At this time of year, many of us feel stressed and overwhelmed. We worry about shopping, decorating, entertaining, and a host of other things. We worry about whether we have bought the right gifts, or enough gifts. We worry about traveling, the amount of money we are spending, and we stress about having to spend time with friends and family. Yesterday, we learned that all of those worries really don't matter at all. Yesterday morning, at approximately 9:30 a.m., a monster entered Sandy Hook Elementary School carrying two semi-automatic handguns. By the time his rampage was over, 26 innocent people, including 20 little children, had lost their lives.
Like me, I know that you were all horrified that something like this could have happened. I stayed glued to the television yesterday, watching the coverage of this national tragedy. I shed tears for the lost lives and for those left behind and my heart broke for those who lost loved ones. I also felt great pride in the teachers who kept many of their small charges safe during this nightmare. I wished that my children were home so that I could hug them and tell them how much I love and appreciate them. And while I can empathize with the loss that these people have suffered, I truly cannot comprehend the level of grief that they are dealing with right now.
Several times, I turned to prayer. I asked God to be with the families as they come to grips with the enormity of what has happened. I asked Him to bring peace to those who survived, and to bring peace to the families who have lost so much. I prayed for the innocents who are gone too soon from this world. And, I asked him to watch over all of us as we process something we cannot even imagine happening. In an interview, one of the priest in Newtown, CT said that he was asked by members of their community if they should turn off their Christmas lights as a show of respect to those who died, and he said that he told them absolutely not. He also stated that the Christmas sky was a little bit brighter, with 20 little bright lights in the heavens.
At a time like this, the problems that we are dealing with in our every day lives just don't seem nearly as important. We are reminded that we need to treat each other with kindness, and that we should love one another just a little bit more. We are reminded how precious our children are, and we all probably hugged them just a little tighter last night. We are reminded that the gifts we give at this time of year aren't nearly as important as the sentiment behind them. We are reminded that, as annoying as some of our friends and family may seem, we are blessed that they are still in our lives.
In the coming days, we will hear more about what happened during this tragedy. We will learn more about those who lost their lives on this day. We will try to understand why something like this could be allowed to happen. And eventually, we will go on with our lives. I hope that we are able to hold on to the joy of the holiday season, even in the face of such unspeakable horror. I pray that we are able to gives thanks for the blessings we have in our lives, and that we are able to let go of some of the stress of the holiday season and simply enjoy our families. And when you give thanks this Christmas, say an extra prayer for the families in Connecticut.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
The Invisible Illness
Chronic Pain. Fibromyalgia. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. These, and many others, are known as invisible illnesses. For those of us suffering from one or more of these, we completely understand the reason behind this title. For others, the reason may not be quite as clear. These conditions are known as invisible illnesses because you cannot look at those of us who suffer from them and see that they are there. In fact, with many of these so-called invisible illnesses, there is not a specific test which can pinpoint the problem. Because of this, many of us have been told that there is nothing wrong with us, or that we simply don't look sick.
There are times when I think it would be easier to have some sort of illness that everyone can see. I almost wish, at times, that there was a neon sign over my head flashing "SICK PERSON" to everyone around me. Most of the time, I use a cane to help me walk. Without it, I can often only manage a few steps at a time. You would think that the cane would be a sign to people that something isn't right. Unfortunately, this is rarely the case. I have gotten dirty looks, and have had people run into me in stores because I wasn't moving fast enough to suit them. I frequently use one of the motorized carts provided by many stores. If it wasn't for those carts, I wouldn't be able to get through the larger stores these days. Because you look at me and see a normal person, people have given me more dirty looks, and have even made rude comments.
The person with an invisible illness doesn't just suffer at the hands of those who are uneducated about our conditions. Many in the medical profession still refuse to acknowledge the existence of fibromyalgia, which has been proved to be a real condition. As many of you know, the first time that I mentioned to a doctor that I thought I might have fibro, he looked at me and told that fibro didn't exist. He went on to tell me that it was just something invented by doctor's to shut up hysterical, hypochondriacal women. I was so shocked by his response that it took me almost 4 years to mention it to another doctor.
