Plans for today, nearly two months after my bone-breaking fall and still not weightbearing since surgery just a month ago, included a shower and going outside. Early in this injury-surgery-recovery process, I truly could not differentiate between anything that might be related to my leg versus fibromyalgia. In the past, I’d wished fibro was visible, like a broken leg, so people would be able to see how my body suffered and why I wasn’t more active. In late January, there I was, not a wish come true but something akin to it. The injury was serious all by itself. Having walked on it for a couple weeks before I got the order to stay off it completely and then taking a combo of powerful meds in the mix with surgery, general anesthesia, and inability to care for myself, it was a whole new scene. It wasn’t difficult for me to completely ignore fibro, attributing pain and other symptoms to the broken leg situation.
Lord, a vacation from fibro was wonderful. I know it was still there doing its thing, but the prescribed Percocet, the powerful muscle relaxer, anti-nausea and anti-itch medications took over everything. I was able to pay fibro no mind. No need to discuss it; my daily life didn’t revolve around limitations imposed by the disorder.
Now, though, I’m not taking any of the medications prescribed by the surgeon. They can’t be the cause of my dizziness and loss of balance. No crutches in use since the early days, so can’t blame shoulder and neck pain/terrible tightness on that anymore. Yes, I’m unable to deny the interference of fibro in my daily life.
Sadness covers me as life with fibro comes back into primary focus.
I’m in acceptance and commitment therapy now. Most recently, my counselor and I discussed acceptance of MIL coming to live with us. That’s a whole separate issue I promised readers earlier I would bury in some posts. Update: She’s moving in sooner rather than later. I am working to accept this major change and commit to making it work. It’s a project.
I realize in my current set of circumstances I need to accept that fibromyalgia is part of my life, not a foreign virus or bacteria, an enemy that needs to be vanquished. I thought I’d done this already. Apparently not. I suppose some followers will be as fatigued by the subject of fibro as I am. I don’t blame you. So, after a terrible night’s sleep, not because of pain or discomfort related to my leg, and waking up dizzy as hell with very sore shoulder joints, I am not showering today. I still have to use a shower seat, but I’m really tired and don’t feel able to manage. I still hope to go outside. I’m newly fascinated by the wide variety of birdsong in our backyard and the field beyond. The one dog we have left doesn’t go out much and doesn’t chase the birds when she does, so there is a louder chorus than I remember.
Here I am again, tailoring my plans and activities around revolving, uncomfortable fibro symptoms. They’re not going away in a few weeks when I get the okay to walk on my injured leg. No surgery can remove them. No amount of bedrest will heal them. They are in me. Acceptance, rather than disdain, is called for, but I don’t know what that looks like.
p.s. March 20, 2022 – Today is a new day. The sun is shining and I put makeup on for the first time since I broke my leg on January 25, 2022. One day at a time.
p.p.s. Looking back, I had COVID for the first two weeks of this year, immediately following which I broke my leg. I may have put on makeup today for the first time in 2022. Happy New Year.