Fibromyalgia for Dummies

Right on the heels of my last post, when I was all super-Zen and warm-fuzzy about decluttering my life, I was smacked down by The Fibro Flare From Hades.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen (I just totally made up that phrase, but I'm thinking it's going to catch on). 

I hurt, guys.  I hurt real bad (said in my Napoleon Dynamite voice...  Does anyone get that reference?), so I've been a little on edge this week.  And last week.  I'm grouchy.  Actually, there is a more colorful word than grouchy to describe me, but I won't say it.  You can toss about your own proper nouns and adjectives as you see fit.

And did I say I hurt?  Real bad?  All I want to do is beat someone with a sockful of nickels.  Is that so wrong? 

I'm at my most creative, you know, when I'm grouchy and in pain.  Suffering produces Genius.  I'm like Hemingway that way.  I'm sure you've all compared me to Hemingway many times.

But...  As usual, I chose to set aside an opportunity to create anything remotely close to Genius and blog, instead.  I came up with this little top ten list for all my fibro peeps, or anybody who knows/loves someone living with chronic illness or pain.  This is the product of five years' worth of anger, impatience, frustration and pain.  It may seem whiny and self-serving, but it comes from a genuine desire to help other people in my position (and also to make some of you shut up... but mostly the first thing).  And who knows?  It may benefit us both by keeping one of us from beating the other senseless. 

Take a look to determine if any of this applies to you.  If so, know that I still love you ...but I'm adding nickels to the sock as we speak. 

TOP TEN THINGS TO AVOID SAYING OR DOING TO SOMEONE IN CHRONIC PAIN, LEST YOU BE BEATEN WITH A SOCKFUL OF NICKELS:

10.  "It's probably this weather (/time of the year)."
You say this because your joints (or ears, scalp, back or butt) ache(s) when it rains, I guess.  I'll admit, I'm being harsh and overly sensitive with this one... But it's because I hear this All. The. Time.  And I've reached the end of my patience.  Look, I know you mean no harm, but please stop asking me if it's the *#%$ weather.  It's not.  It's Fibromyalgia.  Google it if you don't know what it is, because I shouldn't have to explain it to you every-flipping-time it rains.  Here. I just Googled it for you.

To be completely fair, there is some evidence that fibro pain can flare with changes in the weather, in some people. But it is not caused by weather changes, and personally, I don't notice any correlation between weather and a flare.

One of these days, I'm going to respond to this with, "Really, Al Roker? Is it the weather? Maybe it's the phase of the moon... Maybe it's planetary alignment... Hey- maybe it's your breath causing me pain right now."  If you are the unlucky soul standing before me on the day this happens, I humbly ask in advance for your forgiveness. 

9. "May I count on you to (fill in the blank... teach a Sunday School class, participate in the bake sale or fundraiser next month... whatever)?"

There's nothing wrong with this question, right?  I don't mind being asked to "volunteer" for things.  I LIKE to volunteer for things as I am able, and I WANT to participate in life...  as I am able, BUT...  If you're going to ask, please don't get so bent if I have to respond with: "I'll have to wait and see," "I'll try," or "I'll let you know." I'm NOT being vague, non-committal, or inconsiderate, so don't judge or get frustrated. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you without making promises I'll have to break later. I'm sorry if that interferes with your planning. It sorta interferes with mine, too. 

No matter how much I may want to participate (and I really, really do), saying Yes to anything feels like a lie to me. The only honest answer is "I don't know."  I never know.    Even with my own children, every promise is prefaced with "If I feel good that day, maybe we can..."

Here's the thing...  If you know someone living with chronic pain or illness, that person is living day-by-day.  And that's not by choice.   By all means, invite them to events and encourage them to volunteer or participate.  Just be understanding and don't put pressure on them to commit. 

Right: "We're having a pot luck after the meeting.  I'd love for you to come if you're able."  

Wrong: "I need to know if you're coming to the pot luck and what you plan to bring."

(Obviously, some events require a firm Yes or No and it's not always possible to take a wait-and-see approach to accommodate one person.  I don't expect you to make special allowances for me.  Just don't be so pissy if I'm not able to commit!  If you must have a firm commitment, ask someone who is able to give one.) 

8. "My girlfriend's sister had her some 'o that fibomerralgah... or somethin.  Maybe it was cancer?  She took (fill in the blank... bee pollen, yak dung, cayenne pepper, skunk pee) and she got better."
If we're good friends, I don't mind when you do this.  It shows you care and want to help, and I appreciate that!  But if we're more casually acquainted? Thank you for showing an interest, but... 

You must realize that some of the ideas floating around out there are batcrap crazy, right?  And between the prescriptions, natural remedies, and stupid Internet cures scams I've fallen for out of desperation, I've tried quite a few things. I also try to stay current on the research. If I need any other advice, please let me ask you.

Along these lines...  Please do not ask me which meds I've tried or am currently taking (unless we're really close, or you also have fibro and we're comparing notes). That's a pretty personal question. If I want you to know, I'll tell you. 

7. "But you're ALWAYS tired!"
Why, yes. Yes, I am. You're quite the discerning one, aren't you?  So astute.  See, there's this thing called fatigue... That's part of it. Chronic fatigue, exhaustion, pain and weakness.   Chronic means it doesn't really stop, so that would be a key word, there. 

The problem with this type of remark- aside from the obnoxiousness of stating obvious things- is it's never a mere observation. It's packed with the implication that the fibro peep is not really tired, she is just lazy or making the same old excuse to avoid doing something she doesn't want to do. That's crap.  She really IS that tired. 

6. "Do you think some of this might be, ummm... weight-related? I lost 15 lbs and I feel so much better!"
Really, you little snot?  15 pounds?  That's awesome! Congratulations! Do you have fibromyalgia? Oh...  No?  Okay. Then, wait right here. I have something I want to show you. It's in a sock.  You're gonna love it!

5. "I hear exercise helps."
Um... Yes, it supposedly does. I'll make you a deal: 

1. Let me run over your leg with my car. Just one leg. No biggie.
2. I'll encourage you to jog around the block to see if it helps you feel better.
3. Afterwards, you will have unlimited permission to tout the benefits of exercise while I'm in unholy pain. 

Until then, how about you go for a five mile run... and maybe don't come back?

4. "But you don't LOOK sick!" 
Ummm...  Thank you, I guess...???  Is this a compliment, or an accusation?  Are you simultaneously acknowledging the fact that I look awesome, while insinuating you don't believe I'm sick?  Because that's what it sounds like.

Fibro has absolutely nothing to do with appearance. There's no swelling, no oozing (thank God), no redness, no huge, itchy welts.  I can't help it if I'm able to look absolutely fabulous (snort) while I feel like crap.  Maybe I'm great at faking it?  Didja think of that?  Doesn't mean I'm not miserable on the inside. 

Sure, some days you can definitely see I'm in pain.  My facial expression, being in the same jammies for days, and walking like Frankenstein's monster are clear indicators that I'm having a bad flare.  BUT, looking "good" does NOT mean I feel good. 

While we're on this subject of what, exactly, looks like sickness... 

Seeing me at the mall today after I was too sick to attend church or some event yesterday does not mean you caught me in a lie- so put your pistol down, Sheriff.  It means I'm having a good pain day (because every day is a pain day- there are just differing levels of good and bad) and I'm happy for an opportunity to get out of my house and get something accomplished while I have the chance.  Maybe you could try being happy for me, too.  Or maybe just pull that big stick out of your... 

Moving on...

3. "I've told you this twice already!" (Or, "You told me this twice, already!")

I'm brain dead, guys.  Chronic pain becomes "louder" than what's going on around you, if that makes sense.  If you have migraines, arthritis, or other pain problems, I'm sure you can relate.  Pain takes up all the space in your head. You get stupid.  Unfortunately, my stupid is long-term.  They call it Fibro Fog. And I hate it. As much as the pain itself.

I used to be halfway smart, you know.  And I had an amazing memory.  Uh-MAY-zing.  Not Marilu-Henner-amazing, but amazing.  You could come by, all apologetic and sheepish over the 20 bucks you thought you owed me, and I'd say, "No. I specifically remember you paid me back already. It was a Tuesday, last April. You were wearing a red and white shirt.  I was playing Def Leppard (cuz I'm awesome). We were standing in my kitchen, talking about the economy, and that reminded you of the $20 you owed me. You took two tens out of your purse.  The purse was black with a silver clasp.  One of the tens was all wrinkled...  'Member that?"

...And now? I sit in the corner and eat paste. Then I blog three different times about the same paste-eating incident.  You could tell me I owe you $20 today, even if you know I don't, and I'd probably say, "Ok... Have you seen my purse? ...Do I own a purse? If I give you these 7 quarters, will that equal $20?"

