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.

I need to be normal some days

Yesterday I went out with a friend and a co-worker to spend the day at IKEA. There is only one Ikea in Oregon, so it took a little over two hours to drive there. The store is HUGE. I haven't been there for several years and I really wanted to go look for some furniture for my daughter's tiny bedroom.

I was looking forward to spending time with my friend. I've always liked my co-worker, we were friends before she interviewed me for the job I have now. But I've been careful who I let know that I have fibromyalgia. She is now a supervisor for another team and I don't want to limit my chances for future promotions. So, I was worried about how it might look to her if I got tired too quickly.

For the Ikea uninitiated, the top floor is the showroom with a long maze-like path winding you through the showroom which was full of dozens of tiny examples of living spaces. My IBS was acting up while I was upstairs in the showroom and there is only one restroom on both floors so I had to be careful while navigating the maze to remember how to get back to the bathroom at all times. There is also a restaurant there, YUM, I love Swedish meatballs with lingonberry preserves.

After that you go downstairs to shop before hitting the huge Costco-like warehouse to pick up your boxes with the parts of your furniture. I wasn't sure I'd make it through. In the showroom there are hundreds of chairs and places to rest. However, once you get downstairs you have to really look for benches and places to sit.

I made it through with only limited pain and fatigue during and afterwards. I had a day were I felt as close to normal as I've felt in a long time. I had to keep taking my pain killers and tried to be discrete about it. I didn't talk about fibromyalgia the entire time we were together. I was a normal person out shopping with friends.

I knew not to plan anything today. I'm praying that I won't be too tired tomorrow. I need to go to work. But even if everything isn't perfect, it was worth it for the day of near normalcy.

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.