I was really on the fence about whether or not to go through with Remicade on Tuesday. Until Monday night, I hadn’t seen any improvement from when the blood started again, which was supposed to be why I would get the infusion, but I still didn’t want it. “Didn’t want it” means more than just that, though.
It means I feel uncomfortable with getting a drug pumped through my veins on a regular basis. It means I don’t think I was getting a significant enough improvement from such a strong medicine with scary possible side effects. It also means I have confidence in the other healing methods I’ve been following.
I know that these arguments could all be countered by equally strong ones, but it comes down to more than just objective debate; this is the complex human body we’re talking about, and my body at that. No one can really predict the best possible path to take, but I’ve been through a lot of ups and downs during this flare, some more significant than others, and only I know everything about what I’m going through, physically and emotionally. While I tell my parents, doctor, chiropractor, and acupuncturist as much as possible, there are so many subtleties that I don’t always let on about, consider as important at first, or even rise about my subconscious. These subtleties affect my knowledge and intuition about my body and this disease, and they add up. Thanks to this increased sense of acuity about my body, I have the ability to trust myself, even on big issues like Remicade.