And you would say, "Sweetie... Those aren't quarters. You're holding 2 Rolaids, 2 strawberry cough drops, and what appears to be the button that once held your pants closed. Did you know you're pants are hanging open?  Quarters are silver, hon. And you'd need two more things to equal 7... But good job! I'll ask Darrell about the $20. Go back to your paste."

2. "Have you thought of talking to somebody?" "Maybe you're depressed?"
Oy... Oy, oy, oy.  I'm adding more nickels. I mean it.  For one thing, the words 'talking to somebody' or 'depressed' are always said in a stage whisper, as if the subject is shameful. For another thing, the 'somebody' to whom you refer is a psychiatric professional, obvs, which is meant to imply my "pain" has an emotional or mental cause, and is not a "real" physical illness.

It's not that I think I hurt. I really, honestly hurt.

Depression is a serious thing- and just as real as fibromyalgia- so I don't mean to discount it. There are some similarities and overlaps between the two conditions. Fibro patients can and do become depressed. Of course they do. Being in pain 24/7 isn't fun. But the pain didn't come from the depression- it's the other way around.

And? I'm honestly not depressed.  So please stop asking me that.  Good Lord, peeps.  Actually, I consider myself to be a pretty happy person.  And considering some of the crap we've gone through in the past few years, that's a rare and unusual thing.  Let me have it.  Quit trying to squash it. 

Think about it, guys... I've discussed my pathetic, poverty-stricken state, and the twin I absorbed as a fetus, aka my goiter-sized double chin, aka Chaz Bono- in the same post.   I've told you about marital woes.  And kid troubles.  I may have- during a moment of weakness- mentioned peeing my pants, but we pretend I didn't, so we don't post links to the evidence. I've shared thoughts on my jumblies- as if you'd ever want to hear them- and my Spanx-related fiasco...   These are deeply personal things, peeps.  Things that normal people try to hide.  Do you really think Depression would suddenly cause me to feel shame? That's where I get embarrassed and finally draw the line???  Pffft.

If I suffered from it, I'd probably tell you. Dontcha think?

The judgment and disbelief from morons who took an Intro to Psych class at a community college in 1993 make me depressed. Is there someone I can talk to about that?

1.  Playing "I Can Top That Pain!"
This is the same game women play when they start swapping labor and birth stories.  There's always a scuffle over who takes the prizes for Longest Labor, Hardest Labor, Most Disgusting Tear/Episiotomy, and so on.  Know what I mean?

People love to play this game with fibro, too, making statements like:

• "Oh, yeah, I had something real similar last year when I (fill in the blank... pulled a muscle/twisted my ankle/whatever).  It was excruciating."
• "Insomnia? Yeah, I have that, too. I went to sleep at, like, two this morning."
• "Chronic pain? Tell me about it! Try sitting at a desk all day! Boy, does my back hurt!"
• "My daughter has arthritis, so she REALLY hurts."

That last comment about the arthritis was made to me (in church!) by a lady with a big smile on her face, after she asked me how I was doing.  I made the mistake of giving her the honest answer that I wasn't feeling very well due to fibro pain.  And she REALLY made me mad.  I wanted to respond (in church!) with, "WTH does that mean?!?  'REALLY' hurt?!?  Are you flippin' kidding me?!"  But I didn't. 

It's not a contest, guys!  As a general rule, it's never a good idea to compare your pain to another person's, unless you personally know how their pain feels. It belittles that person's struggle when you compare her pain to something small or temporary, or contrast it with something that "really" hurts. That's insulting and rude. And obnoxious.  And the apex of assiness. 

I really do hurt. I promise. I'm not quite devious enough to mastermind this five-year long scheme in which I fabricate an illness or exaggerate pain just to steal the spotlight from your daughter's arthritis.

And... If you think you know what fibro sleep is like... Ya don't. Especially if you confuse the word 'insomnia' with the phrase "night owl." Staying up until 4 a.m. watching TV, then sleeping in until noon is NOT insomnia. It's what I call a solid 8 hours of sleep.  Fibro peeps do not sleep like you do.  There is no comparison.  So if you really want to make it a competition?  You lose.

Listen, I know life isn't all about me.  I know there are other, bigger things going on besides my piddly-a*$ pain problems, but you know what?  It's not all about you, either.  I'm not saying you shouldn't be allowed to talk about your own aches and pains, or constantly be subjected to my litany of complaints.  In fact (in real life, anyway- not on this blog), I try very hard NOT to do that.

But I shouldn't have to "prove" my pain to you or compete over whose pain is worse.  That's all I'm saying.  People with unseen illnesses don't want your sympathy or even need your empathy.  But would a little validation kill ya?

And there you have it.  The main point to take from this is...  People are idiots (Nooo, I'm Kidding!  Sort of). The point is- Just do unto others as you'd have them do unto you (another phrase I just came up with that I believe will catch on). 

Be willing to learn more, care more, speak less, give the benefit of the doubt.  Avoid stupidity when you can help it.

Choose compassion.  And avoid the sock.

Declutter...

How's it going with the New Year's resolutions?  I didn't really make any.  I did, however, jump on the bandwagon of choosing one word to define and direct my goals for this year. 

(Before I share it, though, I want to say an early 'Happy Birthday' to my kid...  Happy birthday, Evan! I love you and miss you! Can't wait to have you back home.  Praying that God has some exciting things just around the corner for you and that this year is going to be YOUR year!)

The word I've chosen for 2013 is DECLUTTER.  And that's a doozy of a word.  For me, anyway, it encompasses a-whole-heckuva-lot. 

My hopes to declutter in 2013 (if all goes according to plan) will affect every area of my life, not just my home (although that will be a big part of it).  This isn't just a "I'm finally gonna get organized" kind of thing, although I certainly hope that will happen.  It's more of a "I'm gonna achieve peace and contentment if it kills me" kind of thing.

Here are the specifics, in a long, rambly nutshell.

DECLUTTER my home 
This will actually be the easiest (although not easy), so I'll start here.  My housemates and I do not need 49 t-shirts that are suitable only for sleeping or cleaning house, or 17 pairs of jeans that no longer fit, so that's where I'll start, with decluttering our closets and drawers. 

Ever since getting "sick" (I was diagnosed in 2008), my deep cleaning skills (aw, who are we kidding?  Deep?  Snort!  My cleaning skills, period) have really suffered.  I just don't get down on my hands and knees for anything anymore...  Unless someone drops M&Ms at my feet.  And even then...  It's gotta be a pretty good handful.  So, I'm envisioning something akin to entering a wardrobe and suddenly finding myself in Narnia.  Some of our closets haven't been investigated in a long time and God only knows what I'll find, is what I'm trying to convey.  I don't know if I should expect the process to be tedious, exciting, terrifying, or a combination of all three.

I'll have to remind myself not to feel wasteful when it's time to say goodbye to a "perfectly good" piece of clothing, or fearful that I may get rid of something I'll need in the future.  God will see to my future needs.  But He will not clean out my closets (believe me, I've asked).  Apparently, only I can do that.

I hope to blissfully and thankfully let go of the things that no longer serve us, instead of fearfully clinging to stuff, "just in case."  When I begin to worry that I'm letting go of too much- that I'm really, really going to need these things, I will remind myself of the wise words in Matthew 6:25-34. 

When I daydream (and I will), that I may someday wriggle my buttocks back into the size 8 jeans I've been hanging onto for 22 years, I will declutter my thinking by reminding myself that if I succeed in becoming a size 8 again (heck, even a 10) that accomplishment will deserve a brand new pair of jeans, not some tired, old, out-of-style pair (...My way-too-small Wonder Woman t shirt is not going anywhere, however. Let's just make that clear right now.  You will not even pry it from my cold, dead fingers, because I will be buried in it... even if it has to be slit up the back to make it fit).

Anyhoo...  The unnecessary, material CRAP in my life- It's all going.  And I hope, by the end of the year, I'll have a whole slew of posts showing my progress. 

DECLUTTER my head
This is a biggie, because the success of this one will determine the outcome of every other goal I've set.  I want to rid my head of the centuries-old (okay, maybe not that old, but "half-a-century-old" doesn't roll off the tongue), self-destructive patterns of thinking that bring me down every day. 

While writing this post, I had the pleasure of reading a post called Drops of Awesome, which was shared on Facebook by a friend. If you didn't see it there, I hope you'll read it here.  Honestly...  If you're prone to beating yourself up the way I do, reading this will be one of those epiphany-inducing, life-changing things.  For me, it was pure serendipity... or not. The timing of it was more like a "God thing," as it so closely reflected the new direction my own thoughts have been taking. 

I want to be kinder to myself; cut myself the same amount of slack I'd give you...  Stop looking at myself with a destructive, self-sabotaging throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bath-water mentality that says I'm either perfect, or I absolutely suck.  Cuz guess what?  I'm never, ever perfect.

I hope to focus more on the little, but good things I do- the "drops of awesome"- instead of constantly beating myself up for all the ways I fail each day.

