(Find a typo, have the pleasure of buying me Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams, cause I ain’t fibro-DF…yet.}
There are fireworks going off in every fiber and fascia of my body. I’m up-regulated from having a super fun day and night, aka overdoing it on Friday. I went to bed feeling fine. Mais non says my body! Saturday I woke in a major fibro flare. My 2018 shall end with a stoned on prescription meds BANG!
One day. It took one fun day to send me into this extreme tailspin. There is no true “rate your pain from 1 to 10” pain chart for fibromyalgia (though that doesn’t stop every health form or practitioner from asking). If charted, it looks like a toddler’s drawing: colored outside and inside the lines, inconsistent, a lil’ crazy, hard to believe, harder to understand, yet all true. Thank goodness for (some) good doctors and ongoing research which aims to turn #fibrowarriors’ toddler-like pain charts into quantifiable data that can be better cared for or cured.
Barring different advice from my pain doctor when her office reopens tomorrow (No one in that department is on call on weekends. Always my luck that A. It’s a weekend and B. The doctor/department I need isn’t on call.), I’m going to take a high dose of Neurontin 3x daily for a few days to (hopefully) end this flare. I call it the Levy Protocol (scroll down the link for her bio).
I could go to the nearby hospital-affiliated Urgent Care, but only if my king bed, favorite comforter from college, and Comfort Cat Claude could come along. Besides, unless they’d give me opiates (big if these days, oy vey iz mir), there’s no point, Anyhoo, stoned or not, I’m more knowledgeable than many practitioners…cause this is MY LIFE I’m fighting for!
An empathetic reader, neighbor and child-lover has come to entertain our hysterical, wild and wildly smart and empathetic Junebug. Rosebud the aerialist/artist/world and peace lover has gone to an impromptu playdate, and Husband has returned home from Whole Foods with my requested Mint Chocolate Cookie Ben & Jerry’s. So, life is not all, in fact, never, all bad. I see the glass. Often, it’s half-full.
These are the last coherent (at least I think they are?) words you’ll hear from me until next year. Woo-hoo, bring on my high as a kite humor, the irritability with anyone/thing aside from Claude and tech, and throw in some extra doped up sleep.
Achievable Hopes for 2019
- Receive my Medical Mary Jane script in the slow (except for all things Mardi Gras) state of Louisiana
- Boost blog traffic and online followers
- Begin writing a non-fiction book
- Daughters: Even more love, fun, life lesson teaching; Husband: More special time
- Get in better physical shape, slowly, slowly, slowly.
Until I’m out of this flare and it’s next year,