Yesterday my husband, an avid runner, registered for the
Philadelphia Distance Run. This is noteworthy because it's his first race since 2006, when he was diagnosed with
rheumatoid arthritis. The short version is that rheumatoid arthritis is an incurable autoimmune disease where the body's immune system turns on itself & attacks joint tissue; people living with RA can be treated with different medicines that mask the symptoms, but the disease's progression can't be stopped... only slowed.
(He's been
writing first-person accounts of his experiences with RA on his blog; have a look if you're curious.)
I won't ever forget how helpless I felt watching him try to live a "normal" life while in so much pain, or how awful & cruel it seemed that something he loved so much - running - was next to impossible for him due to his traitorous immune system. I won't ever forget how at times it seemed so hopeless that he'd ever feel better, and that a simple thing like getting out of bed or using the stairs could be done without pain. It was terrible to watch him flinch in pain when someone shook his hand or inadvertently stepped on his foot. It was tough to not hold my beloved's hand as we walked down the street because that caused pain at worst or discomfort at best.
Most of all, I won't ever forget the first visit we made together to his current rheumatoligist. The young male doctor reviewed Tony's charts & past RA prescriptions and announced it was long past time for more aggressive treatments. He was so confident that Tony would start feeling better under his care, but I was skeptical; Tony had suffered for so long that it seemed unlikely that this man - no matter how confident - could make a difference through medicines. When Dr. Rheumatologist stated in the same visit that he saw no reason why Tony wouldn't be able to run again, I started crying. Hard. It was too much to hope for, that Tony would get back so much of his life *and* also be able to pursue running again. I didn't want to be greedy; I would've settled for days without him being in constant pain. I can't speak for him, but I bet he felt similarly.
Now, here we are. It's taken time, but Tony's running again. It's incredible... the best icing on the best cake. He'll cross the P.D.R. finish line on Sunday September 20th 2009, and I'll be there - crying with joy - as he does it. On Monday the 21st, I'll send a note (with a picture of Tony crossing the finish line enclosed) to his rheumatologist, thanking him for making a difference.