Last month I had a course of steroids as a part of the treatment I use to make me sweat when my anhidrosis is running rampant. It’s a two-part treatment, with three big I.V. infusions followed by about a month of oral prednisone to wean my system back off the steroids. The treatment last month didn’t quite work as planned — I had no reaction to the big bags-O-’roids (other than a distinct lack of the need for sleep, talking mondo fast and non-stop, little perks like that), and only started seeing some slight benefits when I was nearly done with the oral course of meds. So I immediately signed up for another two-part treatment in an attempt to just ram through the anhidrosis like a runaway bus through a paper sheet and get myself back to perspiring like a champ; honestly, before all this happened I used to sweat like a 500 lb man wearing a jump-suit in a sauna while eating a whole bucket of extra-hot wings. People around me were in danger of drowning.
Now, everyone I know, including me, is worried about the large amount of steroids I have been pumping into my system on a yearly basis. This doubling up on treatments did not go down well with some people (again, including me) but I didn’t have a lot of choice this time. I did, however, notice an almost immediate effect from this second course of treatment, and I called a halt to the first half of the treatment. I only got two big-bags-O-’roids rather than three, and started my oral prednisone, which is a much lighter dose, hoping this would be enough to continue the reaction and boost me back to watery wellness.
One little extra note: I had my two days of I.V. treatment, then called it off on the morning of the third day, then started the pills on the morning of the 4th day. That day and a half in the middle there, where I stopped the steroids cold-turkey and the pills had yet to kick in… I found out exactly and in great detail why they wean you off the I.V. treatment like that.
It was nap time. Every minute of every hour of the whole day and a half. I couldn’t get enough sleep, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I completely ruined the backside of a pair of shorts dragging my ass around work like that. I wore the material right away and wound up with road rash on my south-facing cheeks.
It wasn’t pretty.
But then the pills started having an effect and my energy level has evened out nicely. I can actually get things done, and I’m not talking so much at work that the guys who work around me in the office have felt the need to try to throttle me with my own tongue. This is a good thing.
And I have been seeing a nice improvement in my natural ability to slick up like an eel in the heat and not just drop of heatstroke. This is also a good thing.
So, today being Sunday, I decided to go out and see if there’s any real difference in the way I’m working the water. I got Handsome out to the basketball hoop in the street beside my parent’s house and tried to see what I could do. We played a little one-on-one, and the game went on for a little longer than I had anticipated. It was… well…
Hmm. Let’s see if I can give you a visual to help you understand just how well Handsome and I play ball. You ever watch a professional game? No, scratch that, have you ever seen a really good pick-up game in the street, like in the movie White Men Can’t Jump? No, wait, have you ever seen the Harlem Globetrotters putting on a show?
We’re the opposite of that.
The good news for me is that when you shoot 100 times and miss everything, including the backboard, about 70-75 times, well, there’s plenty of opportunity to run after the ball. In 85-90 degree heat, if that doesn’t make you sweat… well, then I guess my only option would have been to get a bucket of extra hot wings and head for the nearest health club.
It was not necessary. We finished our game, played another one of Horse, and I told Handsome I had to quit and go cool off. We went in the house, and while he went immediately to his computer I spread a towel in my bed and lay down under the ceiling fan.
Just for a minute.
I woke about a half-hour later, still fairly drippy and streaming. When I sat up, the towel stuck to my back giving me an instant view of the wet body print I had made on the bedspread right through the beach towel.
Mission accomplished. I had sweat up a veritable storm, created some serious laundry needs, and caused Handsome to stare at my bed in a 9-year-old’s combination of fascination and disgust ( I think the latter actually fuels the former) all in one fell swoop. As far as I can see, there was only one bad part to the whole experience…
…I’m really craving a bucket of chicken right now!
Talk to you later!