tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53232161401991221822024-03-12T21:57:11.938-05:00Why Are My Keys In The FridgeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-40139277138915380522015-04-02T15:36:00.004-05:002015-04-02T15:36:48.132-05:00Blinking Is Optional<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-49706703178550237772014-11-20T13:19:00.002-06:002014-11-20T16:14:49.255-06:00Family Feud Therapy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm in the waiting room and there are four women in here, including me. Two of them are around my age and one is elderly. We're all well dressed, quiet, unwilling to make eye contact, and a bit uncomfortable. We also all keep our gazes down. <br />
<br />
It makes me wonder what they're here for.<br />
<br />
Family Feud is on the TV and all of them are now talking a bit, commenting on it. I'm not though. Now I feel even more strange. At least there was a tentative kinship in silence.<br />
<br />
I think group therapy, if there becomes one, will be difficult. But still I wonder what their stories are.. what struggle they need help with.<br />
<br />
I'm babbling.. nervous I suppose. One of the women is from Atlanta, she's definitely chatty now that the Feud broke the ice. And as much as I get curious why they're here, I wish everyone would be quiet. I'm afraid they're going to expect me to join in.<br />
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Those were texts messages from yesterday, sent to Tony while I waited to be called back to my mental health therapy session. The clinic actually calls that department - Behavioral Health. I don't like that term though, it makes me feel like a naughty child.<br />
<br />
I wonder if pretty much everyone struggles with going to see a therapist. I know I do. The only way I can get my head into it (pun intended) is to think about mental health being just like physical health - if either or both are unwell, they need a doctor.<br />
<br />
I've had three therapists in two years. The first one was not a good fit, to say the least, and it nearly put me off ever going again. Only the fact that I knew I needed help dealing with being sick made me try again. I liked my second therapist, a female Psychologist, but she ended up leaving the practice a couple months ago. So, here I am with the third therapist and she's someone I could see myself being friends with were circumstances different.<br />
<br />
As we were walking through a maze of hallways to reach her office yesterday, she pointed out this little nook with a couple chairs, a small table of magazines and said to me, "You can wait in there the next time you come, if you like. It's a little more secluded and quiet."<br />
<br />
I guess after only one session with me, she was either the Jody-whisperer or she noticed that while the three women looked like long lost friends by this time, I was staring determinedly at my phone, trying to conjure up a mute button that would work on them.<br />
<br />
Talking with strangers is difficult for me and in a setting such as that, all of us being there for a reason that is probably private and uncomfortable to begin with.. well, it's not much different than having your legs hiked up and feet in stirrups while Dr. Awkward checks over your lady-business. Thus, I was truly grateful when the therapist offered me the peace of that closet sized waiting room.<br />
<br />
Liking your therapist is a pretty big deal. Just as we need our
physical doctors to listen to our symptoms, to believe us even when
those symptoms sound crazy, and to realize we know our bodies better
than they do, so do we need our mental doctor to simply let us talk and validate the sadness and anger that comes with disease.<br />
<br />
She asked me what I need from her and the sessions and I replied, "Just for you to listen. Be the person that doesn't love me, the person that I don't feel the need to protect from how awful being sick is. Let me be selfish in this room, let it be about what I'm going through because out there, I'm fiercely proud, I'm still trying to hide it the best I can and I put everyone else first."<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-59688928088544211132014-11-04T15:25:00.000-06:002014-11-04T15:25:27.498-06:00Just 'Memes' TodayI love Pinterest. It's like an online mall of everything in the world.. for free. Perfection.<br />
<br />
