It's not the constant nagging flu-like symptoms, it's not the stiffness or loss of range of motion; it's not the inability to do the things I once enjoyed doing; it's not the slow and painful fusion of my back and neck; it's not the horrible choice of either suffering pain without meds or risk infections and possibly cancer by taking meds; it's not the fear of the future and what I'll feel once I get there, if I get there; it's not that only I can tell how I feel and that others can look at me and think that everything is fine because I don't look sick or in pain; it's not that no one, except another AS sufferer, knows that AS doesn't go away, even if I have a good day.
The thing I hate most about AS is that it's like an earthquake. How? Well, I'm guessing that everytime the poor folks in California, or those who live anywhere else in the world prone to earthquakes, experience an earthquake, they might wonder if this is the big one; will the earth stop shaking, or is this the time that it keeps rumbling until their city is destroyed and their lives ruined.
Like someone waiting for the big one, I'll go through "good" periods, like this past summer, where my neck is stiff, sure, I have a bit of pain, sure, but for all intents and purposes, I feel pretty good. And then there's now: I'm in the middle of the worst flare I've ever had (I thought the last one was the worst); and now I wonder, as I'm in the most pain I've ever felt, the stiffest I've ever felt, and the most exhausted and depressed I've ever felt, if this is the big one: will this flare be with me for the rest of my life; will this be the one to take me down? Will the earth stop shaking this time, or is this the one that destroys me.
I'll keep you posted. Now it's off to yet another hot bath!
