Diagnos-iversary

I don't want to recall the day I received a diagnosis. 

I just do. 

When I asked a group of people on a website if anyone else recalled the day, within minutes, dozens of people had replied.

Some respondents said they recalled the month and year but maybe not the specific date. Most said they recalled their long-suffering days, months or years without diagnosis or information. Others recalled the diagnosis day as relief.

Some people just typed the date in number format 10/22/20 without any note or context at all. I wondered if this group felt relief at all. 

Relief is not the designation I would give my feeling or outlook on that day or today---several years later. No judgement for those who feel that way, I simply don't share the sentiment. I wish I did feel relief. I don't.

I feel angry that better treatments don't exist.

I feel angry that I go to bed in pain, feel pain overnight, and wake in pain. Every. Single. Day.

I feel sad that my physical capacity and endurance are vastly different than before the gene was activated and I received this diagnosis.

I feel intense doubt --intense doubt--about every pill, injection, blood draw, X-ray, suggestion, prescription, or path because of the track record so far.

I feel genuine surprise that I haven't been able to completely conquer the beast that is rheumatoid arthritis.

I feel abject fear about what the future holds. Although the specific type of rheumatoid arthritis I have, as of today, does not cause the most disabling symptoms that this disease has to offer, the pervasive and severe inflammation can have devastating effects on all parts of the body as well as inhibiting recovery from injury.

I feel disgust for the drug companies that engage in profiteering and predatory behavior as people with rheumatoid arthritis desperately seek better treatments.

I feel pure gratitude that I didn't have rheumatoid arthritis as a child or as a parent of young children.

I feel vulnerable in every way-- every day. No one makes me feel that way. I just do. Perhaps those feelings come from all of the what-ifs and unknowns.

I feel intense personal and very private grief about every loss big and small from time and money investments in my health to abandoning pleasure reading for research bingeing as I look for the elusive and mysterious solution.

I certainly do not feel relieved that I have this diagnosis, but I will feel relief when I feel relief.

I don't celebrate my diagnos-iversary, but I will celebrate relief in whatever form it comes.