I have suffered for 5 years with what the doctor called an "inflammatory arthritis" that was easiest to explain as rheumatoid arthritis since it did the exact same thing. My fingers have enlarged joints and the aching pain everywhere made life miserable sometimes. At various points, I couldn't straighten my arm, turn my head, or open my mouth more than halfway. At my worst point, I felt like I was 30 going on 80. I had such muscle weakness and fatigue that I couldn't carry a load of laundry. I could barely climb into our clawfoot tub to shower. It took 6 months of pain and fatigue to get a diagnosis. I was put on a ton of potent medication to keep things bearable. I had to have 4-6 vials of blood drawn every 3-6 months to make sure my liver wasn't going toxic from the medicine. I had to mentally work through the fact that it wasn't going to get better. I'd have to deal with it for the rest of my life. It's not fun to think about not getting better, but I took it one day at a time and got through it like people do.
When I was pregnant it was better. I barely had to take any medicine. That continued after Dexter was born because I was breastfeeding. It was fine until he was about 6 months old and started eating solid food that squelched his appetite for breastmilk. Then it was a quick whirlwind of starting to take another medicine that wasn't compatible with breastfeeding, weaning Dexter, and then being back on all the medicine at higher doses than I'd ever been on. That led to adding another 10lbs to my post-baby weight. By his first birthday, I wasn't feeling well at all.
Oddly though, after 2 weeks of vacation in Colorado, I felt better. I chalked it up to less stress. I went on a diet and lost over 40lbs over the next 6 months. I felt better because I was exercising and eating well. I went down on my medicines a bit. I was back to the dosages I had been on for the years before Dexter. Then we moved.
Within a month of moving, I was feeling really well. I started taking less and less medicine until I was down to just one prescription. A month ago, I stopped taking that one too and I feel fine. It's had me thinking about the fact that it may have been our old apartment that was making me sick for the last 5 years. Mold? A neighbor below us moved out because of mold, but I thought it was silly. Now I'm not so certain.
Every time I was away from that apartment for any length of time, I felt better. It took moving to a new place for me to realize it, and for my symptoms to disappear. I was sick from 2 weeks after moving into that old apartment until about a month after moving out. That seems pretty cut and dry to me that it was the place making me sick all along. I'm happy that I won't have to deal with the pain for the rest of my life. I'm angry that it drastically affected the quality of my life for so long when it could've so easily been fixed. I will not be moving into another 100 year old house in San Francisco. I will just appreciate the beautiful Victorians and Edwardians from the safety of the sidewalk from now on.
