Then there is Prednisone. Prednisone is the violent guard. It breaks up the fight, yes, but it also trashes the cell. It makes my face moon-shaped. It makes my bones brittle. It gives me the energy of a cornered animal at 3:00 AM, followed by the crash of a hostage negotiator who failed.
When you look healthy on the outside, but your kidneys are staging a revolt on the inside, people don't see a prisoner. They see someone who "doesn't look sick." They see a lazy person who cancels plans. They see a flake.
So, I am locked inside. The warden is my immune system. The crime? Simply existing. In a traditional detention center, you know the rules. Don't fight. Don't run. Do your time. In the Lupus Detention House, the rules change by the hour. lupus detention house
But you can change the nature of the sentence. Over the years, I have learned that while I cannot unlock the cell door, I can paint the walls.
By [Your Name]
Plaquenil (Hydroxychloroquine) is the silent guard. It stands in the corner, doing its job quietly, trying to calm the riot. I don't see it working, but I know the horror stories of what happens when it leaves.
You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines. The cruelest part of this detention isn't the joint pain or the "brain fog" that makes me forget my own zip code. It’s the solitary confinement. Then there is Prednisone
Advocate for yourself. Fire the doctors who act like cruel guards. Find your cellmates (support groups) who know the secret handshake.