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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