DECLUTTER my time
This one doesn't need much chit-chat, does it?  I mean... just that fact that I'm sitting here blogging right now with laundry to be done, or bills to pay tells you I could find more productive ways to spend my time. On the other hand? What would the two of you do without me?  

I definitely want to carve out more meaningful time with my kids, though.  Not just homeschool time.  Not time spent together watching tv.  But memory-making, fun, REAL time. 

DECLUTTER my body
I want to be healthy.  I want more energy.  I also want to be smaller, but mostly, it's the health thing.  I want those things so badly, yet I never achieve them. 

I think we've established that I'm a picky, horribly unhealthy eater, right?  Seriously, I'm like a 4 year old.  I'd say at least half the foods offered on healthy meal plans are ones I think of as gross (Fish?  No.  I don't do fish.  Veggies?  Sure.  I love loaded baked potatoes, corn on the cob- covered in butter and salt, or a nice healthy salad... topped with bacon, cheddar cheese and blue cheese dressing.  Legumes and beans?  I'll eat beans in chili, but that's about it.  Hummus?  I don't even know what that is.  Never had it.  Don't want it...  See?  I'm ridiculous).  So, when I do try to "eat healthy?" I get hungry and feel deprived... which becomes overwhelming, depressing and, ultimately, unrealistic. 

I know I'll never be healthy if I don't tackle the pickiness problem.  I need to learn to work around it,  or with it- gradually, instead of expecting to change it over night.  This goes back to that idea of throwing the baby out with the bath water.  My approach to eating healthfully (like my approach to everything else) has always been too all or nothing.  I throw out all the junk in the house, eat one "last meal" of good food (like taco pizza followed by chocolate sheet cake or peach cobbler...  You have to really treat yourself the night before you meet your doom, y'know?), then go to bed full, but already feeling sad and deprived over the life I'm leaving behind, and plan to change my entire life beginning at 7:00 the next morning.

It's all about how quickly I can lose a certain number of pounds, instead of being about a sustainable life change.  It boils down to too many radical changes too soon;  too many yucky new foods that I don't know how to prepare.  I'm defeated and eating ice cream by 3:30 pm.  Then, I wait for the next Monday to begin again, because in my all-or-nothing head, diets always start on a Monday, so ultimately every Sunday night becomes a "last meal" night before the "fresh start" on Monday morning.  Is it any wonder I'm fat?

This year, I'm going to focus on feeding myself the way I'd feed a toddler, since I'm so good at behaving like one.  I'm trying to introduce new, healthy foods a little at a time.  Making gradual, positive changes seems so much more doable to me than taking away all the bad foods I love so much.  Right now, for example, I can't imagine a morning that begins without Diet Pepsi. I cannot envision drinking nothing but boring, plain water. Ick. So, for now, I will cling to my beloved DP, but also add a glass or two of water to my day.   I will eat my taco pizza, but with a salad or handful of baby carrots. 

This morning, I had a whole grain English muffin for breakfast.  It had butter and jelly on it, but I ate something whole grain for breakfast.  Yay, me!  Usually, I don't eat breakfast at all, and when I do?  It's chocolate.  Progress, people!

It will be about ADDING, not TAKING AWAY.  Drops of Awesome.  Hopefully, by the end of the year, I will have a bucket full of awesome- those bad foods I adore and crave will have been replaced one by one as I learn to make and like healthier choices, and the process will not have seemed so overwhelming and difficult. 

DECLUTTER my spirit
I want to rid myself of any activity, thought or thing that detracts from my relationship with God and is unhealthy for my soul.  If my spirit suffers, my relationships with those I love will suffer, and of course, I suffer as well.  I want more time in His Word and spent in prayer.  Easier said than done, but that's the goal.  Also?  Maybe I need to think more carefully about what I spend my time watching and reading.  What area(s) of my life am I still withholding from God?  Maybe I need to look more carefully at the people in my life, which leads me to...

DECLUTTER my peeps
I've already touched on this topic a little in my last couple posts.  I use up way too much time and energy dealing with people who do not add anything positive to my life.  Those days are done (I hope).  I do not wish to become more selfish, but maybe a little more self-focused (in a good way!); just in remembering to consider my own well-being and emotional/spiritual health, along with others' when choosing who and what deserves my time. 

DECLUTTER my marriage/other relationships
This does not mean I'm getting a divorce or leaving my family.  Nor am I devising ways (sinister or otherwise) to get rid of family members (heehee).  I'm not even plotting ways to change their behavior.  To me, this means choosing to lay aside my own behaviors that add nothing positive to my relationships.  

Do you have anyone in your life with whom you argue?  Do those arguments ever seem to be um...  let's say "redundant," or unproductive?  Do you ever feel as if you've been having the same, dang argument with someone- over and over and over- for years, with no resolution?  Help me out here, guys.  Surely, I can't be the only one, can I?

What's that oft-used saying about the definition of insanity?  Isn't it "doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results?"  I've thought of that expression quite a bit this last year, since I've pretty much been living it.  Sometimes, it's like I'm in that movie Groundhog Day.  That can start making you feel a little nuts, after a while, guys.  It's not healthy.

When we know certain words, tones, attitudes will only lead to an argument (or all-out, knock-down-drag-out fight) that has no positive solution, what ultimate purpose does it serve?  Arguing for the sake of "fixing" something can be healthy, but, there comes a point...   A point when you know you're not arguing so you can solve or help.  You're arguing so you can hurt.  You're arguing just because that's what you do with this person.  And that can't really even be called an "argument" anymore.  It's bickering.  Petty, obnoxious bickering. 

Oftentimes in relationships, it seems we see a storm brewing and steer toward it; we say our well-rehearsed, destructive lines, with feet even more firmly planted in our already deeply held positions, then we walk away no closer to a solution; only more angry, bitter, and frustrated than before. 

Lather, rinse, repeat.
 
I want to be done with that.  I want to feel like I'm moving forward and making progress, not spinning my wheels.  My life is (at least) half over.  Why waste one more day with anger or petty behaviors?  Those things clog and clutter my relationship with God and affect people I love.  Why give any person that kind of power over my life?  I can't make someone else stop hurting me.  But I can respond to hurt differently.  I can't make other people get along with me.  But I can stop actively participating in conversations that have no productive outcome or benefit.

This will be one of the harder goals to put into practice.  It will mean biting my tongue... A LOT...  And I'm not a tongue-biting kind of girl.  I don't know if you've noticed that.  It will mean refusing to take the bait.  It will mean saying I'm wrong when I know I'm right.  It will mean letting the other guy "win."  So what?  If I can live a calmer, happier, more peaceful life, am I not winning, too?

I think the theme of DECLUTTERING will be a frequent one here in this coming year, as I delve into all the areas of my life that need a little trimming.  I hope I'll have heaps of progress to share. 

What about you?  Did you choose a word, theme, or goal for the year?  Any words of wisdom to share as we all venture into this new year?  If so, I'd love to hear it! 

You know, you all have gotten very quiet and rarely comment.  What gives?  What's the fun in doing all this talking if no one talks back?  Maybe your word for this year should be COMMENT!

What are you worth?

Well, well, well… 

I, Michelle, Blogger Extraordinaire, awesomely awesome creative creator of the Bringing Blogging Back Campaign; the one who was going to single-handedly resurrect The Art of Writing About Absolutely Nothing, have done a darn fine job of keeping up with my own blog lately, haven’t I?

Sorry.

I have a good excuse.  Or excuses.  As some of you know, we had a brand new business open, and then go under, all in the span of 2 weeks.  That was fun.  And a little bit stressful.   When we fail around here, we fail BIG.  We don't go at it half-a**ed. 

Actually, we got the ol' 'flat head and phillips treatment' by Darrell’s business 'partner,' so the business didn’t just end abruptly.  It ended horrendously.  But, we’ll save those unpleasant details for another day.  The subject is still a little tender.  I don't wanna talk about it. 

Shortly after that, we had a death in the family.  Darrell’s uncle passed away last month and Darrell spent the last couple weeks of his uncle’s life taking care of him, pretty much 24/7.  He was an emotional basket case at the time, but is beginning to feel better now.

 And?  I got sick shortly before the time Darrell started staying at the hospital around the clock and have remained that way for the past 4 or 5 weeks, along with the kids, who have taken turns being sick off and on. 

So… do I get a pass for my blogging slackitude?

That last part is what this post is really about.  Not my slackitude.  The part about being sick, I mean.  …Well, not really.  It's not about being sick.  It’s about something I realized yesterday as a result of being sick.  Something big.

