Allergies and 'Roid Rage

Three summers ago, I finally went to see a doctor about the pain in my shoulder that had affected me for two years. After an MRI, it turned out I had arthritis, bursitis and tendinitis in various places in that shoulder. This wasn't very surprising as my dad had the exact same thing. Before I began physical therapy, I was given a steroid treatment (prednisone) to help it heal.

I had no side effects from taking this medication.

The next year, I ended up with a case of contact dermatitis on my face. The doctor diagnosed it as an allergy and gave me a round of this same steroid. I actually had a side affect this time, suffering a severely upset stomach.

The next year, I determined my allergy to be one of two things as I narrowed down the cause from the previous year - either aloe or mangos. This was a tricky elimination and caused me to have to go on this steroid on three occasions.

The first time was when I learned the affect that a steroid could have on someone and was very careful the next two times to monitor my excitability.

I've never been a violent person. I've never been one who felt the need to provoke someone or get up into their face to prove anything. About the fourth day of treatment, I was walking through the Wendy's parking lot on 5th street in Marysville when I saw a pickup truck with a vanity license plate.

I don't recall the plate now, but I walked slowly, reading it, running the first few letters in my head (the last three letters were "FAN.") I never noticed someone was sitting in the cab of the truck, but to this day, I swear that piece of trailer trash uttered, "Yeah, you keep walkin'," as I walked past.

I took one step and registered what he said and I turned around and quite loudly said, "I'm sorry! Did you say something to me?"

I got a surprised look back. "Uh, no."

It was this steroid running through me and I found myself not backing down.

"Oh, as I was walking by, I would've sworn I heard you say something!" I don't know if it was the steroid or hunger making me shake a little.

"I didn't say anything."

And there I was, standing there ready to pummel some redneck in a pick up in the middle of the Wendy's parking lot.

I noticed he had a woman and a child in the car with him. Perhaps he wanted to appear to be an Alpha male in front of his woman and that was why he uttered the comment or perhaps he didn't like the fact that I slowed down to read his license plate as I passed. Or maybe I imagined it all, but I swear he said it.

I realized in that moment I was flying a little out of control. I reigned it in and lowered my voice. "I was reading your license plate. What does it mean?"

He explained, without making much eye contact, that he was the fan of a band for whom the first few letters stood for.

I regained my control and said, "oh," then I walked into Wendy's to get some food. Disaster averted.

Later I was talking with my mom about what had happened. It's difficult to explain how out of control I felt and I was glad nothing came of it. As she pointed out, the last thing he would want to do is start a fight with a black belt doped up on steroids.

I had always heard of "'Roid Rage" and I experienced it first hand with a written prescription. It's scary to imagine being out of control like that.

The next two times on the prescription, I focused on maintaining control and never had an issue.