If you look off to your right, you'll see a Pinterest button that if clicked, will take you to my Fibromyalgia board. It has funnies, knowledge, helpful tips, research, compassion and everything in between. But every now and then, I want to bring that board here to my posts with some of my favorite memes. Here are a few for the week:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-8491258193245539432014-10-31T11:56:00.002-05:002014-10-31T12:58:16.845-05:00Gastroparesis Is Torture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Two months ago, I got sick with what I thought was your run-of-the-mill stomach flu. It began with exhaustion. I was so tired I could barely stand up. I'm no stranger to that because Fibromyalgia carries with it an ass kicking level of tired. But this was different. I couldn't push past it and keep going.<br />
<br />
Next were the burps that smelled like rotten eggs. Over and over, they wouldn't stop. My stomach bloated and became hard as a rock while slowly cramping and twisting. And then came the diarrhea - the kind where you can't get off the toilet for five hours and your legs are paralyzed even as your butt cheeks cramp. I had extreme nausea and then the vomiting began. It was painful and violent, the retching racked me until I thought I had broken ribs.<br />
<br />
Three days later, things seemed better. I had one good day and then it returned, more vicious the second time around. I went to the ER, pretty sure I was dying but positive that I was dehydrated yet again. I begged them to put pain medicine in my IV and asking for that is unusual for me. <br />
<br />
The doctors did blood work, X-rays, and all manner of other tests between my two ER visits and when finished, could only say, "We think it's some sort of viral thing." I ended up sick like that for weeks - it would come on suddenly, excruciatingly and a few days later, I would be better for a little while.<br />
<br />
At the third or fourth ER visit for dehydration and pain, the doctor asked if I had ever been tested for Celiac Disease. I had no idea if I had or not. All of you with a chronic illness will understand when I say that I've had so many tests for everything under the sun to finally give me the diagnosis's I now have & while I am pretty savvy about my own health issues, nobody can recall every test ever done.<br />
<br />
The next day, I was being tested for Celiac. It came back negative. The Gastroenterologist told me that he suspected a condition called Gastroparesis. He said he thought the original virus was so severe that it partially paralyzed my stomach. Basically, every time I ate something solid, it digested so slowly that it would begin rotting and fermenting until those gross burps began. Then, my body would expel the food by whatever means necessary. <br />
<br />
After being put through a battery of tests for Gastroparesis, it was confirmed that I have it. The doctor told me it could be temporary until my stomach fully healed. Or, it could be permanent and lifelong. I have a list of things wrong but I work hard to remain as independent and optimistic as possible. That said, this diagnosis both scared and absolutely pissed me off. A person can only take so much. <br />
<br />
I deal with a level of pain that defies words because of Fibromyalgia. When it flares, it's a soul sucking vacuum of agony. But the Gastroparesis? It's a different and more awful kind of sick. There's something very wrong with the hinges of your jaw popping as your mouth tries to open itself wide enough for the launch of masticated ham and gravy.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping this is temporary. That my stomach is just cranky and sore from the virus but will buck up soon and welcome the buffet at my favorite Chinese place. I'm hoping that I don't have to live the rest of my life with another illness because it makes me sad if I do.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-60283596548935058092014-10-30T15:02:00.001-05:002014-10-30T15:02:05.501-05:00A Time To Hibernate.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Winter is coming. Beyond the obvious and awesome Game of Thrones reference, it's true for my part of the world. The cold, snow and ice are upon us in Wisconsin. Just one more day of October, Halloween, the first holiday of the season. Children are suited up in their favorite make believe and hoping for any treat other than the orange or black paper wrapped chunks of peanut butter.<br />
