Hit and run flare

It has been a few weeks where the temperature index ranges somewhere between OMG and WTF. Yes, it has been that hot. I wanted a Slurpee from the gas station on the corner and the thermometer in the car read 119. People with Fibromyalgia have an intolerance to either heat or cold. Mine just happens to be heat and I live in the middle of the desert.

Go figure.

Chronic pain is really a reality all unto itself. Even the simplest of tasks tend not to be simple anymore. Any decisions that are to be made tend to be made from the chronic pain vantage point. We can’t make any concrete plans because they may have to be changed due to the levels of pain that we might be experiencing on any given day.

When the body and the brain talk to each other neurotransmitters are used to communicate. Every little transmitter is balanced by another so we don’t look so good on that front. Just another lovely little item that is out of balance with our lovely little syndrome. For instance, when you touch a trigger or tender point on a healthy person they might not have much of a response. Now try that on someone who has Fibromyalgia. I can just see anyone who has it either nodding or smiling because they know just what is going to happen.

Anyway, back to the humidity. I’ve realized that I have a talent. Did you know that I can feel every little rise in barometric pressure? With every little move up the pain steadily gets worse.

Are. You. Kidding. Me?

Well, let’s look at the sudden rise in temperature. We went from about 101 degrees to 117. That in of itself is enough to cause one hell of a flare.

Número Uno

Once we got through with that there is a rise in barometric pressure due to the storm front moving in.

Número Dos

So the wind is picking up, the humidity is rising and there could be, “a stray thunderstorm” tomorrow and through the weekend.

Número Tres-I’m out!

So, as I go down for the count I want to introduce a new “side effect” of our “syndrome”.

I call it “don’t bother calling an ambulance, I’ve already been run over by one”.

In other words,

hit again by an 18 wheeler, or something equally as large. Or perhaps larger. Or a tank. Or my husbands works truck, and then he backed up to see what he ran over, figured it must’ve been a snake or a squirrel, and then ran-the-fuck-over-again……

Do tanks even have license plates? I was face-down, I forgot to look…


Welcome the Pain….My Ass

It’s been a tough week. Usually I like to write at night but the last couple of nights I’ve been in the fetal position swallowing pain pills and muscle relaxers praying that they would take the edge off the pain a little. I haven’t had pain levels that got almost to 10 in quite some time. The pain is bad at 7 and 8 but the last couple of nights I understood how some people do not make it through continual levels of this kind of pain.

It’s hard to accept this kind of pain will be in my life forever or until they find a cure. It’s hard to accept that I will forever have limitations and that there will be people and doctors that don’t believe me. It’s hard to accept that people will leave my life because they can’t take this illness and what it does to me. It’s hard to accept that loved ones will not listen to you when you say you’re in pain because they’re sick of hearing it. It’s hard to accept that those same people will turn around and say to you, “Well, I’m tired and I hurt too.”

It’s hard to accept that you are not meant to do what you were born to do. It’s hard to accept that you can’t work and that means that you have no value. It’s hard to accept the fact that you can’t make money and support yourself. It’s hard to accept the notion that staying home is not for the weak, the mindless and the useless.

It’s hard to accept all of this. I don’t mean to say that anyone who chooses to be a stay-at-home mom is mindless or useless. I was a stay-at-home mom and cherished every moment. There is something magical about childhood and I was fortunate enough to be able to stay home with my kids . What I mean is that I have that Type A squared personality. I work hard, play hard and rest hard. When I got sick, I got sick very hard. When I got out into the work force (which I didn’t want to do, just as a 411) I put everything I had into my chosen profession. I had to quit, I didn’t want to quit. I loved it. Now that I can’t do it anymore I feel mindless, useless, weak and isolated. I enjoyed the work and the money. Then I became full time stay at home mom again, and I can only Halfway do that-between the crippling pain, the debilitating fatigue, and the all encompassing sleep.

I have a friend who said laughingly, “I don’t fear death. I fear poverty.” I know EXACTLY what he means by that statement.

I’ve read that in order to gain victory over pain we should welcome it. We should respond with wisdom to the pain. Pain is a messenger. Suffering happens when we refuse to welcome the pain. Well being will come when we live in harmony with ourselves and the world around us.

What a load of crap.

I will NEVER welcome this kind of pain. I do not believe and will never believe that by welcoming this horrific pain will help me overcome it. People who write this crap probably have never been in this kind of pain or they’re on major illicit street drugs.

Welcome this crap?

Are they kidding?

Well, there’s another thing that is hard to accept.