After many months of floundering and not being able to recover from even the simplest tasks, I sought a new doctor. It hasn’t worked out well, but I did land in the office of one who decided perhaps an MRI might be a good idea (only took 12 years) to “rule out MS”. I’m happy to report there are no nano-zombies slowly devouring my brain. It still doesn’t explain the copious amounts of pain, the sleeplessness, dizziness (which seems to be increasing in its frequency, despite decongestants & antihistamines), or the fatigue, but at least now I know my brain isn’t leaking out of my skull.

For the 8th (or is it the 9th?) time now, too, I am informed that my thyroid is also not the cause of my problems (ya THINK?!). I’m on the prowl for yet another doctor, and having a new lead, I made another appointment. This time, I’m taking 10 clothespins (one for every fingertip) with me, and when I’m asked what my pain level is today, I’m going to invite her do to a modified version of the clothespin challenge so she can feel for herself (yes, I know; it’s a pipe dream).

I’ve done this clothespin challenge myself and can report that it’s not difficult to sit with a single clothespin on a finger for 1/2 an hour. It can, however, give one a clearer understanding of how intrusive that pain is or how much effort it takes to function daily despite it, especially when it radiates throughout one’s entire body.

I’ve been getting lots of love from my husband and many of my friends have been poking in via phone and email to boost my spirits, entertain and distract me, and help keep my frustration from turning into self-pity. Ya know what? It’s working. I’ve been less inclined to focus on people — especially doctors — who neither value me nor my time; this in turn has saved me a great deal of sorrow, energy, and frustration. I’m thankful for people who recognize my limitations without using them as an excuse to avoid me (or bludgeon me constantly with their opinions), and each day is another day I’ve learned something new. I’m ever so thankful to my husband for constantly reminding me that I have value beyond my utility; that I’m important to him no matter how much or how little I can produce in any given day. (Today, my deepest love, you get homemade vegetable soup.)

For a long time I’ve witnessed the suffering of FMS and watched it minimized, especially in the shadow of illnesses deemed more important because they’re fatal or fall under the Law of Names (borrowed from mythology: knowing the complete and true name of an object, being, or process gives one complete control over it). FMS has no name, no true footprint to mark or measure, and its origin is still unknown. What a nasty pill to swallow, this realization that I’ve been minimizing my own suffering: I’m not dying, so who am I to be whining about it, right? Who am I to ask for love, or support, or … gosh … help?

I am me, and I need help to get through the ups and downs. Mostly the downs, but then, sometimes everyone needs a boost to get to the top.

I hope all are having a wonderful day.