Picture this: 11pm on a Wednesday night. The rest of the city is out celebrating at holiday parties. I, however, am sitting at my kitchen table in the top I wore to work, my knickers, and big, gray, fuzzy slippers. A glass of red wine sits in one hand while the other slowly swirls my unmixed enbrel around until it dissolves so I can give myself a shot and go to bed.
Having RA is so damn hot and exciting I can barely contain myself.