Lupus Detention House [better] -

When you look healthy on the outside, but your kidneys are staging a revolt on the inside, people don't see a prisoner. They see someone who "doesn't look sick." They see a lazy person who cancels plans. They see a flake.

You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines. The cruelest part of this detention isn't the joint pain or the "brain fog" that makes me forget my own zip code. It’s the solitary confinement.

Because escape isn't an option. You can't run away from your own DNA. lupus detention house

For the uninitiated, Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE) is an autoimmune disease. In plain English: my immune system, the very guard dog meant to protect me from intruders (viruses, bacteria, infections), has gone rogue. It can no longer tell the difference between a foreign invader and my own tissue.

Then there is Prednisone. Prednisone is the violent guard. It breaks up the fight, yes, but it also trashes the cell. It makes my face moon-shaped. It makes my bones brittle. It gives me the energy of a cornered animal at 3:00 AM, followed by the crash of a hostage negotiator who failed. When you look healthy on the outside, but

Plaquenil (Hydroxychloroquine) is the silent guard. It stands in the corner, doing its job quietly, trying to calm the riot. I don't see it working, but I know the horror stories of what happens when it leaves.

So, you stop explaining. You retreat to the isolation wing of your own bedroom. You watch your friends live their lives through a phone screen while you lie perfectly still, trying to convince your own blood to stop attacking your heart lining (pericarditis). Every detention house has guards. Mine are orange vials. You learn to walk on eggshells in a house made of landmines

Living in the Lupus Detention House has taught me a brutal kind of grace. I have stopped fighting for the parole of "being cured." Instead, I fight for commutation —the reduction of a sentence.