A sore wrist and a sore heart

It is strange to me, that life goes on after tragedy. We cannot stop the wheel of Time from turning, nor can we dwell in shock and grief.

After having a heart-to-heart with a dear friend mourning the loss of life in Las Vegas, I had to attend to a more direct need on my plate: my appointment at the rheumatologist's office. I have been under her care for the last two years, if one can call bi-annual visits "under care" . I pushed for today's appointment a week or two ago, because I am weary of experiencing symptoms I do not understand. She requested a blood draw, and it wasn't until I looked more closely at the paperwork I understood what she was checking. Each component of the blood draw (a comprehensive blood panel, a CBC with differential, C3 and C4 components respectively, to name a few) ties to a specific question: connective tissue disease. She did not mention a diagnosis. She did mention she wanted to measure my inflammation levels, and treat my swollen joints with a drug called Plaquenil, a sort of anti-inflammatory. It isn't specifically an anti-inflammatory, but behaves as such, tageting the inflammation at its source. I am hopeful that some answers may come soon (ironic, right?) but also wondering what treatment will look like. More on that later, after a nap.