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As anyone with Fibromyalgia knows, the cold is devastating to our pain levels. Not only the cold but precipitation too. We feel the snow and ice as if we were outside (naked) making angels in it even when we're curled up in our favorite recliner and buried under blankets. <br />
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I don't think any of us look forward to winter but for me at least, there is a positive side. I make myself be less busy and relax more. It's time to catch up on reading, one of my most favorite things to do. If my Epub files were actual books, I would have piles of them in every corner. I pull out projects to start and hopefully finish. (I'm a bit of a procrastinator.) <br />
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The 'To Do' list that I've been adding to for months beckons me. Things like going through computer folders to clean out and organize. Dozens of pictures wait for me to say, 'Awwww', and print them for the pegboard in my office. Homemade Christmas present ideas are written on scraps of paper piled in a desk drawer. <br />
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It's time now.. time for hot coco, jammies and slippers, buttered popcorn, movies and TV shows to catch up on. It's time to write again. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-53234471302073462572014-08-03T18:42:00.001-05:002014-08-03T18:56:21.292-05:00Friendship & Illness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I've had the same best friend for 34 years. Just looking at that sentence makes me blink the shock of not only a friendship that has spanned decades but that I'm as old as I am - 43. Where do the years go? That's such a cliche question and yet, as cliches go, they are popular because they're true.<br />
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This friend is meaningful to me, as one might suspect. The history between she and I is full of laughter, tears, joy, pain and growth as women. We have seen each other through some of the best and the worst times in our lives, as girlfriends do for one another.<br />
<br />
I sit here and recollect a hundred special memories. I could call her right now and say things like - Go Fish & Old Maid. Skittles taste testing. Marlboro menthol, Joe biting Kendall, wrecking your Chevette, Arsenio Hall, Beaches, Nora bar, kicking Betsy's ass, Baby Got Back and that silver necklace, Alan Jackson, and so much more.<br />
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Random words and we would laugh until we cried or start a conversation we left unfinished six months ago, as if we hung up yesterday. That's the kind of friends we have always been.<br />
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She is the one person (besides my younger brother) that was there for my childhood and that's important to me for reasons I won't go into right now. She could call me in the middle of the night asking me to unlock my door and listen to her until dawn and I would. I have. I can't think of much that I wouldn't do for her. On the flip side, she has done so much for me too.<br />
<br />
And with all of that said, I feel abandoned by her through these last few years of illness. I know I could call her right now and say, "I need to talk about being sick.", and she would listen. But I also know she wouldn't really want to hear about it. She wouldn't honestly try to understand what I was saying or how I feel. I know that deep down, she would think I should 'quit whining and toughen up, get on with life', without realizing that's the point - it's impossible for me to get on with my old life or be the old me.<br />
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When we do talk on the phone, she tells me about her relationship problems and I listen, sometimes for long periods of time. I offer opinion or advice if she asks or if I think she's receptive to it. I tell her often the things I think are special about her, her best qualities. I give her my empathy, love and never make her feel like less for crying. I show her my faith in her strength as a person. I try to uplift her, to let her know she always has me in her corner.<br />
<br />
