Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

Encyclopedia Of The Missing Months: Part Two

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So picking up where we left off last time, I was starting to feel better, I was beginning to venture outside of the house, and I was starting to hang out with other people in person, rather than just online. Which was great, except for the fact that whenever I start to have a good period like this, I always get

AMNESIA: I get it in both directions. When I start to feel good, I immediately forget how long I was sick and in pain, and catapult myself back into life at an insane level of intensity and activity. And likewise, when I start to feel sick again, I forget that there was ever a time when I wasn’t miserable and in pain, and then plummet down to the abyss of hopelessness and despair. (See Also:  All-Or-Nothing).  And then add to this my

BI-POLAR: issues, and you have the perfect recipe for crazy, which is not completely my fault. It’s really hard to pace myself when I feel well, because there are so many things I want to do, and I don’t have any idea of the length of time in which I’ll be able to do them. And I don’t know where the edges of my

BOUNDARIES: are until I bump up against them. So I just have to try things and then see what happens and what affect it has on me. It’s very messy. (See Also: FLAILING AROUND). And I hate messy. And on top of that, we’ve been experiencing an inordinate amount of

DISASTERS: here in our neighborhood over the past 2 1/2 months. Beginning with this:

 

What you are seeing here is the root ball of a 100-ft tall oak tree from the yard of our neighbors across the street that one day, with no provocation whatsoever, fell across the road and crashed through every line and cable and whatever else was in its path. Fortunately it did not fall on anyone, nor did it fall on anyone’s house. But it did take out the power in a spectacularly catastrophic fashion, which is always a major problem for me, because I am on a

CPAP: machine, and in order to run it at night I need constant

ELECTRICITY: which we were told would not be repaired until sometime around 4 am (It was about 4 pm when the tree fell down.) So, while casting envious glances at our neighbors who own their own

GENERATOR: we were forced to go check into a

HOTEL:  at 11:30pm that night so that I could sleep. It would have been sooner, but my husband insisted on waiting, because he fully expected the power to come back on “any minute now”. That lasted until about 11pm, by which time I was so stressed out about the situation that he said, “You go and take a Xanax. I’ll go and talk to Georgia Power, and see if they have an estimate for when the electricity will come back on. That’s when we got the “4 am” news. And as a matter of fact, when we got back

HOME: at about 6:45am the next morning, they were STILL there, working on part of the lines. And actually, this was the first in a series of  events that began to

SNOWBALL: until the snowball gained enough momentum to turn into an avalanche, which we are all (there are more characters involved as the story progresses) still trying to dig ourselves out of.

 


 

 

Let Me ‘Splain. No, There Is Too Much. Let Me Sum Up

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So if there’s anyone still hanging around here (Hi! Thank you for still hanging around!), you may have noticed that I sort of disappeared in the middle of April, and am only now re-surfacing. And for that, you can thank Fibro-F*&$#%@-myalgia.

I am totally overwhelmed at the thought of trying to “catch up” all that lost time here on my blog, so instead I’ve decided to do a quick little Encyclopedia of the Missing Weeks. This will still take a few posts to cover, but who’s gonna complain about ready-made blog content?

So here we go.

AMNESTY: “A general pardon”. This is the quality I am granting myself before I start writing anything. I don’t have to write about anything if I don’t want to. What I do want is for this writing to be fun. So that’s my guide.

BEGINNING, THE: You know how sometimes a period in your life gets set apart mentally, even if what’s marking it off in your mind has nothing to do with what happened to you then? This is like that. I will always remember that this period began when one of the water mains broke down at the lake, and we didn’t have any water for the entire day that Saturday. It was really not even a thing, because it was fixed relatively quickly. But it did make me actually sit down and think, for the first time ever, I’m sad to admit, “Wow-what do people do who really DON’T have water?” That question marinated for a long time, and then thanks to a Facebook friend I was introduced to the following organization.

CHARITY: WATER : Charity: water is a non-profit organization bringing clean and safe drinking water to people in developing nations. 100% of public donations directly fund water projects. So now I have a way to take some action on that question. Which is very cool. I can’t really volunteer for anything, since I don’t know from day to day what my pain and illness is going to look like. But this I can do. I can help here.

CLOTHES: I also remember that day because for the first time in, like, ten TRILLION years I went shopping and found clothes that fit well, look good, and are comfortable, which is basically impossible if you are a woman who actually exists in all three dimensions. So this was HUGE, because that day I was actually leaving the house and interacting with other people in person, also for the first time in A Very Long Time, and I actually felt OK with how I looked. So we met up with another family and went to a

CONCERT: which I wrote about in this post. It was quite significant because

DRESSING UP: was involved. I mean, I actually put on a bra. I wore a dress.  I carried a purse. I wore wedges, for crying out loud. THERE WAS MAKEUP INVOLVED. My husband almost didn’t recognize me. All of which helped set the stage for the next few weeks of CRAZY.

(To be continued.)

 

Good Words

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Thanks to Amna for this.

God Says Yes To Me

by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I’m telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

 

I Have The Best Job EVER!

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because I am the person that other people text/call/email when they have stories that start like this:

“I wasn’t quite sure who, other than you, could appreciate my experience…”

Here’s the latest one I’ve received.

“I wasn’t quite sure who, other than you, could appreciate my experience this weekend when I left my office to venture out for lunch. About a half a block from my office a new tattoo artist opened to showcase his talent. His store hours are 3PM until midnight which isn’t necessarily unusual except that every other business closes at 5PM. Anyway I ventured out for lunch and weaved my way through all the new accumulation of motorcycles that has recently appeared after 3PM and came across what appeared to be a recent customer who had his head shaved and had a motorcyle helmet tattooed on his entire head. My only regret is that I will not live long enough to see a baldheaded 80 year old little man with that tattoo.”

