I have psoriatic arthritis, and it’s currently untreated. It means that I’m in constant pain. I medicate my pain with cannabis, and for the most part it helps, but what I need (and what I don’t have access to) is an immunosuppressant. The inflammation that causes my skin to heal so fast it flakes off is attacking my joints, my fascia, and especially my back. It limits the things I can do on a lot of days, and one wrong move will leave me bedridden.  

I’m currently trying to find a doctor to treat me. I have the diagnosis but the doctor who diagnosed me no longer accepts my insurance. I got an appointment a bit more local (as that doctor is now an hour and a half away) but they canceled the referral. I don’t know why. But it means that my immune system is going haywire. It thinks my joints and some of my organs are the enemy. To date it’s trashed my pancreas (type 1 diabetes) attacked my thyroid (hypothyroidism) it’s doing a number on my joints and back, and my skin is trashed.  

Honestly, my various disabilities are a lot of why I write. I struggle to work. Even a once-a-week volunteer job can often be overwhelming and painful. I’m doing what I can to manage that, but right now my options are limited. Stories, however, I can write wherever. Thanks to modern technology I can sit in bed and craft my tales, I can type it out on my phone, it’s a breeze to share documents with my own devices.  

Modern technology has helped me do a lot of the heavy lifting because it’s so much more accessible now. Growing up, wanting to write, all I had access to were notebooks and pencils given to me by friends or family so I could do something. I grew up below the poverty line in the US, and that meant that for even simple things like a notebook I had to rely on someone else. But those people saw something in me that they wanted to foster, and a lot of why I’ve made it this far is the people who supported me.  

Right now the hardest season is winter. The constant storms and cold, even here in sunny California, wreak havoc on my joints. I like to think I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but winter is easily the hardest month. In a strange turn of events, however, my chronic pain buddy has been my elder cat Albedo. He’s fourteen now, and arthritis has him in its grip too. We give him meds but, just like me, they only do so much. And as much as it sucks he hurts too, I appreciate the company and solidarity since he seeks me out more on those days. It’s a small comfort, but I find solace in our strange, shared experiences. He might be my partner’s cat in the end, but I get the feeling he derives comfort from our shared experiences as well.