Give Me Some Sugar

I have been off caffeine since June.  It was, and is, worth it.  I knew the next big hurdle would be sugar.  In late January and early February, I took a stab at quitting.  Right before Valentine’s Day.  That was just careless.

It stayed in front of me.  I knew I still needed to do it.  I know this sounds strange to say, but it seemed there was no jumping off point.  Then, there was.

Lent.

The Lenten Fast.

BOOM!

I quit sweets.  Not all the foods that have any ingredient that’s just sugar with a cute name.  Just sweets.

It only took a few days to come face to face with my need of a Savior.  I felt desperate.  I lied about what I ate.  (They don’t care, and Jesus already knows.)  I cheated like a card sharp in the old west.  I let myself slip.  A lot.

I realized I felt I couldn’t live without sugar (People do.  It isn’t air.).  Then I realized there are a lot of things I can’t live without

And.

There are a lot of things I have been saying I can live without…that I can’t.

BOOM.

Yes, I have a lot of idols.  (Anything you feel you can’t live without.)  I’m also holding myself prisoner in a lot of ways, too.  Depriving myself of things God says are good. Going hungry at my Father’s table.  Thirsty, at the source of Living Water.

Who do I think I am?

Imagine you provide delicious food for your child and she sits in the chair and feels the hunger pains and doesn’t eat.

How does that make you feel?

Really freaking sad. Right?

You love her and you want her to be healthy and you want her to enjoy the things that you provide with just her in mind.

That may be confusing, but I’m not talking about the sugar anymore.

I’m talking about seeing my need of a Savior.

Seeing how much the Father loves me.

About nothing I could have anticipated or imagined.

 

~disclaimer:  I’m uncomfortable writing while in the middle because I’m not sure that you’re supposed to talk about the things you do spiritually.  But I felt led for some reason today.  And Lent is not in the Bible.  It’s a church observance.  So… Please forgive my continued clumsiness, in any case.~

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fibromyalgia File: One Year Update

A glance at the calendar reminds me of the upcoming one year anniversary of a disaster– my own pharmaceutical train wreck, complete with panic attacks and withdrawals bells and whistles.

It’s not funny to be diagnosed with a chronic illness.

Not funny, at all.

What’s less funny, is when the drugs that work for “most people” nearly kill you.

Um.

@#$%.

Where to go next?

Acupuncture.  Purposely allowing someone to put needles in your face.  hands. toes.  I think this every time I go.  And by that, I mean, I went in for my sixth visit in July and was pain-free until December.  I didn’t get back in until the second week of January, and I’ve been in once more since then.  It’s about time to go back.

The winter is the worst.  It’s a veritable kaleidoscope of symptoms.  This year, I can point to the cause and keep walking.

Saturday, I worked in the yard. Since then, I’ve paid the piper.  In all fairness, I’m not 30 years-old anymore.  I’ve also been in the chair all winter.

I did a lot of exercise last summer.  Which didn’t come to a screeching halt, but tapered off gradually.  I didn’t notice a difference.  Like the doctor insisted it would.  But then, she also told me to keep on taking the meds when I had every side effect on the “Notify Your Doctor Immediately” list.

Yes, I read the patient information sheet when I get a prescription.

No, your doctor really doesn’t want you to do that.

I digress.

One year in?

My life is better.

When I hurt, I can laugh at the pain and say, “It’s Fibro.  It isn’t anything.”

When I can’t sleep, I just get up until I can relax again.  I can stop feeling desperate.  “It’s Fibro.  This is what we do.”  Usually, I can drop back off again for an hour or so.  Typically, I’m up at 3:48 (yes, that exact).  Maybe I’ll drop off again or maybe not.

The insomnia may account for what they call Fibro fog or dyscognition.  That links to a nice tidy definition. It basically means: I might be able to think if I could only think.  This is probably the most irritating to me because I don’t realize it’s getting me until I’m got.

The accompanying depression? It is a diagnostic criteria for Fibromyalgia, but that’s just too freaking bad.  I am unmerciful to it.  Which sounds weird, I know, but things are different now.  Depression is a lie. I walk right in and attack it like it’s an intruder trying to get to my kids.  Because it is.  And I fight dirty.

One year in?

Things are different.

Life didn’t stop just because I got a diagnosis.  This probably isn’t a revelation for other people.

Fibro had to submit to the budget, schedule and order of priority.

They say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”*

Fibromyalgia specifically doesn’t kill you and fights to make you weaker.

I am less sick today because the diagnosis made me turn and face the right enemy.

I am not stronger today because I fought the fibro.

I am stronger because my fight against that unseen enemy trained me for the battle of a lifetime against other unseen enemies.

I’m not afraid of much anymore.

Not afraid of much at all.

 

 

 

 

 

*They said it before Kelly Clarkson.  I had to rename a chili recipe because of her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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