As tempted as I am to analogize living with fibromyalgia to the ups and downs of a rollercoaster ride, more ups would be required. It’s more like a ferris wheel. Eleven years after the onset and eight since the first of three diagnoses, I think I may be accepting that I am living with chronic pain and fatigue in addition to depression and anxiety.
Recently, I’m experiencing deep, aching pain in the abdominal connective tissues that attach at the hip pointers at one end and the ribcage above the diaphragm at the other. The pain radiates deeply, and my mid back aches as a result. All of this has a deleterious effect on my appetite, which would be great, except that I fail to eat small, substantial protein regularly, instead snacking on easy carbs. Consequently, my blood sugar gets low and I become even more tired, less energetic.
The fatigue is like a wet blanket, weighing me down and making everything harder. On a good day, I get a few hours of get-up-and-go before I tire out. Napping is a wonderful thing, but I rarely feel refreshed upon waking.
Most recently, I’m experiencing leg weakness daily and low-grade fevers intermittently. Fevers are certainly concerning in the days of COVID, but these are not high temps and I don’t have any respiratory issues. Basically, what it boils down to is that I feel like crap most of the time.
Enter acceptance. In my heart of hearts, I was really hoping that the fibro would be relieved when I stopped working due to the pandemic. It’s not. It’s here and continues to cause a very wide variety of symptoms. It sucks. I am thankful daily that I’m not working, on my feet for eight hours a day despite the issues experienced. I am so grateful I can rest between tasks, take things off my list when necessary, and put my feet up when I’m done. I will focus on the positives in life. Who I am is more than the limits imposed by my chronic illness.