This week, stage, year needs to be over with. Like yesterday.

Ha!  Ooops!

All the forces of Satan are swirling around this home.  :)  If you're looking for good vibes, stay away from me.  I have the worst luck in the entire world.  If there's some small chance something will go wrong, hang around me, it'll happen.  I have the worst luck ever.  When it comes to anything; jobs, a car accident, something I really want, health, it's going to go in the wrong direction.  It always does and such has been my luck since I got married....mmmmm.... he he.  I don't know if it's because Adam and I are seriously complete opposites in the spectrum, or if it's just coincidence.  When I was a teenager and would wish or hope for something, it always happened.  It was so weird.  It always happened.  I was convinced I was invincible, that I had the best luck ever.  Insert Adam.  :)  Poof, there it goes.  It's gotta be that he's a Cancer and I'm a Gemini?  Ha ha ha, whatever the reason, I get scared to walk past a black cat now!  There have been like ten things this week that have needed to go the OTHER way.  They didn't, they decided to go the opposite direction.  One of these days I'll be able to talk about them.  Right now, they're too personal and real because they're happening to us now.  I will share once or if we get out of it.  :)  They're not small things, they're huge.  They're not insignificant, they're a pretty big deal.  We're not talking petty, we're talking survival.  Things we haven't told anyone.  I'm thinking I need to call Miss Cleo.  "Call in fer yer free readin'!"  "Oh child, yep, Satan IS swirlin' roun' yer home, child."

One of these days, I'm going to get a REALLY positive post on here.  :)  I don't know if it's a Fibro thing, an abused child thing, a being freakin' poor college kids thing, or what?  Maybe all?  I started a period from Satan today, (you're welcome, I know you were dying to know that) something else once again fell through for me, I have a migraine, a cold sore, a real good flare up, (I was up until four cleaning the dang house.  Why?  Heck if I know!) and I'm gonna punch someone in the face if I don't get a donut stuffed down my fat face in the next five minutes.  I wanna cry this thing didn't go through.  I'm tired of looking and hoping.  It is my plan, Fribro permitting, (HA, that's a good one!) that one of these days, I'll be so rich, I'll buy my own luck.  Until then, I'll see if Satan wants sprinkles or a jelly-filled.  

   

Being sad or depressed does NOT make you weak, or ungrateful.

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook today, and I loved it.  I thought I'd revolve today's thoughts around it.

If someone's happy ALL THE TIME, no one questions it.  No one thinks twice about it or asks why.  "So and so's such a happy person."  What does that even mean?  So and so never feels sad, ever?  So and so never feels pain?  How do you even begin to define that?  We live in a society that tells us to be happy and uplifting all the time.  One, that's not possible.  Two, it's unrealistic and it's a good way to set someone up for disappointment.  Yes,  I get the idea of it; you try to be as happy and as uplifting as possible in all situations.  What about that person you know who's suffering from Manic Depression?  The lady at church who just lost her newborn to SIDS?  That nice old man in your neighborhood whose wife just left him?  What do you expect of these people?  What about the people you're misjudging?  You think that girl's sad because she's just an unruly teenager.  The truth is, her dad's been beating her and you just told her to straighten up.  Don't pretend you know everything, don't pretend you know the demons people are dealing with.  Don't judge unless you've walked in their shoes; and even then, you still don't have the right to judge, they may be handling it differently than you did.  Just because they're not doing it your way doesn't make it the wrong way. This is how I feel with my disease.  Just because I'm not dying of AIDS doesn't mean my disease is any less painful or significant to me.  I have said it before and I'll say it again, you cannot compare problems.  "She didn't experience as much as I did."  "Well it's not like his disease is causing him to go blind."  "She hasn't even experienced life, what does she know?"  How do you even try to compare pain?  There is no measurement when it comes to pain.  How much or how little, we'll all feel it the same.  No, I won't say, "yes, it's Fibromyalgia, but at least it's not cancer."  I don't have cancer so why would I compare the two?  Just because my arm hasn't been amputated I'm not "allowed" to feel pain?  Like hell, honey, like hell.  Don't you ever find yourself telling someone, "it's ok.  This will pass.  It's not like you're dying."  They're dying inside.  Stop listening to a society that tells you we need to be super-human.  That we need to be stronger.  That we need to pretend like it's fine.  Why on earth would you want to do that???  When you take away your sympathy, you lose your humanity.  How would you know what is it to be healthy when you've never been unhealthy?  How would you know pleasure when you've never felt pain?  How would you feel gratitude when you've never felt despair?  You couldn't, so don't act like negative feelings are "negative."  They're just feelings.  There are no bad or good feelings.  We've labeled them.  Feeling sad could be the motivation for someone that they needed.  It may feel so bad for them, it propels them into a better situation.  Sadness and depression are powerful emotions.  They're human and they're MEANT to be felt as the situation dictates.  Don't tell a person going through a divorce that "everyone goes through this, you'll be alright."  That makes you a jerk.  That makes you insensitive and it's killing your humanity.  No one needs to "suck it up."  They need to deal with the pain.  They need to feel it, and feel it deep.  Denying they're hurting will inhibit the healing process and stop it all together.  Hurt, embrace it.  Cry, let it out.  Be angry about it!  You're right, your husband was a jerk!  You didn't deserve what he did!  You deserve the right to be angry, sad, depressed, and NO ONE has the right to tell you you don't.  Wouldn't it be utterly fantastic if we didn't feel hurt when something bad happened?  Yeah, that's not possible, we'd be robots.  We're human.  Ya know, flesh and blood?  I know it sounds crazy, but that's why it's called human nature.  Shocker, huh?  Embrace your emotions!  All of 'em!  They are neither good or bad.  They're just emotions and they're only what you make of them.  Laugh hard, play hard, be extremely happy during those times life is generous.  Cry, eat chocolate, be depressed the times you need to be.  Learn how to listen to your body, mind and soul.  Don't ignore what they're telling you.  Making light of a serious situation will only set back your healing.  I was abused as a child.  I cry over my lost childhood.  I cry I was ever treated in such a way.  I won't pretend it didn't happen.  I won't pretend it doesn't hurt.  The days I need to cry and be mad about it, I will!  It helps to grieve, you HAVE to grieve in order to heal.  Grieving is good!  It does not make you weak.  It does not make you ungrateful.  It makes you perfectly human, a perfectly healthy human.  If being depressed makes you weak, then being happy makes you flippant.  It's rubbish.  Being happy makes you happy, being sad makes you sad.  That's all.  There's nothing more, there is no reading in between the lines.  It is what it is.  There are stages and this is life.  Let's let go of what society thinks we should be, what our mothers, fathers, mother in laws, etc. think we should be, and be who we know we should be.  Compassionate human beings.        

If it's not one thing, it's another, ugh!

 

Kitty says all.  :)

Diabetes and such.

Today is already starting out to be much better than yesterday was, thank goodness!  My knees are killing me, but hey, if something wasn't hurting, I'd wonder what was wrong.

