On Chronic Illness and Reproductive Health But With Gifs Because...Y'Know, They're Fun.

Will’s first SunFest started off great. He was in a great mood, despite the stormy weather and he loved rocking out to live music.

But, by the last day, he was deep in the throes of teething and kinda over it.

He started fussing and in the hopes of distracting him/calming him down, John strolled him away.

“Are you ok?” my friend asked.

“I feel bad. Poor little bub is just done….”

“No. I mean, you’re limping…”

Pain is such an omnipresent part of my life that I don’t even notice it anymore.

Until I do which is probably an indication that something is up and I should get it checked out.

Living with rheumatoid arthritis is fun in the same way that using sandpaper tampons is fun and after being able to manage my RA without any medication for a few years, I think I might have to get back in the saddle.

Before I got pregnant with Will, I was on Methotrexate and it works really well for me in terms of helping me manage my RA symptoms. However, taking it means no drinking, constant low grade nausea and it pretty much seals the deal in terms of having another kid.

When I started on the medication, my rheumatologist literally sat me down and said, “You can’t get pregnant. Do you understand me? If you do, you will not be able to carry the child to term. This medication causes serious birth defects. I don’t know where you stand on abortion but the outcomes for a child conceived while you take methotrexate are not good.”

He was not being an alarmist.

When I was pregnant, I was warned against touching the medication or breathing in dust from the pills because that could have harmed Will in utero.

Did I mention I took eight pills once a week for years?

My plan is to get an IUD before it becomes illegal and I have to trade my closet full of black dresses for a red smock.

Then get back on methotrexate and feel like shit so I can feel better.

Pregnancy was hard on my joints and when Will was six months old, my hands hurt so much, I could barely pick him up out of his bassinet without jarring pain.

If I was to get pregnant today, I would be 40 when the baby was born. Risk factors go up and RA symptoms (which flare up when I don’t sleep well) shoot sky high.

People who don’t suffer from chronic illness are unabashedly optimistic. I mean, why wouldn’t they be?

“You’ll figure it it. You’ll make it work. Children are a blessing! You sacrifice because that’s what a good mom does.”

OK, firstly - super thanks for that guilt trip. You know, if there’s one thing parents don’t have enough of in their life, it’s guilt that they aren’t doing enough.

I love being a mom. I love being Will’s mom. I like getting down on the floor to play with him. I like the fact that I’m his jungle gym and he clambers onto me to watch truck videos. I like picking him up and holding him close even though he’s damn near half my height.

But I’m also starkly aware of the limitations of my body and how I have to inhale and brace myself when I pick my son up out of his crib. How I shuffle instead of walk at the end of the day to minimize pain. How at this very moment - my right thumb, right ankle, shoulders, lower back and left elbow all ache. I don’t know if I can physically go through another pregnancy nor be the kind of mom I want to be for another child.

So, I make it funny, you know? Because that’s how I deal with my life - through hoary clichés and tired punchlines.

Another kid? Oh, this one keeps me on my toes enough!

Another kid? Oh boy! You gonna pay his way through med school too?

But then, I think about how much I love having a sister or I see Will cuddle with an old Cabbage Patch Kid or I think about a friend - an only child who lost both of his parents and had to deal with it alone - and I wonder if I’m making the right decision.

Maybe if I was younger and didn’t have all the risk factors involved. Maybe if I didn’t have to brace myself before making certain movements. Maybe if I was more optimistic.

But I’m not.

And after making a series of spectacularly terrible decisions in my twenties, I am now the girl that makes smart decisions.

And this - the decision not to overextend myself and take on more than I can handle well - is a smart decision.

But it still hurts.

You’d think I would be used to shit hurting by now, but I guess I’m not.