I went to the doctor yesterday, hoping to score some tasty antibiotics… or an assisted suicide, because I was ready to die.  I was desperate enough to enthusiastically welcome either one.  Seriously, I felt so, so crappy.  I’d known for about 2 weeks that I’d reached that level of Sick that wasn’t going to clear up on its own, yet I kept putting off making an appointment with the doctor.   First, we didn’t have the money.  Then, we got some money, but I knew there were ‘better’ ways to spend it.  Like on food, and stuff.  Toilet paper.  Slim Jims.  You know.

In the meantime, my throat, ear and chest hurt somethin’ awful, as we say here in Cowcrap County.  Basically, my chest has been congested to the point that I can’t breathe when I lay down.  It feels like Honey Boo Boo’s mom is sitting on my chest (which is a fun sensation for a claustrophobic!  Hello, panic attack!).  So, I keep sitting up throughout the night, gasping for air...  which also means I haven’t been sleeping.  TAdd to that fevers, chills and coughing fits and you got yourself a party.  Those coughing fits have been pretty intense and obnoxious little sleep interrupters, too.  So, I’m literally sick and tired- ha.

And?  A few of the kids and I have pink eye, too, which is a guaranteed good time and a surefire way to feel super sexy.  I'm considering changing my name to Job Jr. if I can be guaranteed that people will know it rhymes with lobe and not lob.

Since we are not insured, and this is The Most Wonderful Ridiculously Expensive Time of the Year, and an office visit costs roughly $56,080.03, I kept thinking hoping praying that I could hold on a little longer and maaaaybe it would clear up by itself.  I kept reminding myself of all the important things we needed the money for, or how many Christmas gifts I could buy for the kids with it.  So, I procrastinated until I literally felt like I needed to be in a hospital. 

Yes, literally. 

Anyhoodie…  The doctor gave me an injection in the office, to get a jump on the respiratory infection I have because I let it get so bad, and prescribed an additional week of oral antibiotics to make sure it cleared up completely, and I got a script for the super good cough syrup that actually works (with codeine or something in it, I think), then he sent me on my not-so-merry way. 

As I stood at the checkout counter, writing my check (for $148 and change- not $56,080.03), I felt horribly guilty.  Yeah...  Guilty.  Overwhelmingly so, like I'd committed a crime.  I felt bad that I couldn't just "tough it out" and get better by myself; that I wasn't a stronger, better person; that I was wasting so much money.  I felt so, so bad to be spending that chunk of my family’s money on the doctor instead of something important. 

Seriously, guys.  I was trying to blink tears out of my eyes as I wrote that check.  Not that anyone would have noticed the tears, thanks to the pink eye.

Then I realized…

I wasn’t spending it on the doctor.  I was spending it on ME.  I was spending it on my health and well-being.  Why was that not important?

And so…  I had an epiphany.  A little voice in my head said, “Have you ever noticed that you always apologize to your husband whenever you schedule a doctor's appointment for yourself?  Every single time.  You say, "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to go to the doctor.  I can't take it anymore," as if it's an act of selfishness or a character defect to be sick.  You know something else?  You believe Christmas gifts for others, or a big ham for Christmas dinner, or even a bag of dog food ranks higher on the list of needs than your own health.  Your problem is not that you don't believe the doctor's visit is worth $148.00.  It's that you don’t believe your health is worth $148.00.  You don’t believe YOU are worth $148.00.” 

Well, cripes.  The little voice is right.  Man, I can't stand that chick sometimes. 

I realized I do this kind of thing a lot (I think we all, as women- and mothers- tend to put others ahead of ourselves, but…).   I am always feeling that I don’t deserve the same things everyone else does.  I often feel guilty for getting or even wanting the same things I believe others deserve.  

…Why is that? 

It’s that way whether it’s my health, or new clothes, or even how I allow others to treat me.  I can think of one or two relationships in my life right now that are… just... Not. Right.  I allow people to treat me in a way that I would never want my children to tolerate being treated.  And I just keep taking it.  Over and over.   

Some of these feelings of insecurity and unworthiness are common, I know, with adoptees.  But, jeez- I’m 46 years old.  That’s old enough to wear big girl panties and deal.  Isn’t it?  Am I destined to feel undeserving and crappy about myself for the rest of my flippin’ life because of something that happened in my infancy?  I'm stilll not sure I buy into that.  It's gotta be something else.  ...Doesn't it?

I’ve noticed the people in my life who tend to walk on me are also the types who are very self-assured and confident.  Or, at least, that’s how they seem.  These are the types who expect respect from others and they get it.  They always believe they are right.  They rarely apologize for being wrong (I feel I’m wrong all the time, for Pete’s sake.  I feel guilty when I know I haven’t done anything wrong.  Sometimes, it feels that apologizing is all I do.).  These people expect to get their way because they believe they deserve it.  They drive me nuts with their arrogance, and yet...  I'm envious of them.  I want what they have; whatever IT is that makes them value themselves so highly.  Not that I'd want to be a self-centered jerk to others.  I don't want to be selfish; I just want to stop feeling guilty every time I want or need something, especially from other people.  I want to stop worrying that I'm putting someone out to ask for something. 

I just want to feel like I'm as worthy as the next guy.  I know, intellectually, that I am.  But I want to KNOW, with every part of me, that I am; to feel that level of confidence.

So...  How do I do that?

Anyone?  Anyone? ...Bueller?

I do know this:  I decided in that doctor’s office yesterday that I will never, ever, ever allow myself to get that sick again before making an appointment and taking care of myself.  

No one, and no thing will ever again convince me that I should tolerate being sick as long as I can.

That doesn't solve the problem, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

And it just keeps getting better...

I've recently been informed that:

A)  My uterus should be tossed in a dumpster sometime soon (This is so incredibly awesome because, as you know, I have no health insurance and am approximately 3 steps above a coal miner from the 1930's on the wealth scale.  Actually, the coal miner could probably afford to take me out to dinner, so maybe he's 3 steps above me.  Want to guess the odds I'll get the surgery anytime in the next few years????  Anyone?  Anyone?  Nil.  My guess is NIL.  Unless I win Publisher's Clearing House, or something.  It could happen, right?  You can have my uterus, but let me keep my dream.)

If I could get my uterus yanked, I'd consider trying to re-purpose the stupid thing (you know how committed I am to recycling, right? *Snort*)  - like maybe make it into a purse or something (Is the average uterus more like the size of a large change purse, or a small clutch?). 

No, if I really am ever fortunate enough to junk it?  I'll be happy to say, "Good riddance, Pesky Uterus!  I shall not miss ye."  I got plenty of use out of it- it blessed me with 5 pretty babies- so I'd be just as happy to excise it myself right now with a dull pair of Fiskars, if possible.  Unfortunately, I'm not that flexible or coordinated.  And we're out of Betadine.

And 2 (...and this is the fun one...):  I may have had a small heart attack back around Nov/Dec. 

...I'm not joking (Yes, it's hard to tell when I'm joking and when I'm not- since I am known for my heart attack humor.  It's the best in the Four State region.  But, I'm not joking.  Sadly.). 

I know it happened sometime around the holidays, because I was stressed and trying to get everything done before company came.  It didn't seem important enough to mention at the time (mostly because I received a wee bit of sarcasm, bordering on ridicule, from someone over it and was embarrassed to tell you about it).

It definitely felt like a heart attack at the time (I guess...  I mean, it felt that way to someone who's never had one- explosion of chest pain, yada yada yada, elephant sitting on the chest, making it hard to breathe, blah blah blah.  You know...  The usual.  Lots of pressure in my head and neck, with a whooshing noise in my ears.  And the back of my neck and jaws hurt like you wouldn't believe.  It was crazy-scary.  I was making things right with Jesus real dang quick, know what I mean?  It was painful as crap and made me weak, shaky and a little sick to my stomach afterwards, too.  I didn't have the whole "pain running down the left arm" thing, but that's more common in men.  I did have some pain in my left shoulder, but truthfully the neck/jaw pain was worse).  

It also looked like a heart attack to my poor, freaked-out kids who were standing there frantic, watching, feeling helpless and screaming, "SHOULD I CALL 911?  MAMA!  WHAT DO I DO?"  I didn't want to scare them any more, so I was trying to act as "okay" as possible, which is kind of stupid now in hindsight.  They were plenty scared anyway and could plainly see something big was happening.  I also didn't want them wasting the paramedic's time until I knew for sure I needed help.  Again, hindsight is 20/20 and makes you feel like an idiot.  I always overreact on the kids' medical stuff and under react on my own.  I kept thinking, "Wait 'til I collapse, then we'll call."  And I didn't collapse, so...  I assumed I was fine.  It couldn't be a heart attack when you're able to stand up on your own and go back in the kitchen to finish baking a cake, right?  Wrong. 

Now my doctor also thinks it may have been a small heart attack (This really is awesome because now I can say "IN YO FACE!" to the certain person who made fun of me at the time [the mocker in question wasn't there to see it], flippantly referring to the whole thing as "my little palpitations," which, in addition to hurting my little feelings and making my poor heart feel attacked all over again, made me want to beat said horse's butt person with a bag or oranges).