So just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse yesterday, I was sorely mistaken.  I had a family member question my motives and my intentions, that sucked, and I'm still pretty pissed about it.  Like I wouldn't put my family first?  Ugh, whatever.  Then Adam almost died.  Yes, lemme tell you zee story.  He has type one diabetes as I've mentioned before.  That's the juvenile type.  He got it at fourteen.  Type one and type two are totally different.  With type two, which is caused by obesity and/or family hereditary, your body still creates insulin, it just doesn't accept it.  With type one, insulin dependency and an auto-immune disease, your body doesn't make insulin whatsoever.  That's why they need to supplement with insulin via needles.  With type two, you watch your diet to keep your sugars from getting high.  Type one is a total guessing game.  You have to count your carbohydrates and hope you shoot up the right amount of insulin to cover it.  Too much, you can get very low blood sugars.  Not enough, you can get very high blood sugars.  Adam's been doing well with his sugars, but after said family member insulted me last night, it brought on quite the emotions in both of us.  It was very hurtful, rude, and completely unnecessary to even mention.  The conversation from this lead to emotional distress, which lowers your blood sugars.  He got very low.  A healthy blood sugar range is between 70-120.  He was at 30.  Diabetics have died from being in the 30's.  He had been low for a while I guess, but I didn't know because we were very into our conversation.  By the time I knew something was wrong, he had passed out.  Yes, honest to goodness passed out.  He rolled off the bed and was crumpled up on the floor.  I had to yell at him to get the answers I needed.  Yes, he was low, that was it.  He gets low all the time, it's never a big deal.  He just gets something to eat and that's the end of it.  For him to pass out, it was very bad.  I ran to the kitchen, grabbed his blood sugar monitor and checked him.  30.  I knew it was bad.  I flew to the kitchen and started to make hot chocolate for him.  I tried guessing how much powder to put into it, too much and he would get low again later.  The girls were still awake and came to talk to me.  "Go talk to dad and keep him awake!"  They came into the room thinking their daddy was playing a game.  They started laughing and saying, "daddy, you're so silly, what are you doing?"  I flew in with the cup of hot chocolate and yelled, "daddy's NOT playing, it's his diabetes and he's very low.  He's in big trouble."  The mood shifted quite severely.  Alee watched with glazed over eyes muttering, "I don't want daddy to die."  Sonja sat behind him rubbing his back.  I had to literally lift my husband of 165 pounds back onto the bed, he wasn't moving.  I thought it was already too late at this point.  He wasn't responding except for the occasional moan not to make him drink the hot chocolate.  I told him he didn't have a choice.  I told him Alee and Sonja were in the room watching him and he had to do it for them.  Alee begged her dad to drink the hot chocolate.  He wouldn't open his mouth.  I threatened to call an ambulance and have them deal with him.  Needles, an overnight stay, all the nasty things that come with the hospital.  At first he agreed, he thought it was too late, also.  I knew waiting ten minutes for an ambulance could be detrimental to his health though.  His brain was already starving to death, screaming for food.  I forced open his mouth and poured the hot chocolate down his throat.  He didn't have the strength to lift his head, so I lifted it for him while I crammed liquid down his throat.  He had already soaked all the way through his shirt, sweater and jeans from sweat.  I was surprised at how pale and clammy he was.  The liquid that didn't make it to his mouth soaked him even more.  We got half of the hot chocolate down and he begged me not to make him drink anymore.  I checked his sugars again.  37.  "No, baby, you have to drink a little more, ok?"  He was even more delirious at this point and wouldn't even let me hold his head up anymore.  We laid him back and I poured the drink in his mouth.  Five minutes later he was back up to 109.  He couldn't recall what had happened.  He thought he had been in a different room.  The only thing he could remember was being in really bad shape.  The girls hugged their daddy, grateful he pulled through.  They told him they loved him, and were worried sick.  He got low again, two hours later, with his sugars at 48.  He was much better off this time and I was able to make him hot chocolate that he could drink himself.  The guy's already had a stroke and a heart attack.  Alee asked why daddy would have to live with this.  I told her God must have thought daddy was extra special so he let it happen.  "Why would God let bad things happen if he loved daddy?"  "Because trials make you stronger.  He must have felt daddy was a very tough person who could handle more.  The more you survive, the stronger you become."  She understood and agreed her daddy must be pretty darn special.  "You girls have some sick parents, ya know that?"  They giggled and we realized sitting there, all four of us cuddling, how much our family means to us.  That there is no opportunity, no possession greater than what we were holding in our arms at that very moment.

"...I would that ye should remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day."  

-Alma 38:5               

And then there are days like today...

Days that are just so bad, you wonder why you're alive in the first place.  What's the point in wasting all that air, resources, time, energy?  If you loved someone, why would you ask them to take care of you?  If you loved someone, why would you ask them to take on an extra load?  Ya know that thing I mentioned earlier, the thing I said I was excited for and if it went through, I'd share?  Well, now I'm too embarrassed to share.  Why?  Because.  Here I thought it would bring me more happiness.  It ended up bringing more pain and work for those I love.  Bad idea.  Very bad idea.  I tried.  I really did.  I really do.  Turns out it's never good enough.  Or just enough period.  Turns out this would end up hurting me more than helping me.  It hurts so bad when you're reminded, "your health isn't good enough for this."  I know that dammit, I know.  Please don't remind me, I've spent the last few years trying to convince myself it's not true.  I know it is, that's why it hurts even more.  You'll never understand how painful it is being told you can't do things normal people can do, because you're not well enough to do them.  I'm not even talking about anything amazing.  I'm talking about the little things.  The things you have to do as a human being to survive.  Being told someone can't do something because you're not well enough is the deepest cut you could ever make to someone with a disease like this.  You don't want to believe in Fibromyalgia?  That would be FAR better than telling me that my disease is hindering the people I love most.  It's so interesting, too.  We just got back from my mom's house last night from the Thanksgiving break.  I went with my sister to her class in church.  The lesson was on gratitude.  I raised my hand and shared that even though I have this awful disease, I still try to be grateful for things in life.  Me.  This person here.  This person writing right now how it would be better if I didn't exist at all.  Was it just yesterday?  See?  This is the dark side to Fibromyalgia I've been talking about.  You're getting to see this side as it's happening!  :)  Quite a treat... :)  While I do try, I try the hardest  I can, it's never enough.  It's never enough to cut it.  It never has been, and it never will be.  Yes, I am grateful.  Yes, I do love my life, most of the time.  When I'm not in a funk like this.  These moods don't come too often, thank goodness, but they're enough to start a real good flare up that will remind me that emotional stress isn't good for this disease so I need to be nicer to myself.  Ok, I'll be nicer tomorrow.  Today?  Today it's self-hatred all the way.  What, I told you from time to time there ARE pity parties.  I haven't had one in a while, I guess it was over due.  Ok, so here are instructions to the best pity party ever:

1.  The guilt that you've ruined EVERYONE'S life is number one.  Yes, the guy bagging your groceries.  You've never met him, but I'm sure I've ruined his life in some way!  The guilt I've ruined the lives of those I love the most.  Who would intentionally hurt the people they love?  Someone who has Fibromyalgia, that's who!  'Cause if I had just prayed more, kept my diet better, exercised more, kept healthier relationships and spoke up about my abuse, I wouldn't have this!

2.  Think of ALL the ways you've ruined their lives.  Um, I woke up, I'm alive, I don't do anything but steal their resources, I'm a leech, um..... I'm alive?