That's what I need from her. It's what I have needed from her since I was diagnosed five years ago but especially now as the Fibromyalgia and some of the concurrent issues progress and become more debilitating. I feel like she willingly give that without being asked, as I would and have for her. That is not the case and as time goes by, she and I talk less and less and rarely see one another. I miss her, this girl that I learned to put make up on with.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-73414046312278431342014-07-28T14:46:00.001-05:002014-07-28T15:07:20.485-05:00Nobody Wins The War<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I never want to invalidate anyone else's illness, injury or pain, however temporary or not. That said, I do have this type of response now and then. I never say it aloud and I chastise myself for thinking it at all but I believe it comes from a very normal and human need to be healthy, and jealousy when we know we won't be.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I try to remind myself that there are others who have it far worse than I do and to be grateful for the blessings. However, I also have to give myself permission to have those moments of anger, sorrow and yes, even self-pity. It's okay. It's necessary because we can't be strong all of the time. We need to express everything, even the ugly parts.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I admit, even if it's only here on my blog, that sometimes when people complain of a minor illness, I want to shake them and scream. I want to tell them they have no idea. That they know nothing, Jon Snow. I want to beg them to switch bodies or lives with me, even for one week, so I can remember what it feels like. I'll gladly take their cold or stomach flu for six days if I get just one that's free of pain.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The flip side of that coin is that whomever switched lives with me would have to live mine for a week. I know we may think that we would like those that do not believe or understand our disease to live with it for a week or even a day</span></span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so they finally have some empathy and compassion. But, I don't think any of us could actually do it - knowingly inflict this upon another person. I couldn't. Not even for one day of freedom.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fibromyalgia is a war with no end. Winning is only found in getting up each day to fight another battle. </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-76288270744572668482014-07-28T14:01:00.001-05:002014-07-28T14:01:07.595-05:00Morgan Freeman Inspiration<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9Wk8wj0kNF-IeXcsNKGqdO0FEq4jz_uQU4e6fBT8iq6PgtcGx-4mfVeIEAJuikvtjuhQZSckdhZ8hHgXPxPgqDMCDaEGt_W5vd_K43DWfcX_QPkCp5_ZodZyW-JCr6TWw6FBEnP7v-Wb/s1600/3a41964fdd741c8bae88c2b13b6abd02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9Wk8wj0kNF-IeXcsNKGqdO0FEq4jz_uQU4e6fBT8iq6PgtcGx-4mfVeIEAJuikvtjuhQZSckdhZ8hHgXPxPgqDMCDaEGt_W5vd_K43DWfcX_QPkCp5_ZodZyW-JCr6TWw6FBEnP7v-Wb/s1600/3a41964fdd741c8bae88c2b13b6abd02.jpg" height="320" width="227" /></a></div>
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I fight to find my joy, despite this disease, every day.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-80362058008619818552014-07-28T13:55:00.001-05:002014-07-28T13:55:37.959-05:00This Rodent Has IBS<span style="font-size: small;">This is the perfect (and funniest) depiction of life with IBS. You really can eat and within minutes, be in the bathroom or frantically trying to find one, as your body revolts. </span><br />
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<a href="https://i.chzbgr.com/maxW500/8241206784/h19196B77/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://i.chzbgr.com/maxW500/8241206784/h19196B77/" width="320" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-69285410046204659532014-07-21T12:53:00.002-05:002014-07-21T12:53:48.007-05:00Listen Loud<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/AIslcAtrWvs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