Wherein I Admit That I Was Wrong

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So if you’ve been hanging around here for any length of time at all, I know you’ve picked up on the fact that the thing I pretty much hate most in the entire world is BEING WRONG. Which is preceded only by the act of HAVING TO ADMIT THAT I WAS WRONG. (In which case you might be asking yourself why I’ve chosen to announce that fact here, online, in front of God and everyone, the answer being that,  if I have to be wrong, then by God, I should at least get a good blog post out of it.)

The Wrongness in question here has to do with a recommendation from my fibro doctor which I have been VEHEMENTLY rejecting ever since I first set foot in his office almost three years ago. I’ve done pretty much everything else he’s suggested, but every single time This Other Thing comes up I see a red flag, lower my head, and try to gore it to death. And so every single time I go in for an appointment, we have the exact same conversation. We really don’t even have to talk in person anymore; I could just type up the script and send it in to him. It goes like this:

Fibro Dr.: “So how have you been feeling?”

Me: “I’ve been having a lot of pain lately.”

Fibro Dr.: “What have you been taking for it?”

I tell him.

Fibro Dr.: “Have you tried taking any anti-inflammatories?”

Me: “No.”

Fibro Dr.: “Why not?”

Me: “Because they don’t work.”

Fibro Dr.: “How do you know?”

Me: “Because for the year before I came to see you when they didn’t know what was wrong with me, they had me on 800 mg of Ibuprofen. And it didn’t do anything.”

Now that is true. But normally I am totally open to trying a whole bunch of different things to find one that helps me, because I believe that eventually, something will. But for some reason I just interpreted that one medicine’s not working to mean that NO medicine of that kind would EVER work for me. Who knows why.

Maybe Ibuprofen was an easy target for my rage and frustration at all the things that got my hopes up and then let me down, all the things that gave me absolutely no relief.

Or maybe I just kept thinking that “it doesn’t work” thought over and over and over so many times that it solidified into a solid, concrete barrier in my mind.

Or maybe I just like being pissy sometimes. Who knows.

I mean, it’s not as if we were having this kind of conversation:

Fibro Dr.: “Hi. I’d like to drive this metal spike through your earlobe.”

Me: “SUCK IT.”

in which case my response could be considered an appropriate one.

But no, we’ve basically been having this conversation:

Fibro Dr.: “Hi. I’d like for you to try out a medication that is going to be a lot easier on your body, is not narcotic, does not have addictive tendencies, will help you feel a lot better, and will help you regain some quality of life.”

Me: “SUCK IT.”

Oy. Apparently it has been more important for me to believe that I was right, than to admit even the merest breath of possibility that I could be wrong, which would then begin to open up the possibility of finding  something that might actually bring me some relief.

So I went to see him again last week, and we did our same little dance. But this time was a little different, because my husband was there with me-because I have finally admitted that I cannot be both the patient and the advocate-which was a good thing, because he hasn’t given up on anything, and is constantly expecting us to find something that will really help treat this fibromyalgia.

So his conversation with the doctor about anti-inflammatories was completely different than all of mine (read: “open minded”), and what with one thing and another I ended up taking home a sample of a prescription strength anti-inflammatory drug. But the truly miraculous thing about this whole situation was that the next day when I started burning, I actually opened that package and took some of the medication.

I’m sure you know where this story is going: The medicine worked. It. Actually. Worked. Now, it COMPLETELY BROKE all the rest of me, to the point where I had such a bad reaction that I ended up having to lie ramrod straight, motionless, for hours on the bed, and had to call my husband and ask him to PLEASE COME HOME FROM WORK RIGHT NOW PLEASE!, but, despite all of my belief to the contrary, I knew I had just experienced something phenomenal (if excruciatingly painful in other ways): I had just experienced an anti-inflammatory relieving some of my incessant fibromyalgia pain.

Imagine that.

So, I don’t know if he’ll ever read this or not, but if he does, then,

Dear My Fibro Doctor: You were right. And I was wrong.

Next time I’ll try to leave the female donkey at home.

ETA: Um, apparently I left out some important details of this story.

1. I was given prescription strength Naproxen w/something to protect my stomach. Now I just take over-the-counter-Aleve, and it is working just fine.
2. It broke me=-incapacitating stomach cramps and nausea. For a while I couldn’t even keep water down. Never had that happen to me before, not even w/C DIFF or my gallbladder surgery or ANYTHING. That was really scary.

Good Words

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The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss and have found their way out of the depths. These people have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
– Carl Ven

Like A Well-Oiled Machine

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Us, tonight, getting ready for company.

My husband: “OK, I’m gonna go start working on the guest room.”

Me: “Is there anything I could help with?”

My husband: “You could bring me a garbage bag so I can dump the cat boxes.”

Me: “OK. But first let me text them about bringing their own pillows.”

My husband goes and does something outside while I am typing on my phone.

My husband (stepping back into the kitchen): “You know, by the time you send that it will be too late to help me.”

Me (still texting): “No, I can do it. See, I’m coming.”

Me: “Oh, wait. There’s no “f” in shortage.”

Laughter from my husband.

My husband (walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a trash bag): “Nope, it’s too late.”

Me (still frantically texting): “No, see, I’m coming. Right now,” I reply, still trying to pretend like I can be any help at all by trailing after him through the house.

Me: “DAMMIT. THERE IS NO “Y” IN SHORTAGE.”

Hysterical, snorting laughter from my husband.

Finally, FINALLY!, the stupid freaking text is sent.

Me: “OK, I’m done. Is there anything I can help you with now?”

My husband (doubtfully): “Well, do you think you could bring me the vacuum cleaner?”

Me: “Um, actually, I think that if I am entrusted with anything more powerful than a pencil and a piece of paper right now, I will probably break the world. “