Chase All Your Cares Away

Years ago, when I was young and thought little about joint mobility, arthritis medication, or pain, I went with my canine compatriots to a ropes course, and had an amazing time. For those of you unfamiliar with such a venue, a ropes course involves physical and mental challenges. It's usually set in a forest or gymnasium and features activities such as climbing telephone poles, or walking across a wire linking two trees, 50 feet in the air. Or attaching oneself by carabineers to teammates and climbing a giant easel. Of course, trusty buddies belay participants. It's all supposed to be very safe, though the potential danger of the challenging activities surely contributes to one's motivation and adrenalin rush.

And adrenalin is what I felt as I did my best to scamper up a telephone pole, paw after paw resting briefly on alternate rungs as I pulled my strong body to the top. The ostensible goal, after reaching the top of the pole, was to balance gingerly with all four paws on the tiny, unsteady wooden platform the size of a record. After that, I would fling myself into the air on level with the treetops, to grasp a trapeze, from which I would swing three times and then let go to be gradually let down to earth by my teammates. That was the outlined endeavor. I foresaw that my fear would concern being able to balance at the top, rather than having the confidence to jump off. The latter I hardly considered; after all, I trusted my belaying team.

I had no time to doubt the potential craziness of it all as I climbed to the top, the cheers of my belaying team ringing in my ears. But once I reached the top, the little disc on which I was supposed to balance seemed to teeter back and forth, and I fell. The pulley system and my friends holding the rope taut caught me in mid-air. I was left dangling limply, deflated and disappointed in what I perceived to be a failure.

Years later, I have felt exactly the same sentiments regarding my arthritis at times. The pain challenges me constantly. It's a continuous climb to feel even somewhat "normal." I try and I try and I try, and sometimes, it pays off. But sometimes, I never achieve equilibrium and if I reach the "top," it's only to fall off again. I become angry and agitated considering the fact that my life would be miserable without medication. However, I'm not without hope...

A recent advancement: The FDA just approved the sale of Humira, a new drug for rheumatoid arthritis. Humira joins Enbrel and Remicade in treating rheumatoid arthritis. However, Humira, which works by blocking tumor necrosis factor (TNF), an immune system protein that causes pain and inflammation, requires one shot every two weeks. This is an improvement over Enbrel and Remicade, which necessitate more frequent shots; Remicade also requires an infusion in a doctor's office. The FDA reports that all three drugs have similar side effects--serious and potentially fatal infections that scientists feel are linked to the suppression of the immune protein. But for the two million Americans stricken with rheumatoid arthritis, at least Humira presents another option to consider whilst we/they toil in the climb.

I was slowly lowered to the ground, unhappy and unnerved. A few minutes later, however, I found my gaze drifting to the top of the pole. I was envisioning my shaky but determined body hauling paw after paw up each successive rung. I realized that I had to try again, and that it was now or never. And that whatever the outcome, I had to swallow it and move on. With the support of my team, I began ascent number two. I encouraged myself aloud as I reached the top and carefully placed four paws on the wobbly disc.

And suddenly, I was there. I was at the top, conversing with the birds, looking down at my team far below. Life came into sharp focus. I'd be on the ground again soon, but at that moment, victory was ever so sweet.