I listen to this song and sing along as loud as I can just because the lyrics tell me to 'let it go, let it hurt' and sometimes I need permission to not be so rigid and strong.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-8160066389571102422014-07-21T12:11:00.001-05:002014-07-21T12:12:53.667-05:00Paralyzing Pain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXdcE1pRBPg4JnpgcS-ukglyTzxlyFGPNVzj_L3ZZnnr4Zwdzg7L5D_gErw-FwDpi5k0JAA18UUgwy99C2er0YWWKYyxenOKpFbxx5Cuy3A3X_eB7gbcguzrWc-mKi1-mMb2oIAfhpHSk/s1600/blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXdcE1pRBPg4JnpgcS-ukglyTzxlyFGPNVzj_L3ZZnnr4Zwdzg7L5D_gErw-FwDpi5k0JAA18UUgwy99C2er0YWWKYyxenOKpFbxx5Cuy3A3X_eB7gbcguzrWc-mKi1-mMb2oIAfhpHSk/s1600/blank.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was in a flare last night while talking with my Love and basically told him exactly what this meme says - sometimes, the pain is so extreme that we have nothing left but to sit still and only blink when we have to.</span></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-30254768117150927652014-07-17T02:35:00.002-05:002014-07-17T02:35:05.507-05:00Please Read The Book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYTQmE940P4-Ni8S6PcyD5twS22PJNbD6lmw4Z3d6ME_pcuvO10EvIybeBhewPCrM3kBJwLRqurn0cpfg-qF1dQw3V1m2AkZxnOsD3H9aHiVqghD8MEBD3S-HSWVH8cgJ34Co9w2ZyJmP/s1600/pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYTQmE940P4-Ni8S6PcyD5twS22PJNbD6lmw4Z3d6ME_pcuvO10EvIybeBhewPCrM3kBJwLRqurn0cpfg-qF1dQw3V1m2AkZxnOsD3H9aHiVqghD8MEBD3S-HSWVH8cgJ34Co9w2ZyJmP/s1600/pain.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This book is incredible - you will laugh until you cry and then you'll just cry. I highly recommend it and cannot wait to see the movie. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As for this quote, it reminds me of something Patrick Swayze said in the movie 'Roadhouse' - "Pain doesn't hurt." Well, I miss you and your work, Patrick but I'm going to have to disagree with that statement. Pain does hurt. Pain makes me cry.</span></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And sometimes, the pain is so bad that I laugh hysterically. I don't want to know what the alternative is.</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-51052409028066111722014-07-10T23:24:00.000-05:002014-07-17T02:24:42.213-05:00Thinking About Dying Is Normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SmVAWKfJ4Go?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I've been drawn to sad books for the last few months. If they have anything to do with illness and/or death, or the spirituality of being either of those things, I'm reading it, studying the message and how it might be similar to my life. I kept feeling bad about it though, like I was being morbid or I somehow didn't have the right to think about death because my disease isn't terminal. </div>
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I couldn't tell those closest to me that I was reading those books. Nor could I tell them what I was learning and taking from the stories. If I were already judging myself as being morbid, what would they think? Would they think I had some kind of obsessive curiosity or worry that I was suicidal? Would they pity me? How could I tell any of them the truth about why I was reading them and risk making them sad?</div>
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Then there came a point where I really wanted to tell them about those books. I wanted to show them quotes and explain how the words made me feel, the ways in which they enlightened & comforted, knowing I wasn't alone in any part of my own story. People have traveled the path of various illness and disease since time began. The unifying moments of the human race are birth, love, loss and death.</div>
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I want to tell those I love this one thing, first and foremost - My life has been everything I ever wanted it to be and I have accomplished and been successful at what I chose to be important - my children and being a mother to them. Loving them without conditions or limits, without restraint and judgement, and with every fiber of my being so they would know through the entirety of their own lives that they matter. </div>
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I want to tell those that love me that it's normal for anyone who is sick for a long time to think about death. I have not been given an expiration date by a doctor - "six months to a year at most." I'm not counting
down the seasons, wondering if this will be my last birthday or Christmas. And yet, when you feel pain every day and your body ever so slowly deteriorating, when you lose your quality of life by inches and missed moments, when you look in the mirror and watch yourself fade, you search for acceptance and peace. But first, you grieve. </div>
