I don’t know what I did this time, but I am certainly paying for whatever I did wrong. I’ve been dealing with the mostly downs of fibromyalgia for the last few years. Every time I think I have a handle on things and am going about my business it likes to sneak up and attack like a black ninja kitten. Sometimes I’m able to pinpoint a potential cause, but this time I’m out of ideas other than a general “overdoing it.”
I’ve been in bed, for like, three days now. Trying to unscrew a cap from a plastic water bottle (with the seal already broken) hurts. The pads of my fingers are tender, every pressure point is tender to the touch, and every joint aches. The tag-along migraine is so bad today, I debating eating for hours because I didn’t know if I was going to throw up or not.
I hate this. I hate suffering pain and restriction due to something so intangible without a concrete cause. I hate feeling like I’m losing life or being held back from “normal” activities because there’s a traffic jam on my nerve pathways. I’m missing work–so much work–because of this. Thankfully for me, I’m lucky to have very understanding superiors, though I’m always wondering when that patience will run out. I’ve looked at applying for disability as a temporary option, but it is apparently a very tall order to convince the State that something so intangible as FMS is a very real and debilitating problem.
I try to do all the right things. I meditate. I do yoga, daily. I dance and walk and laugh and surround myself with only the best people. When I’m starting to hurt or get depressed, I go through the endorphin rush Rolodex. Spicy food and some kind of semi-vigorous physical activity are my launch pad and shuttle. I take frequent breaks, at least once an hour, and walk around, stretch, and reset.
The only thing I haven’t really stuck to is diet, mostly because after looking at about all the so-called FMS diets out there I’d be relegated to rabbit food and sometimes fish. I think the most appealing middle-ground I’ve seen is the Paleo diet but with legumes. It’s really the last thing I can think of to do to control this thing, but I don’t trust my willpower to be strict about sticking to a plan. And then if I cheat am I looking at a week in bed, suffering? Is either of it worth it? Meh, I guess giving up even the occasional cheeseburger is better than wallowing in bed playing Sims 3 in my better known role as the Tramadol zombie. Although, to be fair, neither of my kitties complained.
Now I’ve forced myself out of bed and into it’s closest of kin: the recliner. At least, I’m sitting up, right? Tomorrow, I’ll begin the cycle again, waking up with my alarm and trying to go about my day as if it were normal. And I’ll live on, sometimes being a useless schlep and sometimes trying to make up for the days I was unwillingly a useless schlep.