Because of the culture of drug abuse that thrives in this country, most of us with chronic pain conditions are looked upon with suspicion right out of the starting gate. Emergency room personnel often assume that we are simply seeking pain medication. In fact, they have a term they use for drug seekers - frequent flyers. Now, there are many people out there who are seeking drugs. I will never deny that. However, those of us who truly suffer with a chronic pain condition must bear the brunt of the suffering caused by these people. We are not only distrusted by emergency room personnel. Often, the very doctors we go to for relief from the unrelenting pain we live with start out from a position of distrust. I am talking about the pain management doctors.
Pain management doctor's are trained to treat people with chronic pain conditions. Because of the abuse of the system, which is rampant, most of these doctor's now require that you sign a "Pain Contract". This contract spells out many of the rules and regulations we as patients are expected to follow in order to receive the medication that allows us to function. Some of the rules include using the same pharmacy, not getting pain medication from another doctor, monthly pill counts, and random urine tests. I understand that the doctor's are trying to protect themselves. I understand that those who do abuse the system make things difficult for the rest of us. However, because of the system we live under today, you and your doctor are placed in more of an adversarial position than one of doctor and patient. There is very little trust between the two. If the patient makes even one mistake regarding this contract, they can be removed from the practice with little or no recourse.
Because pain management isn't a large specialty, finding a new doctor can, for some, be next to impossible. And what rights do we have with regards to the doctor-patient relationship? Very few, as far as I can see. The minute you sign the Pain Contract, there is almost an assumption that you are guilty of something. You feel as though the doctor, and the staff, are just waiting for you to screw up. And even though you are told from the outset that you have the right to adequate pain control, you are afraid to tell the doctor that the medication he or she is giving you isn't working anymore. There is always a fear that they will decide that you are an addict and take you off what little medication you are taking.
For those of us with an invisible, pain-related illness, the system is broken. Because we suffer from chronic pain, we are looked upon by many as being weak, and quite often, as drug addicts. Unlike the "big" diseases such as cancer, heart disease, and AIDS, we don't have large organizations advocating for us. Quite often we are alone to fight an uphill battle that we cannot win. Alone, we have no voice, but together, we can become a force to be reckoned with. We need to contact our leaders on both a state and national level to make sure that our voices are heard. We need to contact medical schools and offer to talk to upcoming classes of new doctor's to help them understand the things we are up against in our daily lives. And we need to support one another, because right now, we are all we have.
There are times when I think it would be easier to have some sort of illness that everyone can see. I almost wish, at times, that there was a neon sign over my head flashing "SICK PERSON" to everyone around me. Most of the time, I use a cane to help me walk. Without it, I can often only manage a few steps at a time. You would think that the cane would be a sign to people that something isn't right. Unfortunately, this is rarely the case. I have gotten dirty looks, and have had people run into me in stores because I wasn't moving fast enough to suit them. I frequently use one of the motorized carts provided by many stores. If it wasn't for those carts, I wouldn't be able to get through the larger stores these days. Because you look at me and see a normal person, people have given me more dirty looks, and have even made rude comments.
The person with an invisible illness doesn't just suffer at the hands of those who are uneducated about our conditions. Many in the medical profession still refuse to acknowledge the existence of fibromyalgia, which has been proved to be a real condition. As many of you know, the first time that I mentioned to a doctor that I thought I might have fibro, he looked at me and told that fibro didn't exist. He went on to tell me that it was just something invented by doctor's to shut up hysterical, hypochondriacal women. I was so shocked by his response that it took me almost 4 years to mention it to another doctor.
Because of the culture of drug abuse that thrives in this country, most of us with chronic pain conditions are looked upon with suspicion right out of the starting gate. Emergency room personnel often assume that we are simply seeking pain medication. In fact, they have a term they use for drug seekers - frequent flyers. Now, there are many people out there who are seeking drugs. I will never deny that. However, those of us who truly suffer with a chronic pain condition must bear the brunt of the suffering caused by these people. We are not only distrusted by emergency room personnel. Often, the very doctors we go to for relief from the unrelenting pain we live with start out from a position of distrust. I am talking about the pain management doctors.
