Arthritis...Really?

In 2017 I got bitten by a mosquito and ended up with Ross River Fever. My joints swelled and basically I waddled around in incredible pain for months. Slowly it improved and I thought that was the end of it. It turns out that may not have been the case.

You see, after cancer treatment I went back to exercising and my wrist started to hurt. Some days it was worse than others but it just never really got better. Now, after having cancer, I'm pretty proactive with my health. I want to get to the bottom of things just in case it's, well, you know...cancer. After 18 months of physiotherapists, occupational therapists, an acupuncturist and a sports doctor. A hand therapist, an X-ray, an MRI, many ultrasounds and two cortisone injections, I found myself having surgery. I should have known something was amiss when they went into surgery kind of half-assed. Like they still weren't 100% sure what was wrong.

So, five weeks post surgery, with my wrist not recovering like the surgeon had hoped, I was sent to a rheumatologist. They had found a pretty huge amount of inflammation while they were inside my joint capsule and, as much as I was keen to dismiss their overreactions, I also didn't know what else to do. My wrist was 20 times worse than before surgery. It was swollen, warm to touch and I could barely move it.

After being asked every question under the sun regarding joint pain, family history and auto-immune conditions, and answering 'no' to them all, I was pretty sure I had been right and seeing a rheumatologist had been a waste of time. Then, after doing the 'touch your toes, reach to the sky, move this way, move that way' routine and passing with flying colours, I was certain I was in the clear. So when the doc looked at me and said "I think you have reactive arthritis" I was less than thrilled.

Her theory is that the Ross River Fever I had years ago, has caused reactive arthritis that flares up with trauma. Trauma like cancer treatment. Or someone cutting your wrist open.

So it's been quite a week to say the least. It has felt like everything I love to do has been taken away and has no plan to return. It hurts...it really, really hurts. Everything takes three times as long, I'm being a shitty girlfriend and I'm over it. When you put that on top of the stuff I carry day-to-day, it's a lot. I have a fear of cancer returning every single day. My lymphoedema is achy, frustrating and ugly every single day. My stress of not being able to have a baby is there every single day. I cry...a lot.

I feel like I've had my share. Someone else can have the stinking arthritis.