I have Fibromyalgia, generally considered to be some sort of auto-immune disorder that affects the muscles. In real terms, it means that I have pain every day. Whether because of the pain, or because of some other reason as yet undiscovered, I am often tired, endure “fibro fog” where I can’t remember things or can’t think well–sometimes it’s as small as forgetting words I want to use; the worst is forgetting much more, like the time I was driving a friend to my house and ended up parked at the end of a dead-end street, not knowing how I ended up there– a place I’d never seen before–nor how to get from there to my home.
I also have Psoriatic Arthritis. It too is an auto-immune disorder. Psoriatic Arthritis attacks primarily the joints of the hands, feet, and upper and lower spine. It is always accompanied by psoriasis, the lovely patches of scaley tissue caused by the fact that in certain places on the body, usually where one has been injured in some way, the skin rebuilds itself about 100x faster than it ought, creating ugly lesions.
There are additional prizes with this package. I get migraines at times; I get yeast infections extremely easily, not just internally, but more on the outside of my skin than the inside. I occasionally spend the night wishing the insomnia fairy would visit someone else. My lymph nodes are constantly swelling, so what used to be, in my opinion at least, a lovely neck metaphorically comparable to a swan’s has become a toad’s neck. My neck.
Some of the medications I’ve taken have caused my hair to thin embarrassingly. Sometimes it comes back. Right now we’re in an in-between stage. My hands and feet swell a lot. I used to be one of those people who was always warm. Now my hands and feet sometimes get so cold they feel like they’re burning.
If I don’t exercise, the pain is worse. If I exercise too much, I crash my system. I get angry about that, and sometimes think I can push myself just a little farther than I know I should. I’ve learned to work while in pain. I’ve learned to live with a dirty house. I’ve learned to be extremely thankful for a husband who does dishes and takes out the trash without being asked. Sometimes the pain is easily enough triggered that I have to choose between having sex and being functional the next day, and he still does the dishes and takes out the trash. Sometimes I choose to lose the next day.
This blog is intended to be anonymous. I hate these diseases and I hate what they do to me, and sometimes who I am while fighting them. I’m a nice person. I like being nice to other people. Putting my pain out there is embarrassing and difficult. That makes it hard to even talk to doctors about it.
Sometimes I’m also a coward. I don’t want to try something new, read some new article, learn more about my conditions, fight another day. I just want it to go away.