Pain management doctor's are trained to treat people with chronic pain conditions. Because of the abuse of the system, which is rampant, most of these doctor's now require that you sign a "Pain Contract". This contract spells out many of the rules and regulations we as patients are expected to follow in order to receive the medication that allows us to function. Some of the rules include using the same pharmacy, not getting pain medication from another doctor, monthly pill counts, and random urine tests. I understand that the doctor's are trying to protect themselves. I understand that those who do abuse the system make things difficult for the rest of us. However, because of the system we live under today, you and your doctor are placed in more of an adversarial position than one of doctor and patient. There is very little trust between the two. If the patient makes even one mistake regarding this contract, they can be removed from the practice with little or no recourse.
Because pain management isn't a large specialty, finding a new doctor can, for some, be next to impossible. And what rights do we have with regards to the doctor-patient relationship? Very few, as far as I can see. The minute you sign the Pain Contract, there is almost an assumption that you are guilty of something. You feel as though the doctor, and the staff, are just waiting for you to screw up. And even though you are told from the outset that you have the right to adequate pain control, you are afraid to tell the doctor that the medication he or she is giving you isn't working anymore. There is always a fear that they will decide that you are an addict and take you off what little medication you are taking.
For those of us with an invisible, pain-related illness, the system is broken. Because we suffer from chronic pain, we are looked upon by many as being weak, and quite often, as drug addicts. Unlike the "big" diseases such as cancer, heart disease, and AIDS, we don't have large organizations advocating for us. Quite often we are alone to fight an uphill battle that we cannot win. Alone, we have no voice, but together, we can become a force to be reckoned with. We need to contact our leaders on both a state and national level to make sure that our voices are heard. We need to contact medical schools and offer to talk to upcoming classes of new doctor's to help them understand the things we are up against in our daily lives. And we need to support one another, because right now, we are all we have.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The Holiday Doldrums
Well, the season has started. We are now being bombarded with images of perfect families, gathered around turkeys and trees, looking completely happy to be there. Our senses are being assaulted with Christmas Carols, ringing bells, and various wonderful smells. Our televisions are already showing Christmas movies, and the commercials are whipping our children into a frenzy over which toy they will absolutely die without. We are expected to greet everyone we see with a great, big smile, and a hearty "Happy Holidays!". We have entered the land of forced cheerfulness and joy.
This is the time of year that I want to crawl into a hole and pull and rock over my head. Like the famed ground hog, I feel like poking my head out of my hole every once in a while to see if its spring yet. If you can't tell already, this is probably my least favorite time of year. Cooking Thanksgiving dinner is an excruciatingly painful experience for me. My husband and sons help as much as they can, but most of the time, they are parked in front of the T.V., watching the games, while I am slaving over a hot oven and stove, praying everything is ready at the same time. By the time we eat, I just want to crawl into my recliner and down a handful of pain pills.
I don't get giddy at the sight of twinkling lights and the thought of putting up the Christmas tree and decorations fills me with dread. For years, I have made a good show of it for the sake of my boys, but, if it wasn't for them, I would probably just ignore the whole thing. The holidays have been depressing to me for almost as long as I can remember. As a child and teenager, it never failed but that I was sick over Christmas. Almost all of our family pictures from that time show me looking absolutely miserable. I always appreciated the presents my family gave me, but once everything was opened, I felt such a let down, and I couldn't seem to come out of it.
I hate shopping, and I always have. The very idea of going to a mall at this time of the year fills me with terror. I have a mild form of agoraphobia, and all of those people pressed around me brings on a panic attack almost every time. These days, I do most of my shopping online in order to avoid the crush. Because my husband and I are both disabled, money is always tight. This year is worse than usual, and I have no idea how I am going to get my boys anything for Christmas. Whoever said that it's the thought that counts had no idea what they were talking about! I know that anything I am able to do is going to be a disappointment for them, especially when they have to listen to their friends talk about the game systems, cars, computers, and the like which they got for Christmas.
From now until probably February, I am going to be depressed. This is simply a fact of life. Forget the holiday part of it; this time of year causes me excruciating pain. The cold is almost more than I can bear anymore. I have rods in my back from my fusion surgery, and when they get cold, it feels like tin foil touching a filling. It's hard to get excited about celebrating anything when just walking to the bathroom hurts so very much. If I had my way about it, the holidays would pass completely unnoticed in my world. I know that probably sounds selfish to some, but it is the honest truth.