3.  Think of ALL the ways they'd be better off without you.  Goodness, imagine what it would be like to have a hot wife that was actually a companion!  Wow, there's a novelty idea!  Someone who actually did housework?  Someone who actually did all the stuff for the kids?  Someone who was educated?  Someone who was drop-dead gorgeous?  Wait, you're telling me there ARE wives like that out there?  Oh, most of them have at least a few of those qualities?  Mmmm, I don't have one.  Check.  Hubby would be better off with someone else.  The kids?  Oy, let's not talk about that one, that one hurts too much.  I'll just let you know I don't do anything a mom should be doing.  :/

4.  Wonder why in the world you're still around.  I sit.  That's what I do.  I sit.  Are you confused, you don't know what that means?  Yeah, neither does my family.

Everyone in life has their purposes.  I'm positive my lot in life was to teach people patience.  Live with me for a week and see if you don't want to kill me.  There, I just taught you patience.  That is my one and only lot in life.  My husband's already very patient.  I don't need to teach him patience, so again I'll ask, what is my purpose of being here?  To hurt everyone?  To hinder everyone?  To have people be embarrassed of me?  She's the "sick one."  The one who can't even take a shower un-assisted.  I don't help anyone, I don't do anything, I don't contribute to anything.  Ya wanna know the crappiest part about it?  That will never change.  This will never go away.  No amount of self-discipline will ever change that.  Ever.  That's what hurts the most.  My family thinks, heck I think for some reason, that one of these days, I'll just "snap out of it."  Like it's a disease you'll snap out of.  I wish this was just a phase.  Just a lazy stage in my life.  That's the thing, I'm not lazy.  I want to be the best mom ever, the best wife ever.  I'm dying to go back to school.  I'm dying to travel, to go places, to see things.  I will never accept the fact that I won't.  I won't do any of the things I want to do.  If I'm just living to survive, I don't want to survive.  If I'm only alive to breath and say, "well, it's better than being dead", then that's not good enough.  It never will be.  This, this is the ugly side of Fibromyalgia.  The guilt, the anger, the anguish, the frustration, the guilt, the pain, the guilt.  The guilt of being someone's problem.  The guilt from being told, "you're not well enough to live like me, like her, like everyone else but you."  You're not well enough, so you sure as hell don't deserve it.  I know it's not meant that way, but if it were you, wouldn't you feel that way, too?  Wouldn't you be mad as Hades if you were told you couldn't do the things you wanted to do?  Not even the things you wanted to do; the things you needed to do.  That's the most painful aspect of it all.  The fact that people look at you like this, treat you like this, and only because you ARE this way.  You are this way, and nothing you do or say will ever change that.  Ever.  You will live a half a life for the rest of your life.  That's not the life for me.  I want it all, or I don't want any of it.  I don't want to be responsible for anyone's pain.  For their suffering.  I am guilty.  I am hurting.  I am scared.  I will be for the rest of this half of a life.  There will be days I feel empowered, days where I feel positive, where I feel like I can kick Fibromyalgia in the eye.  Today is not one of those days.  Today is a day where one simple remark of "you're not healthy enough for this" will crumble my entire insides.  Days like today where my emotional pain will only outweigh my physical pain for a little while.  Just long enough to make the physical pain hurt even more, which will make the emotional pain hurt even more, and so the cycle will continue.  There, now you have found my Achilles heel.

It's one of these days.  Only we don't have money for food.  Yeah, then there's guilt about having had to quit your job of three years because of this disease... Mmmm, yes, pity party was loooong over-due.  

"Luti, what are you thankful for?"

Luti's my nickname if ya didn't figure that one out by now.  What was my answer?  "You wanna ask someone with Fibro what they're thankful for?  Drugs!"  I don't know why, but Thanksgiving is nauseatingly cheesy to me.  Yes, yes, I'm grateful.  All the time, not just 'cause of the turkey.  :)  Today really did have me thinking about what I'm grateful for, though.  My sister's answer to that question?  Her health.  I shot her a dirty glare and told her how lucky she was.  I also told her I'm very grateful she has her health, too.  I hope it's something she never loses.  I hope she'll NEVER understand what I go through.  And in a family ravaged with heart problems, breast cancer, and lots of auto-immune diseases, I cannot stress enough how much I pray she'll never experience these things.  We watched family home videos today.  My sister and I kept saying, wow, look at me before Fibro.  It was weird seeing how much energy I had.  Everything that would normally hurt me now, I'd say, "ouch, Fibro!"  For our Thanksgiving feast, I was seated in the middle of the table, which meant the middle leg on the table was touching my leg.  Ouch!  Really, who hurts from rubbing the table?  This lady, and badly, too, I might add.  I'm not right.  Not right in all the ways you need to be right.  :)  Eh, such is life.  I am terribly grateful, though.  I know I complain a lot, but I am grateful.  Grateful for a whole lot.  I am seriously excited about something, too.  Grateful for this one!  Not gonna say now what it is, but if it goes through, I'll share.  Super excited, wish me luck, hoping all goes as I plan.      

Enjoy your Thanksgiving!

Spending time with mamma this week.  I probably won't write much until I get home.  Gonna try to relax, be pain free, enjoy myself, and gain ten pounds.  Have a WONDERFUL Thanksgiving!  Relax, be pain free, even if that means Thanksgiving's at Denny's this year.

Family get-togethers, they can hurt.

Hoooray, it's the most wonderful time of the year!  With that comes a nice, extra heaping plate of ouch.  First, it's cold, second of all, there's lot's of traveling.  "Mamma, can you help us out with our trip down there?"  "You wanna come for Thanksgiving?"  "Yeah, we don't wanna be alone."  "YES, SURE!"  I love my mamma.  I'm super excited to see my parents and baby sister.  The scary thing?  Making a mad dash to wash things for the trip, pack church clothes, load up the Pack n' Play, bottles, milk, millions of shoes, hair bows, six days worth of clothes, everyone's blankets, pillows, entertainment for the road, snacks, drinks, oy.  When you're packing for four small kids, traveling can be a little bit of a um, a pain.  The prep hurts, the five hours straight on the road of "he hit me!"  "She said I'm smelly!"  The baby wailing at the top of his lungs to be let out of his car seat, their restlessness, their never ending need to use the bathroom, to eat, to drink, the non-stop yelling of my husband, "all of you be quiet before I GIVE you something to cry about!"  The sitting in a car (I get car sick sooo easily and my extremities go numb.) for five hours, then getting to mom's house.  Unpacking, settling everything, feeding the kids, yet AGAIN, taking them to the bathroom, yet again.  Filling sippies for the 80th time for the day.  "Oh, hi, mom!  Didn't see you there!"  :)  Then so continues the "you're stupid", "she took my toy."  I dunno, but beating your kids in someone else's house is just not as appealing as it is in the comfort of your own home.  ;)  Time out's are harder to enforce.  Then there's the baby.  Oy, the baby.  He doesn't sleep in a house that isn't his own.  He will fight sleep until midnight, wake up all throughout the night, and be up early.  Then he's moody the next day and that's miserable.  He's clingy as it is, now that he's in a home he's not used to, he'll be asking to be held non-stop.  He'll follow me everywhere, crying until I hold him.  The kid's a monster.  He weighs a ton.  You can only carry him for so long.  His personalty's nasty as it is.  He was born moody.  I was up all night with him the first night he was born.  He hasn't changed.  Moody, moody baby.  As I write this, he's screaming.  For no reason whatsoever.  He came to this world in a bad mood and it's not going anywhere soon.  If it was just baby alone, that would be bad enough.  But it's not.  It the three "older" ones.  Older my foot.  My oldest is six!  Next is four, next is three.  Then baby at 16 months.  Traveling is NOT fun, or easy.  If it weren't to go see mamma and sister, there's no way I'd do this.  No way!  There ARE fun times to be had though, like when baby FINALLY decides to nap, and when the kids play quietly for five minutes.  That's the little window of fun times to be had.  But they're memories for my kids, for their grandparents and aunt, and hey, I'll get the best Thanksgiving dinner ever!  No one beats mamma's cookin'.

