Welcome Back, Methotrexate, You Rude Little Miracle
🌼 Date: Wednesday, May 20, 2026
⚡ Energy: Horizontal with an ice pack
❤️🔥 Status: Methotrexate is back, and so are the side effects
😴 Outlook: Sleeping this one off and hoping tomorrow comes with fewer regrets
Welcome back, Methotrexate.
And apparently, welcome back to the full-fledged nausea and headaches that I had somehow forgotten came with you.
Isn’t memory adorable?
There I was, so excited to restart the medication that has helped manage my psoriatic arthritis for the last 25-ish years, that I conveniently forgot about the part where my body sometimes reacts like I swallowed a tiny toxic goblin with a hammer.
To be fair, the last several months have been a little busy.
Surgery.
Chemo.
Granix shots.
Radiation.
Skin reactions.
Neuropathy.
Swelling.
Tightness.
The Greased Pig Phase.
The Shrinky Dink Phase.
The Giant Medical Coachella Gown.
So forgive me if I accidentally filed “Methotrexate makes me nauseous and gives me headaches” under “general cancer treatment bullshit.”
Because honestly, at this point, the side effects have all started sharing office space.
But believe it or not, this nausea and this headache hit different.
This is not chemo nausea.
This is not radiation yuck.
This is not “maybe ginger ale and crackers will gently talk my stomach down from the ledge” nausea.
Nope.
This is Methotrexate nausea.
The kind where ginger ale is not your friend.
The kind where you look at your trusty emotional support beverage and think, How dare you fail me in my hour of need?
The betrayal.
After everything ginger ale and I have been through together.
I thought we were bonded for life.
Apparently even ginger ale has limits.
And the headache?
Also rude.
This is the kind of headache where an ice pack on top of your head is not optional.
It is standard operating procedure.
There is no negotiating.
There is no “maybe I’ll just sit quietly for a bit.”
No.
You get the ice pack.
You climb into bed.
You assume the full recovery position.
And you hope your brain stops trying to escape through your forehead.
By mid-morning, I was climbing back into bed with my puppy nurses next to me.
Because obviously, if Mommy is sick, the tiny medical staff must report for duty.
I had supervision.
Furry supervision.
Judgmental supervision.
Very cute, very serious, very “we don’t know what Methotrexate is, but we know Mommy is not acting right” supervision.
And honestly, they were correct.
I was not acting right.
I was acting like a woman who had just remembered that getting one medication back does not mean getting comfort back immediately.
How rude.
I knew restarting Methotrexate was not going to be magic.
I knew it was not going to stroll back into my system wearing a cape and instantly fix 25 years of psoriatic arthritis, months of inflammation, chemo aftermath, joint pain, and the snap-crackle-pop soundtrack that now plays every time I stand up.
I knew it would take time.
I knew my body might need to adjust.
But apparently I forgot the first adjustment phase might involve nausea, headache, and me crawling back to bed like a Victorian woman overcome by bad news.
The funny thing is, I still want to be glad I can take it again.
And I am.
I really am.
I am grateful to have this tool back.
I am grateful my radiation reaction cleared enough for my doctors to say yes.
I am grateful there is something that might eventually bring some relief to the psoriatic arthritis side of this mess.
But today?
Today gratitude is wearing an ice pack.
Today gratitude is lying down.
Today gratitude is located closer to the bathroom for strategic reasons.
Because sometimes healing is not graceful.
Sometimes progress feels like crap.
Sometimes the thing that helps you also makes you want to remove your own head and put it in the freezer for a while.
And sometimes getting back on a medication you need comes with a very loud reminder that your body is still a sensitive little drama queen.
This is the weird part of recovery.
You get good news, and then the good news comes with instructions, side effects, waiting periods, and a tiny asterisk that says, May cause additional suffering before improvement begins.
Cool.
Love that.
Very thoughtful.
Cancer recovery really is the gift bag that never stops rustling.
But I am trying to keep the bigger picture in mind.
Yesterday, Methotrexate was back on the menu.
Today, my body is complaining about the restaurant.
Hopefully this is temporary.
Hopefully my system remembers the routine and stops acting brand new.
Hopefully this nausea calms down.
Hopefully the headache backs off.
Hopefully tomorrow feels better.
For today, though, the plan is simple.
Bed.
Ice pack.
Puppy nurses.
Bathroom nearby.
No unnecessary movement.
No pretending I feel fine.
No pushing through just to prove something to absolutely nobody.
Just rest.
Because sometimes being an obedient patient means sending updated skin pictures to the doctor.
Sometimes it means taking the medication.
And sometimes it means admitting the medication kicked your ass and climbing back into bed before your body files a formal complaint.
So yes, welcome back, Methotrexate.
I missed what you do for me.
I did not miss what you do to me.
But if this is the price of getting a little relief from psoriatic arthritis after months of being off the one drug that helped, then I guess I will pay it.
With nausea.
With an ice pack.
With puppy supervision.
And with the kind of dramatic sighing that makes recovery feel more official.
Today is a yuck day.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
And if not, I will be right here, horizontal, chilled at the skull, supervised by tiny nurses, and still somehow moving forward.
One nauseous little step at a time.
Want to follow the journey from the beginning?
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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time
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