Gaming & Living with RA

Daily struggles of living with RA.

Let me be savagely honest! Living with Rheumatoid Arthritis for 11 years has been… a journey. And not the kind with growth and healing and enlightenment. Nope. My immune system straight-up ordered a hit on me, and my joints? They clank against each other like rusted shopping carts in a windy parking lot.

Back in the early days of diagnosis, it was manageable. Annoying, sure, but I could still rage in multiplayer, enjoy a night out, go to work, and clean the house. These days? The disease has leveled up.

The “keep it at bay” meds stopped working. My joints are mad, my anxiety’s madder, and I’m tearing through prednisone packs like they’re orange loot containers. Except instead of a fashionable vest, I get insomnia, mood swings, and pain.

Let’s rewind. When I was first diagnosed, they threw Methotrexate at me like it was the answer to everything. Cute, right? If constant nausea, immune system shutdowns, and feeling like you were hit by an armored truck in Warzone. I had little kids back then, and I was off that med more than I was on it. One sneeze from a toddler and I’d be down for the count.

Then came Plaquenil and to its credit, it worked. For years. Until, of course, it didn’t. So, like any burned-out spoonie with trust issues and a flair for rebellion, I rage quit my entire med plan. No pills, no appointments, no backup plan. Just raw vibes, denial, and stubborn Gen X energy.

And for a hot second? I felt amazing. I was in remission. Didn’t even realize RA could do that surprise! It does.

Until one day I couldn’t get out of bed. Boiling hot showers became my daily startup just to even try to function. Mornings went from lets get this day started. To ugh, my hands hurt already. My fingers are swollen. And my knees, quit on me.

Eventually, I found a new rheumatologist. A good one. And while I still hate going to doctors (who doesn’t?), I finally understood why every older relative I had practically lived at the doctors office. When you hit a certain age, pretending you’re fine doesn’t make you fine. I gaslight the hell out of myself but my body is no longer falling for it.

After being tested more than my Wi-Fi signal during a thunderstorm, we found out my Vectra score jumped to 31. In spoonie terms? My immune system jumped me, like it was a girl that thought I walk talking about her in grammar school. So now, I’m starting infusions. And yes, I’m scared. Scared of side effects. Scared of sitting still for hours (I have zero patience). But mostly? I’m scared this won’t work either.

Still… I’m hopeful.

Because here’s the thing: I’m finally at a stage in life where my husband and I can actually enjoy it. No more babysitters. No more sippy cups and school forms. Just us, finally. Him yelling at football, me yelling in the Gulag. Balance.

RA might slow me down, but it’s not stopping me. Not from gaming. Not from living. Not from dragging my stiff joints to date night or limping through an ice cream run with the kids. I’m still here. Sarcastic. Stubborn. Coffee in hand. Headset on. Figuring it out one flare at a time.

Spoon theory? Oh, it’s real. I have to "count" spoons like I’m prepping for an apocalypse, laundry or game night? Pick one, not both.

So if you’ve got RA and have discovered any magical products, game chairs, heating pads, or ergonomic miracles, please drop them in the comments. Don’t gatekeep the goods. Spoonies unite.

And remember: RA isn’t “just arthritis.” It’s not cured by tea and a good attitude. It’s waking up in pain, pushing through it, and still logging on, because the alternative? Is depression, isolation, and giving up. And that’s just not an option I’m willing to select.