Perspective.

I'm gonna level with ya.

I wasn't sure how raw I wanted to make this blog.  Of course I'm very blunt and very open, but there are still things you keep locked secretly away.  Fibromyalgia can have a very dark side.  I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep this an entirely uplifting blog, give all the truths about Fibromyalgia, or what.  It was just going to be an informative thing.  I realized that if I really wanted to make it that way, I'd have to show the dark side of it, too.  This kind of scares me.  This would show a side to me that no one knows about.  A side to me that would leave me vulnerable.  The abuse I endured as a child toughened me.  It toughened me a lot.  Crying was a weakness, showing emotion or any vulnerability was the worst thing you could do.  Whether or not I still agreed with it, Fibro told me I wouldn't have a choice in the matter.  It's changed me in every way.  Ways I didn't imagine would even be possible.  Let's start at the beginning...

I've felt Fibromyalgia lurking since I was a girl.  The way you get Fibromyalgia is either from too much physical or emotional pain.  It's been proven that kids with abuse are far more likely to develop Fibromyalgia.  It's not rocket science, you can't deal with the pain, you're going to overload your pain receptors.  You'll break it.  Too much physical pain can also overload it as well.  Guess who has Fibromyalgia?  Morgan Freeman.  I was like, "dude, there's no way he has it.  He never would have been able to deal with the demands of filming."  I was right.  He only got it a few years ago from a car accident.  His arm was so damaged in the accident, it overloaded his pain receptors.  I should have dealt with the pain from my abuse better.  Hindsight is so 20/20.  If only we knew then what we know now.  Can't cry over spilled milk.  My abuse was horrendous.  I've never told anyone what's happened to me.  Not the abuse in detail.  Sure, it's easy to say I was sexually, physically and emotionally abused for years by family members and a neighbor.  To go into detail, I dunno.  That one's a bit tougher.  I never told any of my counselor's or friends, and my husband only gets bits and pieces here and there.  The abuse has made me stronger, why would I want to share something that makes me feel weaker?  I don't want to re-hash the past.  I don't want to be labeled, I do not want pity.  I am me.  We're all the way we are because of past events, but they sure don't define who we are.  I had close family members brainwash me.  They figured I was a bad influence for their kids because of my abuse.  They labeled me as stupid, dumb, untalented, boy crazy and a good for nothing trouble maker.  I believed them.  Why wouldn't you believe your family?  The adults in your life who were supposed to protect you?  Children will believe anything.  I did.  They're still stigma's I'm kicking in the a@$ today.  I know they're not true, and now that I have children of my own, it angers me even more.  That people would lie to you because they were jealous.  That they would try to destroy you and rip you apart for their own purposes.  If they're reading this, they'll know who they are.  And I guarantee you they are, 'cause they're nosy.  They'd never ask you to your face how you're doing.  They'd rather watch you from a distance.  Make you think they could care less, but silently watching you, 'cause they're fascinated with you.  Competing with you.  I pray I don't run into any of them ever again.  That's one thing I'm grateful for as far as Fibromyalgia goes.  I'll give you a piece of my mind faster than anyone you've ever met.  I'll tell you you're a sack of hot flamin' poo and then ask if you wanna go to the parking lot to settle this.  :)  Fibro or not, I'll kick your a.  I'll lick my wounds later, but I'll still take you down.  I will not be taken advantage of.  Not anymore.      Whether people want to deny it or not, the trauma's you deal with as a child DO affect you as an adult.  Sometimes, you don't even notice how much until you start trying to function like everyone else around you.  Sometimes you'll deny it's effecting you at all.  I am not one of those people.  I will be the first to tell you I am seriously flawed.  I have so many downfalls, I can't even see the good in me.  I will never deny the fact that I have so many things wrong with me.  You probably think things about me, and I'd be the first to agree with ya.  I realize there's so much I need to work on.  I'm willing to though, 'cause I want to be the best version of me that I can.  I want to be the best in all that I do.  I am not competitive, (okay, I am with my husband, but he's the only one.  Gotta beat him at everything, only 'cause he's that way with me!) I don't seek approval, and the only person I try to ever beat is myself.  To prove to myself that I am contributing, that I am better than what people said I was.  I know I'm better than what they said.  I've already proven it time and time again.  With all these experiences coming from the past, you can't pretend to wonder what the dark side to Fibromyalgia must be.  You almost have to re-hash the past daily because of the way Fibro makes you feel.  Now that you're crippled, you have to fight those voices three times harder.  There are and can be good days.  And then there's the days that your past is sitting on your shoulder, whispering lies.  I try, I try my hardest not to dwell on the lies, because I know that's all they are; lies.  I haven't cried since I was a very small girl.  I've convinced myself crying is weak.  Fibro was all like, "nah!  It'll help you feel better and besides, we've kept enough pain in, we don't have anywhere else to store it."  Okay, if it's to help with less pain, I'll cry.  Ya know, anything to help!  :)  I cry a lot now.  It's insane.  It's like I'm making up for decades worth.  Once I start, it doesn't wanna stop!  I mostly cry because my life was taken from me.  My innocence was raped as a child, my mind was poisoned, my body scarred.  Now my very soul has been taken from me.  When you've been abused, your desire to live is already twice the fight.  Add a disabling disease?  My body, mind and soul have been taken from me.  Where do I get the strength to keep fighting?  I'll never know.  Some days I don't win that battle, though.  There are days I cry my eyes out to my husband.  I tell him living half a life is no life.  I'm tired of only being able to sit back and watch my life passing by.  I'm a bystander of my own life.  Who will I be?  What am I doing?  Where am I going?  What will I do?  My Fibromyalgia gets to answer all those for me.  That pisses me off to no end.  I'm the most stubborn person in the world.  You dare try to tell me what to do, I'll do the opposite.  My mother and I were at odds for many years for this very reason.  