I’ve had Fibromyalgia for a good many years. And, yes I was well and truly diagnosed by a proper doctor. I can’t tell you how many people insist that this is a fake, made-up disease. It’s really heartening when other people tell me that I’m a faker and not really “sick”, since this is all in my head. Really helpful people who are experts at all diseases.
So, that being said, even though I don’t medicate for all the pain, which my doctor equated to as the pain of a massive heart attack, 24/7, I’ve simply been “getting on with it”. But, I’ve been finding, that as I get older, this attitude of living my life as though I have no disease, is becoming harder and harder to maintain.
My biggest fear is that one day I’ll just wake up and decide that I’ve had it. I’ll stop fighting this. The Energizer Bunny that I’ve been channeling all these years is going to run down…and stop. Just. Like. That. I’ve always had that fear in the back of my head, but now I find that it’s pushed its way into the front of my head. I don’t know if the difficulty that I had with carrying my coffee table up the stairs into my bedroom to make room for the Christmas tree has had something to do with my change of heart, or what. Probably, since for the first time my daughter and I had trouble navigating the stairs with the heavy table. I actually entertained the idea that I wouldn’t be able to lift the table high enough to clear the stairs. I felt better when we were able to bring it back downstairs without an issue. Or, if it’s the fact that after hauling the wood onto the porch and into the wood room in the cellar, I’m actually tired. I must say that this is the first year this has happened. It’s kind of upsetting, since I’ve been having some help this year, when in past years I’ve hauled 16 loads in one shot, by myself.
So, I find myself thinking, is this the beginning of the end? I’ve pushed my body physically all my life. From the time I was 6, I shoveled the snow including my driveway and sidewalk by myself, and then I went over across the street and shoveled my neighbors drive and sidewalk (she lived on the corner so it was double what I did at my house). And that was only the beginning. At the age of 7, I had two morning paper routes that I did by myself and an evening route as well. When there was any lifting and moving of furniture my Dad and I did it. I was the work-horse in my family and once I married that trend continued. My husband and I renovated our 1880’s three family Victorian ourselves. He worked as hard as I did, but there is a difference between a six foot man carrying 6 X 6 sheet rock up three flights of stairs and a 5 foot 3 inch woman doing the same thing. But I’ve always been pleased with how I could keep up and do a “man’s” job. For a long time I was sheer muscle, and I had a six pack before it was considered a “good” thing for a woman to have one. I’ve only drawn the line at roofing, since I’m not good with heights and I’m so clumsy that I could actually see myself falling off.
But just what is this – this idea that’s pushed its way, unwanted, into my head? I don’t like it, and want it to go away. For years I’ve told myself that I’m 35, so everything is good. The Energizer Bunny is still working, still going. I don’t want to run down. After all 35 is much too young to be older.