On Monday, I had my regular six-monthly check up at the PsA clinic. It seems a bit odd to make a long train journey and do a night in a hotel to be told that I’m not getting worse (I knew that already!), and to continue treatment as prescribed.
And yet, it was great to be at that point. Finally! After decades of being a medical mystery, followed by a frightening diagnosis followed by several years of deterioration, ineffective treatment and worry, it is such a relief. I know what I have, and I know what has to be done. I also know what my limitations are. But know what? I’m fine with that. This thing is now the devil I know…
On the way home, I picked up my new orthotic-friendly combat boots. They are comfortable. Buttugly, but comfortable.
It could be worse.