I was the most headstrong teenager and I wouldn't be told what to do.  I'm the same as an adult, unfortunately.  Now some disease tells me what to do with my life?  If I had the strength, I'd tell it to go shove itself and ask it if it wanted to take this to the parking lot!  :)  I'd show it!  I don't, I can't.  And the thought of someone or something telling me what to do, how to do it, and how to live my life makes me angry.  It makes me angry as hell.  How dare anything tell me what to do.  I wish I could tell it off, I wish.  I wish I could punch it in the face.  I don't care how many times I say it, it's not fair.  No, life's not fair.  We're not here to talk about you, or what you're thinking.  ;)  I've told you the physical hell of living with this disease.  Now I'm telling you the mental one.  Sometimes I think Fibro is more mentally devastating than physically, if that's even possible.  The biggest one is guilt.  No matter how many people with Fibromyalgia you talk to, they'll all tell you guilt.  That's the biggest one.  Guilt for getting it in the first place.  "If only I'd done this differently, if only I could ignore it and pretend it's not real, if only this hadn't happened to me, if only, if only..."  The "if only" is a game that never goes away.  It's with you for the rest of your life.  I'm angry.  I'm angry and I wish I knew where to channel that anger.  It's not God's fault.  It's not my fault.  It's not anyone's fault.  Doesn't help me feel less angry.  Sometimes I wish it WAS someone's fault.  At least then I'd have something to be mad at!  I feel guilty my kids make comments about it.  I feel guilty they have to ask me every day how I'm feeling, they know it's the difference of a good or bad day for them.  A day playing at the park or being bored at home.  I feel guilty my husband's the only one cleaning, cooking, taking care of the kids non-stop.  I know we swore "in sickness and in health, 'till death do us part."  If the roles were reversed, I wouldn't give it a second thought.  I'd baby him 'till the day I died.  But it's not him, it's me.  I don't want his help.  I'm too prideful, I want to do it myself.  Before Fibromyalgia stole my life, I did my first baby all by myself.  I thought it was my job.  I wanted to do it.  You'd never see him feeding her.  I was the one up until three in the morning, I was the one changing all the diapers, cleaning the house, I did it all.  For years, I begged my husband not to clean or touch a thing in the house, I wanted to do it all.  Funny how the times have changed.  I feel disabled, crippled, useless.  I totally understand why old people are okay with dying.  They don't want to be anyone's problem.  They're tired of their bodies hurting, they want relief and they don't want to live half a life, burdening everyone they love.  That's what I feel.  Except unlike them, I haven't lived a full and satisfying life.  I can't say, "I lived I good life, I did it all, I've seen it all.  Now my body's done and I'm ready to return to my maker."  I haven't done anything, I haven't been anywhere.  My dream is to travel.  Will I ever be able to?  If I ever get there, will I just be stuck at the hotel because of a flare up?  Would I even have the energy and strength to fight the pain long enough?  Would I even enjoy it through the pain?  I heard a friend say she missed a special event for her daughter because of a headache.  I get cluster headaches all the time, migraines at the drop of a hat, and that's the LEAST of my worries.  What  events will I miss?  What will my family not do because of me?  My husband's only looking for jobs in warmer weather because of my disease.  What opportunities will he miss out on because of me?  Will he ever wish he had a healthier wife?  A companion, not a disabled person to take care of?  Will he look back and regret wasting his life on me?  Regretting taking care of me when he could have been out there, having it all?  Will he come to a point where he resents me?  Where he takes care of me begrudgingly?  Where he feels trapped with no way out?  Will my kids grow up telling their spouses and children what a horrible mother I was?  That I was never there for them?  That I never did the small things with them, that I never did the big things with them?  The kids already makes comments.  "You never want to do anything because of your Fibro!  You're always hurting, always tired.  I wish you were the old you."  My oldest daughter remembers me before Fibromyalgia.  She prays every night that God will return her mother back to her.  She's finally moving on to, "please make mamma better.  Please make her feel better again."  Do you have any idea how incredibly gut wrenching that is?  How guilty that would make you feel?  I promised myself that after my childhood, I would give my children the very best.  I'd be the best mom ever.  How quickly I fell short.  How quickly I failed at my biggest goal.  After nine years of being together, there are still times I try to convince my husband to leave me.  To start over.  I want him to have what he deserves.  A good, healthy, energetic, positive, uplifting wife.  A companion, not someone hindering him.  I want my children to have a mother.  Someone who does the things with them I cannot do.  I beg him to release me from this.  To release himself, to release my children.  No one asked for this, so I won't make anyone pay for it.  He never listens, and I can't say I blame him.  I would be the same way for him.  Doesn't make me feel any better or the guilt any less painful.  It hurts to live with Fibromyalgia.  When I say it hurts, I mean it hurts far more than you could ever understand.  It hurts, and then it hurts.  People say I'm inspiring them, that I'm a good example.  If that's how you feel, thank you.  That gives me the strength to keep going.  I want you to know though, that there is a much darker side to this.  I smile because I don't have a choice.  I'm strong because I don't have a choice.  I love and live passionately because I don't have a choice.  I sit here, watching you live your life.  I'm not jealous, I'm envious.  I wish I could have that, too.  I'm happy you get to live your life.  I hope you live it in a way I wish I could live mine.  Do not waste it.  It is a precious gift.  Please don't let things go unsaid.  Please don't let your dreams go, please live them.  It's something people envy you for.  It's a waste not to do everything you've ever wanted to do.  You can and you should.  If you can't do it for you, do it for me.  It would be such a waste, don't let that happen.  There's a saying, "you only get to live once."  Some of us don't even get that.  Please don't waste what I would give my life for.  Hug your children, take them to the park, clean the house for your spouse.  Travel.  Do the things you've been doing begrudgingly, knowing someone out there would kill to do them for you.   