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Being chronically or terminally ill comes with blessings - the time to plan and to tie up loose ends, time for grief and acceptance, realizing, with a sharper clarity, what's important. Time to do all the things we've been putting off because life got in the way of living. Time to tell our stories and somethings, hoping to be remembered after we are gone. Time to find our God. And, time to say goodbye which is the most important of all. </div>
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These are a few of the things I'm learning as I read those books. This is my journey and they are a part of it. I'm meant to read them, to learn and to share it because we grow all the way to the end.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-52819271451145479972014-06-18T14:38:00.003-05:002014-06-18T14:38:58.701-05:00Painsomnia Is A Pain In The.. Well, All Over.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOvh4uyiH7ekao9mGDIEK1iwXlXvd4LKIAbM0BEdvivai6fy5E3Ej6-rzD1qSpbIRtAOiJkaTmJREKKI_oerv6QlSPMCmIEIppFQLnAuC_-R_onJ9zr6Xf3gUZVkzAK2U9P-3bQLbzkJ8f/s1600/insomnia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOvh4uyiH7ekao9mGDIEK1iwXlXvd4LKIAbM0BEdvivai6fy5E3Ej6-rzD1qSpbIRtAOiJkaTmJREKKI_oerv6QlSPMCmIEIppFQLnAuC_-R_onJ9zr6Xf3gUZVkzAK2U9P-3bQLbzkJ8f/s1600/insomnia.jpg" height="320" width="254" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-67864858690844708012014-06-16T14:30:00.001-05:002014-06-16T14:31:41.128-05:00Screw You, Sun! (And Snow!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYMqIpVw46BzRlyt2e-pX90gwe83w6wReMqD7vb0wDNNfWPd_wgibVYAGHzaHxpdOVvsfv6HU-OvnLrKJ-QPtZVUGGkb0akX0tpa6EW0Zcd-n5BS9pe0O_ZvaMx-YfYGsBUB8C8goQYHb/s1600/soaring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYMqIpVw46BzRlyt2e-pX90gwe83w6wReMqD7vb0wDNNfWPd_wgibVYAGHzaHxpdOVvsfv6HU-OvnLrKJ-QPtZVUGGkb0akX0tpa6EW0Zcd-n5BS9pe0O_ZvaMx-YfYGsBUB8C8goQYHb/s1600/soaring.jpg" height="320" width="259" /></a></div>
Whether it's the blistering heat, humidity, the bone biting cold or the thunderstorms of spring and summer - weather, most often, is not the friend of someone with Fibromyalgia and other chronic pain diseases.<br />
<br />
We also have problems with our own body temperature. It's like our internal thermometer is broken and one minute we feel feverish and the next, teeth chattering cold. Okay, maybe it's not minute by minute but honestly, it -is- quite close to that much fluctuation, that fast. And.. it's awful. Not as awful as the violent pain, IBS, migraines, spastic bladder and other concurrent issues, but still, it's frustrating.<br />
<br />
I hope this day finds all of you with tolerable pain, a balmy 75 degrees with blue skies, a breeze and a glass of sweet tea at hand.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-79432129105620247842014-06-09T15:24:00.004-05:002014-06-09T15:24:54.818-05:00Music Understands Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0oFPAZpueDQqp7qcZSeKY5gD3baOSAa-tqPuOXkgmVvPfRB4ZU_sJEEDClxFMzXC0-z9RLR3BjqZ4TDuqae7DuzeLWJKAnfx6TXCor-QsKMvLjkQI45nFTlAuUuUD2p6jZUCu0nao7Mc/s1600/musicpain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0oFPAZpueDQqp7qcZSeKY5gD3baOSAa-tqPuOXkgmVvPfRB4ZU_sJEEDClxFMzXC0-z9RLR3BjqZ4TDuqae7DuzeLWJKAnfx6TXCor-QsKMvLjkQI45nFTlAuUuUD2p6jZUCu0nao7Mc/s1600/musicpain.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-75186892520390358792014-06-09T14:59:00.001-05:002014-06-09T15:01:31.445-05:00It's So Very True<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6m87b2nYWPD78GJGX21aVacS7a1I4C92oqXSSncUA8xAlB8dC03uv09mL0sl-c1yzmlV184JeqWa3gjkT2pqnTmuNyFpxfqV86jKoBAG0B-a7JgDdHegQLYtYUrFpXVgNRsgpeO1Z6Nu/s1600/warrior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6m87b2nYWPD78GJGX21aVacS7a1I4C92oqXSSncUA8xAlB8dC03uv09mL0sl-c1yzmlV184JeqWa3gjkT2pqnTmuNyFpxfqV86jKoBAG0B-a7JgDdHegQLYtYUrFpXVgNRsgpeO1Z6Nu/s1600/warrior.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-61140770636325521992014-06-02T14:27:00.004-05:002014-06-02T15:59:13.637-05:00Ear Candy - Gary Clark Jr. - "Please Come Home"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw9npN3CWqQHlBGiYrVqK8sAPe1UtkUryc-mN5YITEOj5WcSPby1C0_rRAS2mU6NU5LX1oux8lmzyA4gu9yQw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When
the pain is terrible and I just want to curl up in the recliner and close
my eyes, put headphones on and block out the world until medication kicks in
and takes the sharp edges off agony, this is one of the songs I most
enjoy listening to. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He's a new name, an incredible, brilliant talent and I hope
