No, thanks
/
With rheumatoid [arthritis], you just don’t have good options.” Those words from my doctor on Tuesday sum things up pretty well.
Tomorrow I’ll have x-rays. Last time we checked for bone erosion and joint damage with an MRI. This time that’s not necessary because x-rays, which show less detail, should be able to show my damage. In other words, it’s bad enough that we’ll probably stick with x-rays from now on.
However, even if those x-rays show ugly realities, we’ve already ruled out one treatment path. You see, there’s this drug called methotrexate that we were planning on starting now-ish. Yep, were. Past tense.
Is methotrexate medically advisable, given that Remicade alone isn’t cutting it for me and given that odds are good that my body will begin creating antibodies against Remicade if we don’t add the drug? Yes. If we had no reservations about it, would my doctor have started me on methotrexate this week? Yes.
Am I taking it? No.
Here’s the thing about methotrexate. It’s used for other things. Yucky things like chemo. Unpleasant things like terminating tubal pregnancies. If you take methotrexate, you have to take lots o’ preventative measures to prevent little ones. Because, you know, a drug used for chemo and for abortions isn’t very compatible with pregnancy. Imagine that. If you’re taking it and want to get pregnant, you have to stop it for several months before trying to conceive.
And here’s a kink for us: we don’t have much trouble getting pregnant. We have sweet friends who have struggled with the opposite, so we definitely consider our fertility to be a blessing. But in a situation like this, it makes life a bit more complicated.
We have Christian friends who have decided it's worth taking (and who are taking lots of precautions to prevent conception). And it's been discussed since the day I was diagnosed. But we didn't have to think about it in real terms until this summer, when we realized that we weren't comfortable with this option that we had been planning for.
So we prayed. A lot.
And talked to friends.
And read our Bible. A lot.
And prayed. A lot.
And talked to my other doctors, including my gynecologist.
And did I mention prayer? Yep, a lot of that.
We’ve decided that methotrexate is a no go for us. We think we may be done with biological children (though we plan to adopt), but we’re not confident enough in this to take permanent action. And no birth control option – even if we combine methods - is 100% effective (other than abstinence, which isn’t an option!), so that means there’s a small chance that God could create a life within me and then the drug could end it.
The chance would be small, unlikely even. But it could happen. And we would never know on this side of heaven.
We struggled with whether or not God would allow it to happen, creating a life that He knew wouldn’t survive in my body. We struggled with whether or not He would affirmatively answer prayers to close my womb for a period of time. We struggled with whether or not a tiny, tiny, tiny chance was worth struggling with.
We don’t have the answers to all those questions, and we’re okay with not having all the answers. The one answer we do have, without a doubt, is that any chance of destroying life isn’t an option for us.
So it’s no to methotrexate.
Tomorrow I’ll have x-rays. Last time we checked for bone erosion and joint damage with an MRI. This time that’s not necessary because x-rays, which show less detail, should be able to show my damage. In other words, it’s bad enough that we’ll probably stick with x-rays from now on.
However, even if those x-rays show ugly realities, we’ve already ruled out one treatment path. You see, there’s this drug called methotrexate that we were planning on starting now-ish. Yep, were. Past tense.
Is methotrexate medically advisable, given that Remicade alone isn’t cutting it for me and given that odds are good that my body will begin creating antibodies against Remicade if we don’t add the drug? Yes. If we had no reservations about it, would my doctor have started me on methotrexate this week? Yes.
Am I taking it? No.
Here’s the thing about methotrexate. It’s used for other things. Yucky things like chemo. Unpleasant things like terminating tubal pregnancies. If you take methotrexate, you have to take lots o’ preventative measures to prevent little ones. Because, you know, a drug used for chemo and for abortions isn’t very compatible with pregnancy. Imagine that. If you’re taking it and want to get pregnant, you have to stop it for several months before trying to conceive.
And here’s a kink for us: we don’t have much trouble getting pregnant. We have sweet friends who have struggled with the opposite, so we definitely consider our fertility to be a blessing. But in a situation like this, it makes life a bit more complicated.
We have Christian friends who have decided it's worth taking (and who are taking lots of precautions to prevent conception). And it's been discussed since the day I was diagnosed. But we didn't have to think about it in real terms until this summer, when we realized that we weren't comfortable with this option that we had been planning for.
So we prayed. A lot.
And talked to friends.
And read our Bible. A lot.
And prayed. A lot.
And talked to my other doctors, including my gynecologist.
And did I mention prayer? Yep, a lot of that.
We’ve decided that methotrexate is a no go for us. We think we may be done with biological children (though we plan to adopt), but we’re not confident enough in this to take permanent action. And no birth control option – even if we combine methods - is 100% effective (other than abstinence, which isn’t an option!), so that means there’s a small chance that God could create a life within me and then the drug could end it.
The chance would be small, unlikely even. But it could happen. And we would never know on this side of heaven.
We struggled with whether or not God would allow it to happen, creating a life that He knew wouldn’t survive in my body. We struggled with whether or not He would affirmatively answer prayers to close my womb for a period of time. We struggled with whether or not a tiny, tiny, tiny chance was worth struggling with.
We don’t have the answers to all those questions, and we’re okay with not having all the answers. The one answer we do have, without a doubt, is that any chance of destroying life isn’t an option for us.
So it’s no to methotrexate.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
~
Psalm 139:13-16