These are a few of my favorite things...

I could go on forever about what I hate, and what hurts me.  There will be days that I will.  Today is going to be a day of pure positive energy.  I've said that people with Fibromyalgia and well, all those suffering with chronic pain and chronic crap really, love comfort.  Mmmm, just the word makes me feel comfortable, and safe.  When I think of comfort, I think of fantastic pajamas.  Fuzzy socks, my heating blanket, lots of water and a good game or book.  I love gaming.  I love just sitting and playing a good game.  I'm a crazy fighter in Skyrim.  I own all the guilds, I wrote the book on Dovakiin, call a dragon to my aid, all the good stuff.  I've spanked that game.  We're seriously so poor, we just now got Fable 3, for twenty bucks.  That's been my new game lately.  Working on beating it a second time.  It's been fun just to sit and rot my mind.  Then there's Star Trek online.  Ooooh, mamma.  That one's fun period, but if you're a total dork like I am, then it's extra nerdalicious.  I've been watching Star Trek for years.  Sometimes even in my daily talk, I use Star Trek lingo.  It's pitiful really.  Hot showers are beautiful.  My showers are so hot my skin is bright red when I get out, it's kind of painful sometimes, too.  My legs can tingle from how hot I make it.  Hubby and I were convinced one of our kids would come out not quite so right because of my showers.  Manicures and pedicures.  I am a make-up artist, and a seriously girly one at that.  My mantra growing up was "beauty before comfort."  I've passed the law onto baby sister.  Now, it's "beauty as fast as I can before Fibro kills me."  Doing my nails makes me feel like I can take on the world.  When the details are polished, everything else just sort of falls into place.  I invested in one of those nail gel thingys.  Ya know the gel nails that you have to cure with a UV light?  The ones you do in the salon?  That's what I have.  What a difference it's made!  I am forever grateful for my gel polish.  Instead of doing my nails every 5 days, I'm now doing 'em every two weeks.  It's so much prettier, too.  Looks thicker, more professional, cleaner, and lasts longer.  I do the gel, then Konad (if you don't know what Konad is, you must not know me at all.  Google it, you'll thank me!) and I'm all set for two weeks.  Lookin' sexy, too.  You'll never, ever, I repeat, never see me without my toes and fingers done.  I don't mean "done" either.  I mean DONE.  Looking absolutely fabulous.  Winter, rain or shine, those babies'll be looking fabulous.  There is no other way.  It must be done this way.  :)  Now, this one's the most bizarre; shaving my legs.  I dunno, it makes me feel comfortable.  Not the actual shaving of my legs, that one makes me tired.  But I seriously feel dirty with nasty ol' legs if I don't.  I feel clean and comfortable with shaved legs.  It also makes me super horny, too.  I dunno, why let those smooth legs go to waste???  Exactly, I agree, those shouldn't be wasted!  Heat.  Oooooh, heat.  My lover, my best friend.  There is no greater comfort.  With seasonal depression, not to mention my serious love of the sun and heat, I go sit on my porch as much as I can.  There's nothing like letting the sun kiss your face.  Nothing.  I could sit in the sun for hours and be perfectly content.  Add a book to it, ahhh.  Add smooth legs, perfectly polished digits, fuzzy socks, pajamas, the sun, AND a book?  Heaven.  That is my heaven on earth.  Today I woke up feeling surprisingly better than I have in a looooong time.  It's surprising too, considering I only had five hours of choppy sleep last night.  I've had a migraine for a week straight.  Woke up Migraine free today.  Even with a migraine, I was grateful that it wasn't a Cluster headache.  You get migraines?  They're NOTHING compared to a Cluster headache.  Unless you've experienced both of them, a migraine would seem bad.  Google Cluster headaches. It is described as being worse than childbirth.  It's the worst pain anyone who's experienced them has ever felt.  It IS worse than childbirth.  I'm quiet when I'm in labor.  Hospital staff never believed me when I said I was having a baby.  They told me I'd be in a lot more pain than I was.  Eh, my periods feel like childbirth.  It felt like I was on my period, which hurt like Satan.  A Cluster headache?  No, there is nothing to compare it to.  I scream like banshee.  THAT is pain.  People commit suicide from these.  Death would be soooo sweet when you have one of these.  So, a migraine is a walk in the park.  Even one that lasts for a week or more at a time.  I was grateful for the migraine and not a Cluster.  You know you're messed up when you're grateful for the lesser pains.  Today, it's the lesser pain.  If you're healthy, PLEASE do not take for granted what you have.  Please, I beg you.  You could never even begin to imagine what you have.  I daydream of switching places with someone on death row!  Is that sick or what?  I think of how unjust it is that someone would willingly do stupid things and waste a perfectly good body, when I'd commit murder to have it.  This is a twisted world.  So many things taken for granted.  Just because I suffer doesn't mean that I don't take things for granted.  I often wonder what it's like on the outside, looking in on me.  What do people look at me thinking I take for granted?  I wish I could see.  It's funny how your mind can become so single minded.  Being in pain has made me seek out the good and comforting things in life.  What could I be missing from my aggressive side?  I am very aggressive, if I didn't have this dumb disease, I'd be out there finding out.  It looks like for now though, I'll only be seeing what's on this side.  And that's not all that bad.  I'm learning so much.  So much.  So much about human behavior, so much about myself, so much about the world.  The world that no one sees but those with chronic illnesses.  What a different world it is, too.  It's a beautiful one.  It hurts, but it's also beautiful.  Do you know I stare at the stars for hours every night?  That's also one of my favorite things, ever.  I could stay up all night star gazing.  I see so many satellite's passing by.  I use the Star Gazer app on my phone to find constellations.  This is hilarious, but I really do it; I plug my heating blanket into the outlet in the house, then sit on my porch, nice and warm, star gazing.  THAT is without a doubt, the most relaxing thing in the world.  It's very centering.  You're this speck, on this speck, that's not even a speck in the universe.  Very humbling, very eye opening.  Very relaxing.  Nothing centers me more than that, not even meditating.  If I end up being forced to live in a city, I shall miss the stars more than anything.  I wish you could see Idaho's nights.  The middle of nowhere Idaho's nights.  I've come to fall in love with this place, I will so miss it.  Mmmm, books.  Books are also another love of mine.  I wish I could live in the library.  What a quiet, peaceful place.  Then surround it with books?  Ach, it's perfection.  Sometimes I just go and sit in the library.  The silence, along with fascinating characters of a book, that's what it's all about.  I devour about two books a week.  When I was pregnant, only with the first mind you and had the time, I was reading a Robert Jordan book every two weeks.  I finished the Wheel of Time series in just a few months.  I devour books like my soul could never be filled enough.  I devour them like Honey Boo Boo set loose at McDonalds.  What, I told you I wasn't tactful.  Books are my life.  I treat them like members of my family, and any disrespect shown to a book in this house will earn you a one way ticket to outer darkness.  :)  I love books.  All of 'em.  I always finish books I start, and I always feel like I know the characters in them.  When I was a girl, I used to pray for the characters in my books.  Before I could even read, my mother was buying me the classics.  My mother would makes us read for an hour every day.  Her taking us to the library was a treat.  It was what we did for fun as kids.  My mother is the same way with books and it's obviously an inherited trait.  I will thank her for the rest of my life for creating such a fire in me for books and knowledge.  I love to learn, I'm the most curious person you'll ever meet.  I wanna know why, how, when.  I can't stand a mystery unsolved, I have to know it all.  My curiosity has put me into hot water more than once, and I'm sure one of these days, it will kill more than cats.  I get my fire and my passion from my mother.  We're so alike, sister included, that it's scary.  It's no wonder we argued so much growing up; people can't stand people like them.  At least the stubborn, feisty ones, that's for sure.  We're Israeli AND Italian, what can I say?  Fire's been passed through my blood.  I have a passion for life, a passion for love, for food, books, culture.  You'd think I was French.  :)  I love life.  I cannot figure out how anyone could see it differently.  I get depression, I wrote the book on it.  I've been to hell and back.  Maybe that's why it's so beautiful to me.  Seeing such darkness has made the light that much brighter, that much sweeter, that much warmer.  I would far rather be on this side than the other.  I would rather enjoy the pleasures in life, rather than fearing the evil that lurks everywhere.  I took the kids to get donuts and chocolate milk this morning for breakfast.  I ran down the isles, pushing the kids in the cart, running over almost every one.  Like I've said, I'm NOT tactful and I sure as heck could care less what anyone thought about me.  My six year old said, "you must be feeling good today, mamma!"  Yeah, I do.  It's not perfect, but it's functioning, which is a big deal for me.  The sun's trying awfully hard to shine through the snow clouds today.  I don't want to miss that.  When I wake up, I never know what the day will bring.  How this disease will either ravage my body, or show me a little mercy.  Today it was the latter, it was a gift.  One I plan on opening, ripping the wrapping paper open as fast as I can.  Enjoying whatever's in there, savoring it until my next merciful day.                      

Go ahead, I dare you!