(You know the old saying, "Nothing says 'I love you' quite like mocking someone who may have just had a heart attack?"  Wait...  That is a saying, right?)

Anyway, you may refer to our previous coal miner conversation above to see why I will not be getting the cardiac work-up my Dr. wanted anytime soon (This is super-awesome because, without having my heart tested, she feels uncomfortable prescribing the hormones I need to keep that pesky uterus in line, since they carry some risk of heart problems).

Nothing has changed around here on the financial/job front, obviously.  In fact, the hub is basically doing odd jobs/handy man crap for a few dollars here and there.  We no longer have any guarantee that money will be coming in from week to week- no security of knowing the house payment will be made and food will be in the fridge.  I honestly never thought it would get this bad, and yet I'm afraid to imagine how much worse it could get before it's over.  I never, ever thought this would be my life. 

The hub hasn't had a "real" job in so many months, I've lost track.  He and I disagree, um, somewhat about giving up on his company and trying to find employment elsewhere, possibly even switching careers altogether.  As you can imagine, this causes lots of warm, fuzzy feelings between us, so we're experiencing a second honeymoon, of sorts, around here.  It's awesome.  I feel like a girl again.  The romance is palpable as soon as you walk through the door.  Can ya feel it? 

I feel we are way past time to throw in the towel and get a "normal" job, but he isn't ready to give up on owning his own business.  So... 

This leaves me scared out of my mind, nervous, anxious- you name it- and wondering if I should give up on homeschooling the kids, put them all in public school/daycare, and try to find a FT day job.  I think it's time to give up the hope of finding a night job (for myself) or something I can do from home that will actually support this many people. So I'm looking at the FT daytime option, as much as I hate the idea. I worry about working FT outside the home with Fibro/chronic pain, too. That's going to be hard. And it's going to suck. And not being a SAHM and continuing to homeschool the kids goes against everything I ever wanted to do and be as a mom.  But, you know, as a mom, you kinda want to see your kids eat, lol, so...

I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that my uterus and I will be going through it together.  So, that's nice.

I'm suddenly hearing Kelly Clarkson in my head (... what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, somethin somethin somethin...). I feel as if I'm becoming the Queen of Facing Adversity with a Smile and a Joke. But the terrified chick underneath all the jokes is starting to wonder how much more she can take. 

I know it's hard for people to listen to this kind of stuff and I apologize for that.  Money problems are awkward to discuss and make everyone who isn't going through them feel uncomfortable.  But, you know me- I figure, why not tell the truth about stuff?  And you want to know a secret?  Money problems sorta make the people who are experiencing them feel uncomfortable, too.  So, at least it's a feeling we can all share.

Since no one, including me, likes to hear all this negative crap, I'll balance it out with something positive and say that it really is incredible the way God continues to take care of us on so little.  Despite my looming fears about hungry kids and home foreclosures, my kids have never missed a meal (I've missed several- yet I'm still huge.  Go figure) and we still, for now anyway, have a roof over our heads.  I don't know how He's doing it.  I really don't.  We've learned to live on less, sure, but I genuinely don't see how a household of 7 is staying fed on what we're making.  God is unbelievably, undeservedly, amazingly GOOD to me. 

Speaking of goodness...  Did I mention yet that I was able to go to the Dr. because my kids all pooled their money together and paid for me to go?  That was my Mother's Day gift and it's one of the sweetest gifts I've ever been given.  I am beyond blessed.  What is a word that means more than blessed?  Bragging on my babies is almost as nauseating as discussing our financial problems, I know, but I don't care.  They're good kids and deserve a little bragging every now and then.  They are my reasons to keep going; the ones who make this whole thing tolerable...  They are the silver lining in my really big, dark, crappy cloud; seven bright spots on a dismal, dreary landscape; my sunshine on a cloudy day (sorry, Temptations);  the white daisies in my field of horse poop.  I'm quite poetic, am I not?  I'm thankful for my babies, is the general sentiment I'm trying to convey here.

You know...  Picasso once said, "I'd like to live as a poor man with lots of money." Unfortunately, I've had ample opportunity to learn exactly what that means. If only I could have it both ways- to keep the lessons I've learned; to continue to appreciate the sweetness of small things... To remain focused on gratitude, and what truly matters (and what does not); to be content with less ...while still having enormous amounts of cash!  Yes...  that would be good.

Happy New Year!

Hey!  Long time, no blog.  I'm turning into one of those horrible bloggers, like that Looking For George lady who leaves her admiring readers dangling for months at a time (hint, hint). 

I'm sorry, precious readers.  All two of you.  I would promise to do better in the future, but I'd be lying.

I hope you had a very merry Christmas.  Ours was nice, but hectic for the person who does all the planning, shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking, decorating, falling down crying, etc...  I assume most of you can relate.  It's, um, infuriating nauseating frustrating funny to look around on Christmas Day and see people lounging on the couch, looking exhausted, when you know darn good and well that you did all the work, isn't it?  Yeah...  funny.

We got lots of great pictures of Christmas morning this year!  You won't be seeing any of them, however, because there was no memory card in the camera. By the time we realized it, the gifts were opened and the excitement was over. I did get a couple cute pics of this guy, though:

For the second year in a row, I did all my holiday preparations while feeling sick, which put a damper on my Christmas spirit. I hope feeling like crap at Christmas is not the beginning of a new Holiday Tradition. All in all, though, it was a good Christmas. We were greatly blessed by a generous soul who made sure our kids would have gifts to open, and that made my Christmas morning, sick or not, PERFECT! I know Christmas is not all about the gifts. Of course, I know that. But still... You can't help feeling like a loser parent to think you might have nothing to give your kids. Thankfully, that didn't happen (and thank you, again to the sweetheart who helped us!).

Which brings me to topics 2 and 3...  You guys have been so awesome to keep checking in on us and asking about how I'm feeling or about Darrell's job and our financial situation, so I feel I owe you an update.  To be honest, I've avoided it because I don't have any positive news to report, and I hate to be a downer. 

As far as my health goes...  Oy.  It's pretty much the same.  I feel like crap a good part of the time.  Still in pain.  Still not in a position to go to a new doctor or try any new treatment options, so I'm just trying to manage on my own for now.   I'm currently trying to alleviate the Fibro symptoms with exercise, which goes against what my common sense tells me to do (why would anyone hurt themselves on purpose, right?), but I'm willing to try anything at this point.   So far, I can't say it's helping.  If anything, I'm hurting more and feeling much more run down than usual (keep in mind, that on an average day I already feel as if I've been working out for a long time anyway, even if I've done nothing).  But, I haven't been doing it very long and, from what I've read, it can take months to feel any improvement.

Speaking of Fibro...
For my family and friends: I found something I'd love for you to read regarding Fibromyalgia: Ten Things NOT to Say to Someone Who Has Fibromyalgia.    It's not too long, so it won't take much of your time, and I would sincerely appreciate it!

I can honestly say I've had some variation of each of these said to me.  Some of them are said often.  And it can be hurtful. 

I try to be understanding (Bless your heart.  You don't know what you're talking about), so if you've said these things to me, chances are I've forgiven you and love you anyway.  Probably.  Maybe. 

Here's the thing...  If you don't have Fibro yourself, it's best not to make snap judgments or assumptions about things you have not personally experienced and do not understand.  And maybe, when we don't know what we are talking about, we should, um, just stop talking.  Possibly?  That seems to be common sense, and could be applied to anything really, not just Fibro, but it's amazing the hurtful, moronic things we can say to others with the best of intentions, isn't it? 

(In other words, I'm getting a little sick of the assumption, and insinuation, that I'm just lazy and maybe if I just moved a little more/went on a diet/tried harder/insert other assinine suggestion here, I'd feel better.  So, please...  If you care enough about me to make a comment or suggestion on my health- I thank you for your concern; I know you want to help me- but please, please also care enough about me to read the above list and/or educate yourself just a little on the topic before you choose to comment in the future).

On to other, happier (?), things...  The Great Poverty Debacle of 2011: 
I have applied and reapplied for every single night job I've heard of, with no luck.  Darrell has been able to stay busy doing "small jobs," but nothing big has come along. By small jobs, I don't necessarily mean the size of the project, or length of time the job takes- I mean the income has barely covered our most basic expenses. He just finished his last week on the job he's been working on, with nothing else lined up. To me, those are the scariest words in the English language right now: Nothing else lined up.

My running joke this year has been "we're too poor to file for bankruptcy!"  Only it's no joke.  And it's not funny.  So, I don't know why I keep referring to it as a joke.  That seems kinda weird now that I think about it.