you enjoy his music as much as I do.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-75353796136746847282014-05-29T13:53:00.001-05:002014-05-29T13:54:37.409-05:00Horror Writes Better Than Happy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3gVBraEnTRPppZCMvaeioG6CORHHOPzgm4Gc56kUMN5fbkwVINO7eehLzd8IOznCuT4dbm5ZwxTbBj6Qh2bItL4wfroynbqYsPvhuQ3EoUWmPTvE8urtkM8NfojK9E3C3xjsk45nJw32/s1600/tragedy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw3gVBraEnTRPppZCMvaeioG6CORHHOPzgm4Gc56kUMN5fbkwVINO7eehLzd8IOznCuT4dbm5ZwxTbBj6Qh2bItL4wfroynbqYsPvhuQ3EoUWmPTvE8urtkM8NfojK9E3C3xjsk45nJw32/s1600/tragedy.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
It's been too long since I've posted here and while there are reasons (which I'm going to list), it doesn't really excuse the lack of blogging because I -could- always find just five minutes in a day to say something meaningful. Or, even if I just post a 'meme' that is funny or inspirational, something that I saw and liked and maybe gave me a boost when I needed it.<br />
<br />
With all of that said, here are the reasons, and what has been going on with me:<br />
<br />
1. I've been in the flare from hell. Not just a physical flare either. It's been this devastating exhaustion that makes me sleep within seconds, every time I sit down.<br />
<br />
2. A lot going on with family - baby shower, birthday party, graduation parties. And while I truly enjoy a good party with those I love, we all know the price people with Fibromyalgia pay to attend them or even to be a part of hosting the event.<br />
<br />
3. I sleep in late simply because every bit of sleep I can get is a -good- thing. Thus, it feels like the days go by so quickly and they're over without my having sat here and written a word.<br />
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4. It seems like I'm always doing something, big or small, for someone else and it ends up eating more time than I thought it would.<br />
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5. Now and then, I get into this mind frame that none of the words matter. That talking about it, writing about it, even thinking about it, doesn't change anything. Sick is sick and this cannot be cured.<br />
<br />
I get mired down in the belief that I've said everything there is to say about Fibromyalgia, the concurrent illnesses, and how it makes me feel not only physically but mentally and emotionally. I know I'm working through those feelings and I'll come back to write again. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-26483881939329751472014-04-09T14:27:00.002-05:002014-04-09T14:27:50.448-05:00Fire Brain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHR2LnZ20S0Lg0v7J9pqMVPtBxrLGCkX2ClHphD35lOijoDLsrcfmfmonawYytchFd7e-ogcfMV_-JSkItkcKtn56uYhMfJBwCLjeqQhidLZdG_1m_bp9BY62qp9bM3N9AtNN-C6-W13w7/s1600/brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHR2LnZ20S0Lg0v7J9pqMVPtBxrLGCkX2ClHphD35lOijoDLsrcfmfmonawYytchFd7e-ogcfMV_-JSkItkcKtn56uYhMfJBwCLjeqQhidLZdG_1m_bp9BY62qp9bM3N9AtNN-C6-W13w7/s1600/brain.jpg" height="313" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-14447251476071148692014-04-09T14:25:00.003-05:002014-04-09T14:25:42.299-05:00Good Question<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRSJHIrhG7iydJq58GZqdPlgY9iXH6p9ZdFjSSp662tP9KNZxH5682G_Q2Enl0qZGtzgoLP0irRMu_xXy9ED6uG8erxY4Z-lN2K-SEp9IDN-jk6R6gdVivCJcLlEu3UsC8QOj3JujJI5v/s1600/hurt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRSJHIrhG7iydJq58GZqdPlgY9iXH6p9ZdFjSSp662tP9KNZxH5682G_Q2Enl0qZGtzgoLP0irRMu_xXy9ED6uG8erxY4Z-lN2K-SEp9IDN-jk6R6gdVivCJcLlEu3UsC8QOj3JujJI5v/s1600/hurt.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-24939100187853384212014-04-05T13:52:00.001-05:002014-04-05T14:02:41.151-05:00Judy & Jody<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I got a call from my aunt this week, telling me that my mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. The reason my aunt told me is because my mom and I do not speak and havn't for years. It seems like that should be against nature - a mother and child not communicating. I wish it were, anyway.<br />
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My mom abandoned her children when we were very young and my dad raised my younger brother and myself. I've tried having a relationship with my mother since then, as a teenager and then again as an adult but she's a severe alcoholic and made it close to impossible. I finally gave up in my late 20s.<br />
