Me, before treatment began: I don’t care how bad the side effects get, I can deal. I am NOT taking prednisone. I’m tough and can suffer through anything.
Me, yesterday: You’re prescribing me prednisone? Oh, thank goodness. Give me that stuff now!
So, doc’s office called yesterday afternoon. My biopsy results were back earlier than expected, and they showed mild inflammation of the lower intestine and liver that’s consistent with my treatment. Yesterday evening, I picked up a prescription for what I think is a pretty low dose of prednisone. (If you don’t know what prednisone is, it’s a steroid frequently given to cancer patients (and many others) that acts as an anti-inflammatory, but it packs a nasty punch of its own with regard to side effects).
I took my first dose last night and my second this morning, and I’m already in less pain. So yay. Doc’s office will call to check up on me Tuesday, and they want me to come in and see them on Wednesday. By that time, they assure me I should be feeling much better and, thanks to the prednisone, will probably want to eat everything in sight. Ironic for a drug that includes nausea among its side effects.