I'm fine, really.

How are you?  the greeting that everyone knows isn't usually a real question.  Everyone expects the usual "Fine, and you?"  The typical North American exchange.  Everyone knows that "how are you?" really doesn't imply any interest in the other person's well being. This is why I'm seldom honest when asked. When a person stops me and asks "really?" after I answer "fine" I'm often moved to tears. To have someone care enough to want to know how I'm really doing is a gift.

I often wonder what people would think if I gave an honest answer.  If I answered every person honestly who asked "How are you?" I'd never get anything done. Not to mention that people would be sure to stop asking me. I hurt. Every day I hurt. There is never a time when I don't hurt. So what do I say when people ask "How are you?" My usual answer is just like everyone else, "fine."  I let myself go silent because I don't want to seem like a whiner.

On particularly bad days I'll usually say something along the lines of "I'm here" or "I'm alive" or "surviving." My own private code that few understand to mean "Please just shoot me now and put me out of my misery."

On my good days I'll usually answer "I'm good."

An invisible illness is easy to forget. If you don't know that the person next to you is dealing with a chronic illness you may not realize how well she is hiding her pain.

What happened to my control?

chron·ic   [kron-ik] adjective

Having long had a disease...(of a disease) having long duration (opposed to acute).

Long duration...I've only been diagnosed for three months and it already feels like I've had this for years. The habit of waking early enough to take my pain meds and going back to sleep for an hour so when it is time to get up and get ready for work my pain isn't debilitating. The habit of standing still for a moment after getting out of a chair or my car or bed to make sure that I have my balance and to see what is hurting. Watching people move effortlessly and wishing I could make them understand what a blessing that is; that someday it could be gone in an instant.

I'm better than I was. Putting on my bra used to take fifteen minutes and more than once I just stood there and cried. I'm re-learning how to walk normally again. I've been walking with a limp and short steps for so long that I've forgotten how to walk normally. My hands don't hurt nearly as much as I used to and I'm starting to build up their strength again.

I've made numerous adjustments: bras with a larger band size, slip on shoes, picking what seats to use very carefully and wearing clothes that aren't too tight or hard to get off. I'm learning my limits and how far I can push myself. I'm getting more sleep, eating better, taking supplements and visiting the chiropractor. I'm learning that it is important to take care of me, so that I'm able to take care of the rest of my family.

Chronic...maybe forever...that is a long time, very hard to wrap my mind around it. If I think about it too hard I want to panic, or cry. So I try to focus on today. Today is enough, I don't need to worry about any more than that.

Three months in

I've decided that I've been dumping too much on my friends and family so maybe I'll talk to all of you out there in the interwebs. Three months ago I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. The frustration of a chronic disease along with the stigma of a diagnosis that not everyone "believes in" has made this a difficult diagnosis to deal with.

Wrapping my mind around 'there is no cure' and 'I'll be dealing with this for the rest of my life' is nearly impossible. If I catch a cold, in seven to ten days I'll feel as good as new. If I break my arm I'll wear a cast for six weeks and it'll be healed. To realize that medical science has no answer...it is mind boggling. How do I go on? The doctor can only give me advise, not answers.

So I start my new life...a huge collection of pills, an exercise program, a physical therapist and a chiropractor. Together with my doctor we forge ahead to find out what helps me feel better.