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I thought in the years following, I had sorted out my feeling regarding the entirety of our relationship, or lack thereof. I've never been afraid to be alone, sit quietly and face the hard stuff in my life, figure out why it happened and find closure. I have found forgiveness towards my mother based on her own life - she had some truly horrible and tragic things happen when she was young that I believe broke her.<br />
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But even forgiving her, I still chose not to be in contact because I knew she was toxic and so would any relationship with her be. And then I got the call from my aunt saying my mother may have terminal cancer. That she's had a lump for a long time she's ignored and it may have already spread. <br />
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I was sad when I heard and as the day went on, the emotions built. So did the confusion. I hadn't expected to feel much of anything when this time came. My mother is a stranger to me so why would I grieve? <br />
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And yet.. I am. I'm sad that she will go through something as awful as cancer without many people around that love her. I'm sad she made decisions in her life to make that a truth. She's pushed away sisters, friends, children, and grandchildren.<br />
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I have realized that while I believed every feeling towards her had gone, there has always been one small flame of hope in my heart that someday my mother would love me, that she would finally want her daughter. <br />
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I wish things were different and that mother and daughter were not 1000 miles and too many burned bridges apart but the truth is, other family members will keep me posted with news of my mother - any surgery needed to remove a lump or her breasts, chemo and radiation, the loss of her hair, remission or how long she has left. And if she dies, I will do what I thought I had already done a long time ago - miss my mom.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-9550132388403249712014-03-17T18:02:00.000-05:002014-03-17T18:02:46.535-05:00There Are All Kinds of Legends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9t4nhZLVQplEppbkhV16IJHGh6O16ID9O24XEXN9OTz9AAub4viOHpNrhQGEi7atwkng5F3-9kHSSYypiOn-ph9Yu2lyYImUx4wfxPWeCAIoJ6Fl5NLQGGSlqGMe9Qh0UxQrJDphVuTFl/s1600/1187212_655600224487278_680793921_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9t4nhZLVQplEppbkhV16IJHGh6O16ID9O24XEXN9OTz9AAub4viOHpNrhQGEi7atwkng5F3-9kHSSYypiOn-ph9Yu2lyYImUx4wfxPWeCAIoJ6Fl5NLQGGSlqGMe9Qh0UxQrJDphVuTFl/s1600/1187212_655600224487278_680793921_n.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></div>
And she doesn't have to be a famous or notorious legend either. She can be a quiet legend, the kind only those who love her know she is.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-48064538001876090352014-03-14T21:52:00.002-05:002014-03-14T21:53:05.205-05:00I'm Not The Good Witch Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPCOeCwnXtRufpUSl83zjNu3Ki2LTXGClAGJaDDXQ1PP7MAG4Qs9GmrXpJ1w1qVpEHxLjHcihtzpKFyV8HjqzshH54xPmJkGKUG0ys2EjOx_BO7tMwNHL8yjdYV9boBI3SFCT4IcuzsOR/s1600/1962860_655772827803351_969403760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPCOeCwnXtRufpUSl83zjNu3Ki2LTXGClAGJaDDXQ1PP7MAG4Qs9GmrXpJ1w1qVpEHxLjHcihtzpKFyV8HjqzshH54xPmJkGKUG0ys2EjOx_BO7tMwNHL8yjdYV9boBI3SFCT4IcuzsOR/s1600/1962860_655772827803351_969403760_n.jpg" height="320" width="286" /></a></div>
I had quite a few doctor appointments this week. We all know how those appointments can go wildly astray when one has Fibromyalgia so this meme was appropriate to sum up my mood. Next up, a hot bubble bath, lit candles, soft music and hoping for less pain. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5323216140199122182.post-70865608049940976192014-03-03T10:18:00.005-06:002014-07-12T18:27:17.004-05:00Do Not Judge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YtzVhInHuC5IgWbQE148ZM1UBwN2oSaUjbzwrQ9ra0wI5Ip9KaQS41i3ayUAkV9zgoEX25t_fcRg3VHqaZ1N84QxGxy1YBuHTnxs4R_ianvD2dGtWRUbkYPUgt8fh1sId5jOeh5r0FtK/s1600/1501793_10152269280325209_1089578730_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YtzVhInHuC5IgWbQE148ZM1UBwN2oSaUjbzwrQ9ra0wI5Ip9KaQS41i3ayUAkV9zgoEX25t_fcRg3VHqaZ1N84QxGxy1YBuHTnxs4R_ianvD2dGtWRUbkYPUgt8fh1sId5jOeh5r0FtK/s1600/1501793_10152269280325209_1089578730_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00483236812710179480noreply@blogger.com0