I hope you're not reading this whole thing as a pity party or whine-fest.  See?  This is why I put off blogging because it all sounds like such a downer.  But I truly do not feel sorry for myself.  I definitely DO worry. I fear. But abject terror and self pity are two different things.  I have moments of pity party-ish tears and gripes. But I know there are so many people in our country right now in the same boat or worse. I am truly thankful for the fact that we still have a home and my babies have never gone hungry. But some of you guys have asked how things are, and... This is how things are.  Blah, blah, blah...  You've heard me say all this before.

Fortunately, through the goodness, mercy and grace of God, that same kind and generous relative who helped us at Christmas has been helping us throughout the year here and there to keep food on the table, keep the lights on, etc.  Truthfully, we would not still have a roof over our heads if not for "Benefactor X."  Needless to say, we have been beyond grateful. 

And therein lies the upside to hardship that no one tells you: Being in a position of need, and having no choice but to accept help, while indescribably embarrassing and humbling, allows you to experience a level of gratitude that you never would have known, otherwise- which has done us a lot of good.  I thought I was grateful for all I had before.  I am grateful now. 

And a little humbling is good for all of us from time to time, don't you think?  Your pride takes a huge hit when you have to accept help, and apparently I was waaaay more prideful than I ever realized.  I've really had a tough time learning to receive.  So...  as our bank account continues to shrink, hopefully, our characters are growing.  At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

I don't know what God has in store for us in this coming year, but I hope and pray 2012 will be better than 2011.  I trust there will be something good coming, but I've been trusting in that for over a year now and I don't mind telling you I am scared to death as I consider what the next year may throw at us.  I would love it if 2012 could be a bit less terror-filled.  Maybe a bit more stress-free... 

For me 2011 will be remembered as a year of struggle, mixed with moments of incredible blessing.  I'm ready to say good-bye to The Year of Stress and Strain.  Don't let the door hit you on your way out.  Welcome, 2012!  Please be nicer to me than your predecessor.

I hope 2012 will be a great year for you, as well.  Friends, thank you for sticking with me this past year.  Thanks for making me laugh when I desperately needed to, for listening to my gripes, for continually praying for me, and for the precious gift of your friendship.  May the coming year bring blessings to all of us! 

Fibro Follies, Part One

I didn't know what to call this post, so I settled for the above title.  ...Meh. 

If you have any quippy, funny, smarty-pants ideas for future post titles on the topic of Fibromyalgia, I'd love to hear them, my darling, precious 4 remaining readers.

I received a few emails after my post the other day (about the pain I'm in), as well as a comment or two here, and I wanted to clarify a couple things.  I hope those of you who wrote me personally won't mind if I answer here... ???  I'm busy lazy and it's easier.   

If my goofy health and/or Fibromyalgia is of zero interest to you, skip this one.

For starters...  I think one or two of those who emailed may have missed this post where I finally "came clean" about my struggle with chronic pain.  This is not a new situation, nor is it an undiagnosed one (although I'm not 100% convinced the diagnosis is accurate, but you can read about that here). 

Thanks for your concern and prayers.  There's no reason to worry about me, but I wouldn't exactly complain if you kept the prayers coming.

Now...  As to the "you sound really depressed" issue.  Do I?  Do I seem a little down?  Huh.  I can't imagine why that would be! 

Sorry.  I'm done being a smarta*$ now.  I do appreciate your input and I don't mean to make fun.  You know me.  I'm a snot. 

Yes, I feel a bit depressed at times.  BUT, I can assure you any depression I'm feeling is the RESULT of the pain I'm in and whatever is making me sick, and NOT the CAUSE.  This is not one of those "chicken or the egg" things, open to debate.  I have no doubt which issue came first- the pain and fatigue.  It is very, very, very, very hard (I hope that was enough very's to make my point clear) to feel upbeat when:

1. You HURT all the flipping time.
2. Your daily routine- no, your entire life- has been totally turned upside down, and there's not a darn thing you can do about it.
3. Your ability to be productive, feel useful, and even interact with your kids has been shot to he**.

If I may elaborate on that third point just a bit...  I have always (even years before getting "sick") based my self-worth on my productivity.  Meaning: How clean can I keep my house?  How well can I keep up with laundry?  How much "quality" time can I spend with my kids?  And even- How smart are my children (not entirely under my control, I know, but being a homeschool mom means even that is a responsibility I carry on my shoulders)?  

If I'm not living up to my own twisted standard of being the perfect mom, I start to feel down on myself.  I've always known I expect waaaaay too much from myself, but that's how I am, just the same.   I am trying to cut myself more slack now that life is "different," but, right or wrong, I've always considered myself useful when I can look around and see all the worthwhile things I've done.

And now?  I don't do anything useful.  At least that's how it feels to me.  I don't clean.  I'm not outside playing with my kids.  I rarely cook.  If I do, it's exhausting.  For example, I burst into tears the other day because I was making dinner and trying to slice through a stick of butter but I wasn't strong enough to do it.  My shaking hand and weak arm couldn't do it.  My collar bone was screaming at me; begging me to stop.  Darrell had to take over.  It was BUTTER, for Pete's sake. 

So yeah, there's some depression sneaking in there.  However, I do not consider myself a depressed person.  There's a huge difference, I think.  I don't think I "suffer" from Depression.  Any suffering I'm doing is from physical pain only (and I really don't like using that word- "suffer"...  Parents who lose a child suffer.  Captured soldiers suffer.  I just hurt).

I understand that Fibro is not a widely understood condition, so I don't get offended when you toss out ideas like the depression thing.  Don't worry about offending me.  Why on Earth would I be offended by a caring friend?  Again, thanks...  But, I'm good. 

I also do not think I'm suffering from a stress-related pain "disorder" (I think I also got a comment or an email about that).  The way my last post was worded could have easily been interpreted to mean that my pain and stress level are linked.  In fact, I apparently gave my mother the impression that her impending visit was causing me more pain (Whoopsie!  Sorry, Mom. 8( )!  Not what I intended to say at all!  This recent pain flare-up started before we heard mom was coming, and before the water pipes broke.  I was just kind of chillin' and minding my own business, then BAM!). Truthfully, I would be thrilled if Fibro was brought on by stress!  That would mean two things:

1. During times of low stress, I would be pain free.  I would LOVE that.
2. I could anticipate and prepare for pain flares when a stressful event was coming on.  That, too, would be awesome!  As it stands right now, there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to my flare-ups.  I can't predict when it will happen.  I've had to cancel many, many events I looked forward to because of it, and fake my way through others I couldn't cancel, while I felt like I was dying.  It would be so much easier, from a scheduling standpoint, if I could predict a flare-up.

Now, to answer another emailed question ("What does it feel like?")... This is the part I hate describing, because I fear sounding like a big pansy.  I don't want to come across like I'm exaggerating for effect, and I'm certainly not trying to complain, get sympathy, or throw a pity party.  I'm just answering your question as honestly as possible, okay?  Okay... 

Fibro pain is in the bones and muscles.  I have "spots" that hurt all the time, as well as areas that don't bother me much until a bad flare-up hits.  The daily pain level ranges from something akin to a really bad bruise- only painful upon pressure (I like the times when it feels like a really bad bruise.  Those are what I consider "good" days), to a pulled muscle, a sprain, an arthritic joint, and even sometimes like the day after exercising too hard- sore and stiff.  Then, I also have "flares" when certain spots become extremely painful for God-only-knows how long.  When I'm having a flare-up, the pulled muscle feeling becomes more like a broken bone feeling, or an "Oh dear Lord, there is a metal spike being driven into the middle of my shoulder, hip (etc)" feeling.  Right now, my left collar bone and shoulder area feels "broken" to me- it's almost not functional.  The pain is a constant, sharp ache.  The other collar bone aches (and I'd probably smack you if you touched it-lol), but doesn't feel as "debilitating," so the pain doesn't always affect both sides equally.  There is stiffness and weakness involved. Sometimes the weakness makes me shake.

It seems to be a "spreading" kind of thing.  Meaning, as recent as a year ago, my collar bones didn't really bother me at all.  The year before that, my elbows weren't affected.  I guess you'd call it degenerative, maybe?  That makes it sound so serious, though.  Like I have a horrible disease.  I don't mean to make it sound that way, but I think it's pretty common in most Fibro folks that it continues to worsen and affect more of their bodies as time goes on.

There is also an extreme fatigue component, so it's not just about the pain.  I feel worn out all the time.  There is never a time when I feel refreshed and rested.  Never.  And I don't sleep well.  I've given up on hoping for sleep.  I haven't slept normally since I started getting sick.  I talked about all that before, though- in that previous post I mentioned above.

Oh, and yes- it does hurt to touch me.  I used to love Darrell's back rubs.  Not anymore.  I cringe when someone approaches me for a hug.  If you accidentally "tap" my elbow, I might jump out of my skin.  I used to think of myself as having a pretty high threshold for pain... well, actually I still do, but it wouldn't look that way to you.  To an outsider who can't see any reason I'd be in pain (no black and blue marks, no bones jutting out of my skin, no red, swollen areas, etc), I'm sure I appear to be very wimpy and jumpy over the littlest thing.

