweet bite my anger, tears, and fears fade. My other senses awaken and I realize if food like this exists, life must not be too awful. I have to say, I’m not even the biggest sweets enthusiast but this food is on another spectrum. If you have an awesome caretaker and ice-cream maker check out a similar recipe here

This post is less about ice cream (I think) and more about the importance of feeling the wave of emotions that a chronic illness brings. I received a comment (thank you Rebecca) which reminded me of my pity parties and brought attention to my current plight. Since April, I have had less pity parties partially because of I am experiencing less 10 out of 10 severe pain and I am coping with RA better. However, lately Saturday nights through Tuesday mornings I have found myself in full fledge pity minus the party mode. The methotrexate at 20mg hits me hard. It’s awful. I can’t even partake in the party ice cream because I feel too icky. It really kicks my ass. I can see it best through my husband’s concerned eyes.

With that being said, I know I will overcome the devastation this currently is causing me. So far I have survived the diagnosis, horrific 10 out of 10 pain, getting unfairly fired, acknowledging my disability, and this too will pass. As much as it feels methotrexate is trying to kill me a couple days a week I know it is actually slowing the progression of this terrible disease. I know I want my hands, knees, feet, hips, shoulders, etc. to remain in their current positioning (free of arthritis) and a couple bad days are a small price to pay. Right?

I work hard to fend off fears and the “what ifs” (with love, strength, pity, and pity parties) and live with my late great-grandmother’s mantra, “One day at a time, honey. One day at a time.” I’ve added one minute or hour at a time as needed. I’m sure she did too.


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