My days vacillate between “fighting with Fibro” or “fighting, with Fibro”. It’s astounding to me that I never just get “a day”. Somehow, Fibro is never backseat or unconsidered; it’s always there. Life is *never as it once was.
I thought long and hard for a title for this blog; something that concisely captured this purgatory I now inhabit. What I decided upon is that each day, regardless of whether it is a bad day or a good day, it is always a battle and it is always consumed by the fact that I now have Fibro. And what I know is this: some days, I’m fighting with Fibro: consumed by pain, exhaustion, headaches, dizzy spells and a copious amount of other annoying symptoms that comprise Fibro. Yet other days, I’m fighting, with Fibro: succeeding, with some semblance, at achieving normal. I can manage a trip to the grocery store, an errand, a trip to the Therapist (#loveher), pick up the house, take the dogs for a walk. Each of these phrases capture my world; some days I have all I can do to simply live with it; to endure the pain every time I breathe in, to not cry out when I try to stand, to survive the brain crushing migraine, to not fall over with another dizzy spell, to not endlessly complain or become consumed with “why me’s”. Yet other days, I breathe in the gratitude of having the Fibro take a back seat; the utter joy in managing a dog walk, waking up to realize there’s no agony, relishing in a great night’s sleep, going somewhere fun with the kids, holding tightly to my love’s hand. Somedays I experience both……those days are the worst. To wake up ready to conquer the world; only to have a shower zap my life energy or a dizzy spell relegate me to the couch (again).
In my worst times, I used to pray just for the pain to stop. I thought that somehow, if the pain would just take a break, that life would be vastly improved. I thought wrong. What I have found is that the “good” days are still torture, because it is then that I accomplish things, that I remember what it’s like to be the “old me”, when some semblance of that old me is present. That is when it turns to psychological torture: “maybe I could work”, “if I weren’t so lazy”, “maybe the pain isn’t that bad”, “if I just tried harder”, “maybe they were right and it’s all in my head”. These feelings of self deprecation, self loathing and self-doubt have come to hurt almost as much as the razor blades, migraines and body aches; maybe sometimes more. Which is why I named the blog what I did, because “good” day or “bad”, there is never any longer a day when I’m not “fighting with Fibro”.
So today: I’ll list my accomplishment as this blog post. Tomorrow: stay tuned. Overall: I’m still here, trying to make sense of something that has robbed me profoundly of everything I ever worked for. Now: to turn that robbery into good and purpose. I’m working on it.