This is getting long, so I'll cover the other questions I was asked soon, in a Part Two.  If you have a question, feel free to ask and I'll try to include the answer. 

What a week I'm having...

This is going to sound like a Complaint Post, but it's not.  It's simply a recap of the past week.  If it's whiny, I'm oh-so-sorry.  I'll try to say something happy at the end to balance it out.

Last week, I started feeling a pain flare coming on which was concentrated mostly in my left shoulder, collar bone and down my arm.  Several days into it, my arm wasn't working well, and I realized I wasn't going to get much accomplished around the house... or anywhere else for that matter.  I'd had a rough and busy 4-5 days anyway, so I decided to take a day off and hope the pain got better.

This is around the time I found out we will soon be having out-of-town visitors. 

Of course. 

These are the kind of out-of-town visitors for whom you scurry around like a psychotic person.  The kind whose impending arrival can cause you to spew every form of hateful commentary at your precious children.   But, and this is important, we're very happy they're coming.

As the days went on, the pain continued to worsen.  It moved up my shoulder muscles into my neck and down my arm to my elbow.  My left arm is currently a useless, dangly accessory (and have I ever mentioned I'm left-handed?).  It completely ignores my pleas to function and do something useful. 

By the way, in case you ever need such information, I've found that yelling at an appendage to "Pick up that rag and scrub, DA##IT!" is a fairly futile activity.

I made it very clear to my family- in that sweet, loving way I have- that I need as much help from them as possible to get this house in order for company.  "ALL HANDS ON DECK, DA##IT," became the mantra of the week, spoken in sugary tones of maternal love and devotion.

There's been a lot of "DA##IT" around here this past week.  I'm sorry.  I'm not a perfect mom. 

Sometimes, I just think it's fun to state the obvious.

A couple days into the ALL HANDS ON DECK frenzy was around the time I found out from the Water Meter Reading Guy that we have used over 13,000 gallons of water already this month, so there must be a leak in our pipes. 

Of course. 

There went all that "help" I was supposed to be getting.  Darrell had to rent a big yard-digger-upper thing and use all the boys to search for and then repair the leak.  And, oh- snort- did I mention- ooohahahabwaaahaha- that I also forgot to record a BIG check I wrote, so we actually have waaaaay less money than I thought we had?  I didn't?  I can't believe I left that out, because it's a- hahahahaha- really important detail- mwaaaahaha.  I've totally screwed us for the week month!!  I don't know how we'll catch up! Wooo, boy- hahaha!  How's that for a knee-slapper? 

The "missed" check, on top of the rental fee for the yard-digger-upper thing, on top of the huge water bill we'll have to pay for water we didn't even use, oh and- HAHAHAAAAA- the overdraft fees from the bank!!!  I forgot the overdraft fees we're going to have!  You mix that all together in a big 'ol vat of crazy and what do you get?  Huh?  Do you know? 

You get a huge, writhing-in-agony, half-paralyzed cow, who cries and laughs at the same time and shouts unsavory words at her beautiful, angel-faced babies who are only trying to help.  You get an earsplitting "I CANT TAKE ANOTHER SECOND OF THIS CRAP, DA##IT!" when you tell me we're out of ice cream.  That's what you get.

Darrell and the boys did get the leak repaired (we hope), and they all pitched in around the house yesterday and got a lot done.  Which is awesome.  No complaining there.  However, there is still MUCH to do, and the fat half-a-plegic feels no more ready to scrub or shop than she did last week. 

There's also been the fun little plot twist regarding my toe.  Have I mentioned my toe?  No?  Probably because it would be in poor taste to tell you about my toe.  You'd be really grossed out to hear how my ingrown big toenail on my left foot was hurting so bad that I ended up going after it like Jack the Ripper on meth just so I could walk, and now it's, uh, worse.  Way.  Waaaay worse.  I've hobbled myself.

Kinda funny that I was trying to do an in-home surgical procedure to avoid the cost of going to the doctor, and now I've pretty much guaranteed that a Dr. visit will be absolutely necessary if I want to put any weight on my toe ever again.  Yeah.  That's so, so funny.

Speaking of doctor's visits...  Did I tell you I found out the infection I had in my eyes is the kind of thing that will keep coming back?  I'll always have problems with it.  Oh, Man!  BWWAAAHAHAHA!  It just keeps getting better, does it not?   Oh, wait- I didn't mention that the eye drops are over 70 bucks a (tiny) bottle!  That's the ree-hee-healy funny part.  Not to mention the joy I feel over hearing the words, "Unfortunately, this is something you'll just have to learn to live with," EVERY.  SINGLE.  TIME.  I go to the doctor these days.  How is it possible that all these chronic, recurring conditions have chosen me for their very own?  Huh?  Seriously.

So, anyhoo... what was the original topic?  Oh... Our visitors come next Sunday.  I have one week to do a one-armed, thorough cleaning, catch up on all this dirty laundry that's cluttering the floor, and shop for "company food" (meaning, I don't want to serve PBJ's and chips).  One week.  Yeah, not gonna happen.  I move like a turtle these days.  One week is not enough.  It's just enough time to do a half-a*$ job of it and stress and cry and throw an enormous pity-fueled, expletive-heavy fit in the bathtub, where the kids aren't around to listen, but it's not enough time to make the place sparkle. 

My sparkle days are done, I'm afraid.  And that "clean house" smell I once loved so much?  That smell of lemons, bleach and windex?  That's been replaced by cat pee.  "Welcome, visitors!  Please, come in and relax.  Take a deep, cleansing breath of cat pee!  Aw... the sweet, sweet smells of home."

And oh, yeah...  next Sunday is Father's Day, too- so I also have to run out and get something for the kids to give their dad.   Hahaha.  I have to find a good gift with no money.  "Happy Father's Day, Darrell!  Please accept this can of Pepsi and beef jerky from the gas station.  Live it up, hon, you've earned it!  Sorry if I got a little bit of eye goop on it, there.  Better than the goop from my toe.  Enjoy!" 

Gee whiz, all we need is a trailer, a crawdad on a stick, and a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon to make my Redneck Nightmare complete.

Wait...  I promised to end this post on a happy thought, didn't I?  Let's see...  something positive...  some. thing. positive...

GOT IT!! 

I'm not married to Anthony Weiner!

It's GO time... (exceedingly loooonnng post)

I've been planning to give an update on my stupid health issues for over a month now, but when I stumbled upon this old post, written a little over a year ago, I didn't want to put off writing this any longer.  And it's probably going to be a long one (even longer than my usual), so don't say I didn't warn you.  In fact, I almost split it into two (or three) posts.  If you have no interest in my health, and only come here to hear me say something funny, or extremely stupid and/or personally embarrassing, do yourself a favor and skip this one.

I was humiliated and ashamed of myself as I read last year's post about all the changes I was pledging to make the day before my 43rd birthday.  Needless to say, those changes never happened.  Any weight that I lost was minimal, and quickly regained as soon as I returned to my old, familiar eating habits.  In fact, of the 40 pounds I lost 3-4 years ago, I have now gained back... 40 pounds.  It was gradual; I'd gain 10 lbs here or there, then lose 5, then gain 15, but now it's all back, just the same.   I am now the fattest I've ever been.  Again.  And it shows. 

My Chaz Bono chin/neck appears to be on the verge of giving birth.  I've

decided to name my chin/neck, since she has become such a prominent member of the family.  You see her before you see the rest of me, so it felt rude (and impossible) to keep ignoring her.  She is now Laverne.  I bought Laverne a lovely scarf, but she doesn't like it.  It's itchy.  Naming my chin/neck caused my gigantic arse to become jealous, so it had to have a name, too.  Since my backside is so large, I felt that each side needed a name of her own.  So, now...  The left cheek is Mary Kate, and the right is Ashley (and are you thinking, "Oh, gross," right now about this pic?  It's okay if you are.  You can say it.  Gag if you want to.  That's not me.  Did you think it was me?  Seriously?  Not quite.  Not yet).

Anyway, I still have the same health problems I blogged about in that old post, along with one that I've been keeping a secret from almost everyone.  Only a few friends (and of course, my immediate family) (oh, and the people my husband has told, "so they can pray for me," even though I asked him not to say anything) know about it. 

The "big secret" will be of no interest to my friends in Bloggerville.  It will only matter to those who know me- those who've been kept in the dark about it- or who've been basically lied to every time I told you I'm fine.  If you fall into that group, I'm sorry.  I'm nowhere close to fine. 

Supposedly, I have Fibromyalgia.  I haven't even decided yet if I believe Fibro exists (which is not to say that I think people are lying about their pain.  I don't.  I believe it has become a very popular catch-all diagnosis in recent years when a doctor doesn't know what else is wrong with a patient, to the point that some people are being misdiagnosed with Fibro when they actually have something else). 

