Today I'm having a bad day - a leftover from yesterday's bad day. I'm sore, slow and stiff. Say that 5 times really fast during a flare! Believe me, it's very difficult to do anything quickly - other than deteriorate - during a fibro flare.
I'm not sure what brought this on and I really don't care. All I know is that I've aged 30 years, seemingly overnight.
It was a 3-Trammy day yesterday with a 'to be continued' question mark hovering over my head before sleep. Sure enough, like B.O. on a teenager, it got all up in my face as soon I opened my eyes in the morning. And the next.
I don't understand why a portion of my brain tells me there is honour in not taking your meds. I didn't give myself a hard time about accepting an epidural during childbirth. Is there, seriously, stoicism in suffering? The rational mind has already answered my own question. Of course there is no valour in needlessly suffering. To what end? So I can wear an imaginary sash and crown? To reassure myself that I am the new and improved, clean, drug-free Fibro Queen? The last time I checked there were no golden statuettes being handed out for 'Fibromite of the Year': Biting the Bullet since Y2K.
If I don't take my pain meds as needed, the outcome is always the same. I curl up in bed and if anyone is foolish enough to approach me, I hiss and snarl like a wounded animal.
This blog has taken me 4 days to write. I've never written during a flare as I typically wait for the pain to subside. Well, it's day 4 of said flare and it's still showing no sign of fucking off.
I'm not cheerful, happy FibroCathy today. This is the reality of fibro. This is Fibro in your Face. It Stinks. I've been in relentless pain since Monday. My past claims about counting (on one hand) the number of times fibro has brought me to tears has been blown to shit - I'm well past double digits now. I'm feeling despondent and desperate. Everything hurts and I'm so over this. I'm in so much pain I want to puke. I laid down for a nap yesterday and woke up 6 hours later. Even the phone ringing beside my head didn't rouse me.
I went to buy groceries last night. I brought along my daughter as I couldn't lift a package of Rice-a-Roni even if I'd wanted to. She did the grunt work while I pointed. My hip lightly grazed the check-out counter and I couldn't stop a loud 'OWWWWWW' from escaping, prompting weird looks from people.
As I tried to settle myself in the evening, I found the house hot. My hair is long and my neck was sweaty so I put up my hair in an elastic band only to find that my hair hurt. How the hell does hair hurt?
I felt terribly guilty telling my husband not to touch me, especially as it was our 26th wedding anniversary yesterday. The slightest sensation sends me through the roof and for all the wrong reasons, honey! I've certainly challenged him in the 'for better or for worse' department.
I realize I'm moany, groany and whiny. I have no inspirational wisdom to impart. No witticisms or optimistic prattle. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.