It's pathetic I even have to address this, but I have to, because it's one one of the most talked about things for people with Fibromyalgia.  Is Fibromyalgia real?  Is is a "waste-basket" diagnosis?  Is it just a face for lazy people?  People get divorces, families are divided, and there is non-stop fighting as to whether Fibromyalgia is a real thing or just an excuse.  Let me just say one thing; this is no different than any other prejudice.  If you can't wrap your small mind around a simple thing like Fibromyalgia, you're probably a very narrow minded person who also deals with other prejudices.  Only very sick people pick on or make life harder for a disabled person.  If you know someone who treats your Fibromyalgia like this, move on.  Easier said than done, I know.  Not understanding your disease and making your already hard enough life even harder, is a form of abuse though.  Fibro symptoms are ten times worse when you're under stress.  Do you really need poison in your life telling you you're lazy and making this up?  A lot of people with Fibromyalgia won't even admit they have it.  I've had a few friends send me private messages saying, "I have Fibromyalgia, too.  Most people don't believe it though and people don't want to hear about pain, so I don't even mention it."  This is appalling.  Not that they feel this way, but that anyone would make them feel this way.  I felt that way for years, hence denying I even had it!  No more.  Fibromyalgia has full blown controlled my life.  I could deny my church, my marriage, or my life as easily as I could deny my disease.  A disease is part of who you are, it isn't who you are, but to deny even having something wrong with you to appease small minded people?  Unbelievable.  I've come to embrace Fibromyalgia.  I have "I fight like a girl!  Fibromyalgia warrior" shirts, a Fibromyalgia necklace, earrings, a purple mouse with butterflies on it, my purple pajamas, man, I'm embracing this!  This will never go away, it's not in my head, I can't pretend this isn't real.  I may as well treat her like a companion.  She's with me for life.  We'll be sisters for life in all our undertakings.  I could try to fight her, what's the point?  That just hurts me, and frankly, I hurt enough.  It's very rare for a doctor to say it isn't real, and let me tell you something, doctors don't know everything!  I know, can you believe that???  Would you be idiot enough to go see a gynecologist for a heart problem or would you go straight to a cardiologist?  Just because someone is a doctor, doesn't make them a specialist in your disease.  Even if they're not experts, Fibromyalgia has made significant strides in the medical field.  Yes, it CAN be proven and if your doctor keeps up to date on his medical education, they'll be properly trained to treat your Fibromyalgia.  The only person this wouldn't be real to, is someone who is too selfish to admit it.  Someone who's so wrapped up in their all knowing, prideful ways, they can't see past the end of their nose.  They'd rather dump their pain and problems on you rather than dealing with it like an adult.  At this point, I don't have time for nay-sayers.  You could call my disease cancer, brain damage, lung disease.  Will it change my symptoms?  A rose by any other name is still a rose.  Call it whatever makes you feel better.  Doesn't change what I'm feeling or dealing with on a daily basis.  I can never tell you what it feels like living with this.  You will NEVER understand until you go through it yourself.  So while I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, I'd also appreciate more understanding.  I don't pretend I understand what you're going through, but I will give you the same courtesy and respect I demand for myself.  I will not allow a single nay-sayer in my life, and hallelujah, my husband feels the same.  Someone at school asked him the other day where he was looking for a job at.  He told them he had a job offer in Vermont.  "That's too cold, though" he said.  "It's not THAT big of a deal." his friend replied.  "Just do winter activities."  "My wife has Fibromyalgia.  The cold kills her, it's a big deal to her."  "What is Fibromyalgia?  My friend's wife has that.  Doesn't that make you very tired?"  My husband laughed.  "Yes, fatigue is just one of the many symptoms.  It's a brain disease.  The pain receptor in your brain over-loads, causing all the nerves in your body to over-react, and be over-stimulated.  It causes non-stop pain."  When he came home and told me, I wanted to cry.  He's a pro in all things Fibro now and sets people straight.  He gets very defensive when people push me past my limits, physically or mentally.  He's very sensitive to my feelings and can even read the pain on my face.  This is the guy who took all four of my kids (mind you, ages 6,4,3 and 16 months!) grocery shopping yesterday so I could deal with a Fibromyalgia flare up in peace.  He heated up rice packs for me before leaving, got me some water and asked if there's anything he could get for me at the store because my stomach was killing me.  He came home, sanitized the kids, :) and made me some toast.  He then did his homework out in the living room while watching the kids so I could read my book and deal with my pain alone.  The guy's golden.  He's set my standards pretty high.  I'd never marry again should he die.  I'd never be satisfied by another man.  He treats me too well.  He's pretty dang sexy, too...Of course I'd treat him the same way if he were in my situation, but he's not.  I appreciate what he does more than he'll ever know.  He won't even take a second glance at a job that would upset my Fibromyalgia.  Ach, I love this guy!  I told him I could do Vermont.  "No, honey, it wold kill you.  It's colder than Idaho and this is killing you.  We couldn't do that."  I am a very, very lucky girl.  I do not take that for granted.  He's made me stronger and is the source of my embracing this damnable thing.  I can embrace it because he holds me up high enough to do it.

Me and my husband.  See?  He holds me up.  :)  I love this man more than anything.

For those less fortunate, do this to these small minded people.  If you're small minded and reading this, here's a dare for you.  Go to Google and type in "is Fibromyalgia real."  Type in "is Fibromyalgia fake."  Good luck finding anything to fuel your prejudice and narrow mind.

Go ahead, Google it, I dare you!

Nothing?  Mmmm...

                             

Holy Jonathan Frakes.

I don't know why, but I slept horribly last night.  I tossed and turned so much.  I think it's 'cause I didn't take my full dose of Tramadol last night.  I did feel a lot of pain.  I thought I could get away with it.  I'm really kind of sick of taking so many pills, all the time.  It's gettin' old.  I learned the hard way though, that sick people need to take their medication, and that sucks.  My mamma raised me so naturally.  Food heals, and essential oils, exercise, and healthy living were about all we needed.  I've raised my kids to be the same way.  I don't let them take medications unless it's absolutely necessary.  My mom and brother take their hypothyroid medication, and we never had second thoughts about it.  Yes, they did try doing things naturally, at first.  They needed something stronger.  When I started taking pain killers for Fibromyalgia, after years of fighting it alone, and missing so much of my life, I was labeled with taking pain killers, by many.  Like I had a choice of what disease I would catch.  Like I had control over what modern medicine offered me.  Did I try natural pain killers?  Yes.  Did I try natural everything?  I sure did.  Trust me when I say I'm the one most disappointed in this.  I'm tired of pills.  I'm tired of medications.  I'm tired of all of this.  Years later, I still think one of these days I'll wake up being me again.  I've heard people with Fibro still do this, even twenty years after getting it.  Some days I'm strong and say I can fight this.  Days like today, I say I can't.  That I'm too tired.  I'm worn too thin.  I hurt too much, and I'm tired of living half a life.  I know I don't have a choice.  Like I can just sit back and say, "Lord, take me now"?  I have four kids.  I do have much more to give.  Days like today, I just won't give it, though.  I know this too shall pass, that days like today do happen.  They happen, but there are better days ahead.  It's how I survive.  I'm trying so hard.  I just wanna cry, give up, and give in.  I have four very strong reasons as to why I can't.  Doesn't mean that days like today I won't feel sorry for myself.  That I won't engorge myself with crappy food and watch some Star Trek and fantasize about Jonathan Frakes all day.  That was a horrible night's rest.  The silver lining to last night's "rest"?  Naughty dreams with Jonathan Frakes.  If you don't know who he is, you're either too young, or you're just not nerdy enough.  No, you're just too young.  He was "numba one!"

Commander Riker, Jonathan Frakes.  Hawt diggigy dog.

  See?  I'm already finding the good in the day!

Fibromyalgia nails; I told ya I was girly...

These were nails I did back in the summer.  I do lots of nail designs and felt it was time for some Fibro luvin'.

Purple and the butterfly.  Fibromyalgia's color and symbol.

A spoon, (see story below) and a hope ribbon.

The Spoon Theory, by Christine Miserandino.

