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It’s late May, that time of year when my peony bushes begin to sprout big pink ant-filled buds. While I love the smell, bringing them into the house is akin to asking the pest control guy to move in with me.

It also marks the one-year anniversary of being diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis – the same disease that did my grandfather in when I was a baby. While I have no memory of him to fall back on, I’ve heard the story of Grandpa Bill’s affliction  my entire life. How he awoke one morning...