Actually, the onset of my "illness" and all the continuing symptoms line up most closely with Lyme disease, from what I've determined through my own research since all this started.  Here's what happened... 

(If you want to shorten this post, and couldn't care less about Fibromyalgia or how I got "sick," skip all the blue type and jump to the end)

Several years ago, I started running a fever and feeling achy, like the flu was coming on...  Only it never did.  I had a solid week to ten days of high fevers and feeling really tired and out of it (but no other flu or cold symptoms, like coughing or congestion, nausea, etc.).  And when I say tired, I mean laying down to take a little nap, then sleeping for the next 18 hours.  This happened several times throughout that week (Thank God Darrell was home at that time to help with the kids, at least).  It was weird.  But, again, we thought I was coming down with something, so it wasn't that weird.  The aches kept getting worse, but finally the fever stopped.  I expected to get better, but the aches and fatigue continued.

After a couple weeks of that, I went to the doctor.  He asked me if I'd had a tick bite and/or a rash when I first got sick, and I said 'No.'  This ruled out Lyme, as far as he was concerned.  But...  Wouldn't it be possible to get a tick bite and a rash in a place you wouldn't necessarily see?  Especially if you're, um, large-ish, like myself?  Now, several years after the fact, I wish the Dr. would've just tested me for Lyme anyway.  He thought it sounded more like Leukemia and tested me for that, as well as for Lupus.  Both were 'negative,' so he said Fibro was the best fit. 

I have never heard or read of another case of Fibromyalgia that initially presented itself with fever.  Plus, I continue to have bouts of unexplained fever.  In fact, I've been running a fever every day for the last three weeks.  Whenever this happens, I hate it.  I always feel like I'm just about to get sick, but never do. 

During the time of waiting to see what was wrong with me, I also started to notice that, as the fatigue became worse and I was feeling more tired, I was actually sleeping less.  It's as if those 10-18 hour "naps" in the beginning were God's way of prepping me to never sleep again.

I don't know what the heck it is, but I do know that I am in pain, to some extent, almost all the time.  Often intense pain.  It does go through 'cycles' (for lack of a better term) where it gets better or worse, but some part of me is always hurting.  The cycles of pain do not seem to follow the cycles of fever, either.  There is no absolute pattern to any of it. 

Right now, as I write this, the bones and muscles all around my collarbones and in my pelvic/hip areas feel like I've been beat to crap in a bad car accident.  I've had times when it's hard to walk, hard to lift my own baby, hard to get myself in and out of the tub or the car.  Oftentimes, weakness comes with the pain, and you can see me visibly shake as I try to lift a glass.  It's ridiculous.  To watch me walk around during these times, you would think I was 40 years older than I am. 

Because of that, I have become a hermit of sorts, even avoiding phone conversations (especially with my mom, who probably thinks I'm a horrible daughter for not keeping in touch as I should.  Sorry, Mom).  The kids always say I have a "pain voice" and they can hear it when I'm hurting.  It took them a while to learn the difference between my pain voice and my angry voice- lol, but now they can hear me say "hi" and know immediately that I'm in pain.  And it's just hard to make small talk or focus on a conversation when you're in pain.  When I'm hurting the worst, I will avoid you like the plague.  I won't go to church, or the store, or any other place.  I'm like an old cat, who will slink off to a closet to die alone (speaking of which...  I just realized I haven't seen Mama Kitty since yesterday...  Hmmm).

The long and short of it is that Fibro has added about twenty years to the way I feel and the way I function.  My "Quality of Life" sucks.  I'm lost in a constant brain fog (pain distracts you from everything else).  I'm slow.  I'm unproductive.  I'm...  pitiful. 
Aside from the pain, the most frustrating aspect of this is the extreme fatigue.  I am tired all the time (but can't sleep, which is also apparently a normal part of Fibro) and always feel worn out, as if I've just been through a rigorous work-out. 

And guess what?  When people see a big woman who says she's tired and is having trouble getting out of a chair, you know what they think?  They think "LAZY!"  "LARD*SS!"  They think, "Maybe you should put down the cake, honey."  That's what they think.  You can see it in a person's face, sometimes...  you know, when they're judging you and making assumptions about who you are based on your weight.  I hate that part of it, too.

I'm no longer on any pharmaceuticals for it.  I tried several (for years) and they didn't work.  I think this lends more evidence to the idea that I have something other than Fibro, but what do I know?  I'm not the one with the degree on my wall.  I'm just the one in pain.  And currently, I'm the one in pain with no health insurance, so there won't be any further testing or prescriptions in my near future.

In addition to the Fibromyalgia-or-whatever-it-is, I still have uncontrolled Diabetes (the fat chick kind, Type 2- not the "born with it" kind), high blood pressure, ridiculously high cholesterol, HORRIBLE insomnia (and have I mentioned I can't sleep?) a bad thyroid, and a hormone imbalance that drives me up the wall ( PCOS- Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome).  And, as long as I'm listing ailments, I've had a new, weird thing going on...  In the past 8 months or so, my armpits have started hurting, too.  What the heck is that?  I have no idea whether or not that's part of Fibro, or Lyme, or any other thing, but it seems like a strange area to be hurting.  It's even painful to shave or put on deodorant.  As if the rest wasn't enough, huh?  Well, I've always had to be a little unusual.  I guess my pits are no different.  I'm a mystery, wrapped in a pancake. 

Wow.  This is a lot of rambling.  Look at all these words!  Are you even still here?  Am I flipping talking to myself again?

It's a little late to make a long story short, but basically...  It's time to take the bull by the you-know-whats and do something.  I don't know what.  But something.  If I don't change my ways, I'm going to die.  I don't mean that to sound all melodramatic, like I'm dying today, or anything...  I just mean I can't reasonably expect to be around for my children's children if I'm going to continue choosing to ignore my health (or at least the parts of my health that I can control, anyway).

I can't do anything about the constant pain or fatigue.  I'm stuck, there.  And the point of mentioning it in this post, is not so that I can whine and complain.  This is not a "poor me" thing.  This is about me being fed up with all the things in life that are beyond my control, and wanting more than ever to get control over the few things I'm able.  I know my weight is to blame for some of this. And some of this is to blame for my weight.  And really, the only thing I have a real shot at controlling is my weight.  And by controlling my weight, maybe I can have a little control over the diabetes, cholesterol, blood pressure, and just maaaaybe, my life expectancy (not that I truly think I can control how long I'll live, but you know what I mean...  I'd like to add a few years if possible).  I'm hoping I can find the strength to knock down this one huge domino in my life, and then that domino will... well, you know how dominoes work.

As far as getting the weight issue taken care of...  I just don't know how to do it.  I know that I'm not going on another diet.  I'm more interested in learning how to eat better, healthier, and more organically, than I am in following some restrictive plan that will leave me feeling deprived and only yield short-term results.

I just want to live a healthier life and feel better.   That sounds like it should be easy.  Why isn't it easy?  Am I really asking for too much?

If you read Looking For George, I'm looking into a lot of the same things Elaine is interested in (bio-identical hormones, etc.) trying to live as naturally and healthfully (??? Healthfully?  Is that a word?) as possible without a reliance on pharmaceuticals.  I'm trying to find more natural ways to manage pain and insomnia effectively (which I haven't yet) and trying to figure out a healthier diet for myself and my family.  That's where I'm struggling the most.  I've told you guys before that I don't know the first thing about eating (or cooking) healthy food. 

I'm very confused right now about what exactly qualifies as healthy and what doesn't.  A lot of "lite" or sugar-free products, like yogurt, for example, contain Aspartame and/or lots of other chemicals.  So is it really better to give up the calories, but eat the chemicals?  OR should I be looking for more natural, unprocessed products that may have a higher calorie count, but contain less "crap?"

I may or may not blog about my little Journey to Health, and my progress (if there is any).  I haven't decided yet.  If I'm successful, will it even matter to anyone but me?  Does anyone have the slightest interest in hearing that one of my fat rolls shrunk by 1/8 of an inch?  And if I'm not successful (again), do I really want my failure recorded here, staring back at me for all eternity, in black and white?  If I do blog about it, maybe it will help keep me accountable?  Or maybe it will just help me lose the 2 readers I still have...  I don't know. 

I certainly will not blog my starting weight, but my goal is to lose 75 pounds, and give Laverne, Mary Kate, and Ashley their walking papers.   I want to be running around outside with Sammy this Summer.  I want to get some type of activity into every day.  This will be very hard to stick with on my "bad pain days," but I hope to do something, even if it's only walking around the block.

I may blog more about my plan, once I know what my plan is going to be.  Right now, I'm confused.  And frustrated.  And feeling like the odds are against me before I even start.  But...  I still have a tiny bit of hope, too.  I feel a change is coming.  And it's just got to be a good one, right?