The Spoon Theory is a big deal in the Fibromyalgia community.  It was written by someone who has Lupus. Lupus is an awful auto-immune disease.  Very painful, and a lot of people with Fibromyalgia also have Lupus.  It's a story often used to help stupid (sorry, it's true) people understand that this is real.  Ok, it's also used to help people understand what it's like living with a disease like this.  :)  Glad I don't have to live with people like this, I'm far too outspoken, and to be quite honest, I'm pretty dam rude when it comes to stupid people.  I'll use what spoons I have left to bash you over the head, if needs be.  :)  Sorry, I have a painful disease.  We lose all lady-like qualities we MAY have once possessed.  :)  I used to be only a wee bit tactful before Fibromyalgia, so no worries, I didn't lose much.

The Spoon Theory

by Christine Miserandino www.butyoudontlooksick.com

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.        

Hypoglycemia, and hot chocolate.

Wikipedia had this to say about Hypoglycemia:

Hypoglycemia is an abnormally diminished content of glucose in the blood. The term literally means "low sugar blood." It can produce a variety of symptoms and effects but the principle problems arise from an inadequate supply of glucose to the brain, resulting in impairment of function. Effects can range from mild dysphoria to more serious conditions such as seizures, unconsciousness, and (rarely) permanent brain damage or death.

It's been said that a blood sugar count of 70 or below determines Hypoglycemia. New research has proven that Hypoglycemia occurs when blood sugars drop too fast. For example, if your sugars dropped from 100 to 75 (which is considered a "good" blood sugar level) in 5 minutes, you would feel the effects of Hypoglycemia and THAT is what classifies Hypoglycemia.

 Many people with Fibromyalgia also have Hypoglycemia.  Why?  Who knows?  The connection has not yet been made.  I knew I had Hypoglycemia years before I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. Like I've said, my husband has Type One Diabetes (Juvenile Diabetes.) He's the one who found out I had it. :) From the time I was a little girl, I remember never being able to last three hours for church. I'd black out, see spots, and be the nastiest person you've ever met. I would get ravenous for food, carbs, sugar, anything to help me feel better. It's funny how instincts work. Even as a little girl, I knew the only remedy was food. Our religion believes in fasting for spiritual purposes. I've never fasted a day in my life. I was convinced I had no will power, and I wasn't spiritual enough. I accepted the fact that I was weak, and I could never fast. I still tried, but I could never go more than two to three hours without breaking down and eating. I'd black out, shake like a leaf, and wanna die. After years of marriage and while pregnant with my third child, my husband said to me, "ya know, you have all my symptoms when I get low blood sugars. Maybe you should check yours." We have a house full of glucose checkers for the diabetic. I am terrified of needles, but 30 minutes of talking myself through it, I checked my sugars. 65. I was totally shocked. I have Hypoglycemia? Why? My family's so healthy, what does it mean? I had no idea, but from there on out, I felt better about not being able to fast, and made sure to eat every two hours. Many people get pregnancy induced Hypoglycemia, but I knew mine was not; I'd had these symptoms since I was a very little girl. When I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, I also told her I had Hypoglycemia. She was the second doctor to tell me that this was the stage before Diabetes Type 2. Um, no. I eat healthier than most, I work out, my BMI is on the lower side of the healthy bracket, I wear a size 8 in pants, and I've had this my whole life. You're telling me that people in their 20's get Type 2 Diabetes when they're skinny and healthy? I think not, I'd be a medical wonder. I knew it wasn't true, but it scared me all the same! What was going on with me? She did a glucose test on me. I fasted all night, went in first thing in the morning, and waddia know? I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes. My blood sugars were 120 (120 is the magic number for diagnosing Type 2 Diabetes.) after two hours. I went home devastated. My husband laughed. "Honey, family doctors don't know anything about Diabetes. It takes a specialist to 'read' blood sugars. Check your blood sugars now. Yes, you just had a ton of carbs, of course your sugars were high. Doctors check sugars after two hours when they should be checking them after three. EVERYONE is high after two. Check 'em." I did. I was low. I was at 60. Hubby was right. He went in to my next check up and was the one who explained to my doctor that her diagnosis was wrong. She agreed. She then diagnosed me with Reactive AND Fasting Hypoglycemia. This is rare.  It's usually one or the other.  Reactive means that when you eat too many sugars, and carbs, you'll get low. Fasting means that when you fast, you'll get too low. I have both, so when I eat high carb foods, I get low. When I wake up, I'm low, or if I go more than two hours, I get low. This is why I eat in my sleep sometimes. My Hypoglycemia is powerful, and I've eaten many times in my sleep to help my blood sugars. I've woken up to empty bags of chips that were completely full the night before. When I wake up, I've already eaten or I'm in the middle of eating. It's weird! When I don't sleep walk, I'm usually dreaming about food. Hypoglycemia (think about it, your brain is starving) is what gives me my intense nightmares, too. It makes my brain crazy and over active.

 Hypoglycemia is hereditary, so if someone in your family has it, or if you have Fibromyalgia, have your sugars checked. Two out of my four children have it. My baby is almost a year and a half and he's still taking bottles two to three times a night because of his Hypoglycemia. My four year old wakes up in the middle of the night to eat, and she has intense nightmares, and sleep walks like her mamma. It's exhausting, and it feels like poo. It makes you very emotional, and irrational when you're low. You couldn't drive, that's for sure. You'd probably kill someone. So to deal with this, I can't drink regular drinks. They all have to be diet. People laugh at me when I get a diet drink with my Big Mac. "Dude, you're an idiot. You think I'd be getting a Big Mac if I was worried about my weight, but I'd get a diet drink with it?" :) No more orange juice or fruit drinks, (that is OK, the acid hurts my stomach anyways.) not too many carbs, and plenty of salad's and chicken. Lots of chicken. :) Protein is fabulous for regulating your blood sugars. It keeps you full longer and carries you out longer, does that make sense? It helps regulate your sugars and keeps you full longer. There, that was easier. It makes a world of difference when you eat better. Not so many incidents, and you feel healthier and stronger. When I do need to stuff my face with crap, I just make sure that I eat something healthier in two hours.

 So something I've really missed is hot chocolate. It's cold out, and that's all the holidays are about, hot chocolate! Well, my hubby can't drink regular drinks either (he DOES take shots for food, but liquids go through his system too fast and the insulin doesn't counteract it fast enough. It messes up his sugars bad.) and we both love hot chocolate. Well, the dude's a genius. He's always experimenting with food, (he's the healthier out of the two of us, he's the family cook.:) and came up with the best low carb hot chocolate drink ever! It's great for dieters, Hypoglycemics, Diabetics, and heck, everyone. Sugar's bad for you! :) I can't tell you the fat or caloric content, but each cup contains 2-3 grams of carbs.

 Here's Adam's low carb, hot chocolate recipe:

 1 Tablespoon of baking cocoa

 3 Tablespoons of Splenda, Stevia, or your choice of sweetener. (There needs to be at least 3-4 times more Splenda than cocoa.)

 1/4 cup of water 

Add unsweetened, vanilla flavored Almond Milk to taste (The more you add, the lighter the chocolate taste becomes.)

 Mix the cocoa and Splenda together. Add the water, and heat to a boil. Boil for about two minutes, and add the Almond Milk.

 This makes about 4-5 cups.