Everyone warns you that prednisone will make you fat, and when it does make you fat, they remind you that prednisone made you fat. Meanwhile, you’re just trying to stay alive. In 2015, before I was diagnosed, I became dependent on daily prednisone to control my symptoms and allow me to keep working. My weight gain did not frighten me; it seemed like a reasonable side effect in exchange for keeping my job, health care, and sanity.
However, no one warned me prednisone can cause muscle wasting. Contrary to popular belief, prednisone will not turn you into The Incredible Hulk. While it may incite bouts of rage, long-term use will actually convert you in A Blubbering Blob that has to ask grandma for help standing up. My arms became swollen noodles unable to compensate for my collapsing legs. I relied on my toy poodle to pick up items on the floor. (Note: get a bigger dog.)
Although I stopped daily prednisone four years ago, my muscles still haven’t fully recovered. To be honest, physical therapy hasn’t been a priority. I’ve been preoccupied with breathing and eating. Also, between MCAS and EDS, physical therapy can do more harm than good. Even well-intentioned specialists can cause injuries with life-altering consequences (e.g. CSF leaks). On the other hand, strengthening muscles can help stabilize joints and reduce injuries.
I have been walking a lot more lately though. Not because I want to rehab my muscles, but because I want to rehab my poodle’s muscles. Last fall, he injured his shoulder tendons and he had to wear a brace all winter. Now, his physical therapist has prescribed strength training, including daily walks.
Yes, I prioritize my dog’s physical therapy over my own. First of all, I still trust veterinarians; they understand my health issues better than most of my doctors. Second, my dog loves physical therapy. Maybe I would be more enthusiastic if someone fed me bacon or peanut butter every I lifted a leg.
Walking is my safest form of exercise, but it’s still difficult and exhausting. I worry about getting dizzy and passing out. I worry about getting stung by a bee and needing an ambulance. I worry about subluxing my hip or knee in the middle of my walk, and struggling to make it back. So, I walk circles around the hospital.
Trust me, it’s not as weird as it sounds.
I live next door to a hospital.
Okay, that part is slightly weird. I prefer to call it serendipitous. I bought my condo years before my MCAS diagnosis and subsequent emergency room visits. It is super convenient and it allows me avoid one of my greatest fears, asking for help. I just hobble over with my swollen throat, kidney stone, or spinal fluid leak. I never worry about my safety, even though passing out along the way is always possible. (I have considered a go kart.) Between the smokers, security guards, shift changes, and constant stream of ambulances, I know wouldn’t be left unattended for long.
Which leads me to my latest hobby: walking circles around the hospital. Sure, it’s no nature reserve, but I don’t worry about dying. Do you know what’s more soothing than chirping birds? The screaming sirens of ambulances rushing to save lives.
The sidewalk loops around the building for a perfect half-mile roundtrip. My poodle bounces along my side, putting much-needed smiles on visitors’ faces. Sometimes I consider waving through the window to the staff at the front desk, and shouting, “Hi neighbor! May I borrow a cup of Benadryl?”
My scale says I’ve gained a couple pounds this week. I hope it means I’m finally building muscle, not packing macaroni. I don’t need a bikini body, I just don’t want a weenie body, if I can help it.