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.