And so, this year, like every other year, I will fake it. I will cook Thanksgiving dinner and pretend to enjoy it. I will decorate the tree with a smile on my face. I will send out a few Christmas cards and I will smile when I say "Merry Christmas". I will buy what presents I can afford and pray that it's enough. And, I will be miserable the entire time. I wish that I wasn't like this, and I would do anything I could do to change it. Unfortunately, I haven't figured out a way to get out of the Holiday Doldrums. I just keep reminding myself that spring is around the corner, and I am thankful that the Holidays only come around once a year.
This is the time of year that I want to crawl into a hole and pull and rock over my head. Like the famed ground hog, I feel like poking my head out of my hole every once in a while to see if its spring yet. If you can't tell already, this is probably my least favorite time of year. Cooking Thanksgiving dinner is an excruciatingly painful experience for me. My husband and sons help as much as they can, but most of the time, they are parked in front of the T.V., watching the games, while I am slaving over a hot oven and stove, praying everything is ready at the same time. By the time we eat, I just want to crawl into my recliner and down a handful of pain pills.
I don't get giddy at the sight of twinkling lights and the thought of putting up the Christmas tree and decorations fills me with dread. For years, I have made a good show of it for the sake of my boys, but, if it wasn't for them, I would probably just ignore the whole thing. The holidays have been depressing to me for almost as long as I can remember. As a child and teenager, it never failed but that I was sick over Christmas. Almost all of our family pictures from that time show me looking absolutely miserable. I always appreciated the presents my family gave me, but once everything was opened, I felt such a let down, and I couldn't seem to come out of it.
I hate shopping, and I always have. The very idea of going to a mall at this time of the year fills me with terror. I have a mild form of agoraphobia, and all of those people pressed around me brings on a panic attack almost every time. These days, I do most of my shopping online in order to avoid the crush. Because my husband and I are both disabled, money is always tight. This year is worse than usual, and I have no idea how I am going to get my boys anything for Christmas. Whoever said that it's the thought that counts had no idea what they were talking about! I know that anything I am able to do is going to be a disappointment for them, especially when they have to listen to their friends talk about the game systems, cars, computers, and the like which they got for Christmas.
From now until probably February, I am going to be depressed. This is simply a fact of life. Forget the holiday part of it; this time of year causes me excruciating pain. The cold is almost more than I can bear anymore. I have rods in my back from my fusion surgery, and when they get cold, it feels like tin foil touching a filling. It's hard to get excited about celebrating anything when just walking to the bathroom hurts so very much. If I had my way about it, the holidays would pass completely unnoticed in my world. I know that probably sounds selfish to some, but it is the honest truth.
And so, this year, like every other year, I will fake it. I will cook Thanksgiving dinner and pretend to enjoy it. I will decorate the tree with a smile on my face. I will send out a few Christmas cards and I will smile when I say "Merry Christmas". I will buy what presents I can afford and pray that it's enough. And, I will be miserable the entire time. I wish that I wasn't like this, and I would do anything I could do to change it. Unfortunately, I haven't figured out a way to get out of the Holiday Doldrums. I just keep reminding myself that spring is around the corner, and I am thankful that the Holidays only come around once a year.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Facing Mortality
I turned fifty this year, and while it doesn't seem nearly as old as it once did, this age brings your mortality into a far more sharper focus. I no longer believe that I'm going to live forever, nor do I think I'm going to die in the next ten years. My life is different from my parents was at this age. I'm still raising my children, and my parents had already entered that empty nest phase. They were able to spend a month in Europe while I was in college and my sister was in high school. I know I will never do that, although I wouldn't turn it down.
My mother turned 72 this year and she is in better health than I am, and yet the thought of losing her scares me more than the thought of my own death. My mother is still my best friend and my biggest cheerleader, and the thought of not being able to just pick up the phone and call her whenever I want makes me very sad. I would do anything to be able to move home just to spend the rest of her life being there for her, the way that she has always been there for me. But right now, that just isn't possible.
My husband and I are both in poor health, even at this relatively young age. As many of you know, my husband has a progressive neurological disease which is hereditary. I constantly worry about what will happen when I am no longer able to care for him. It is already getting to the point that I can't get him out for appointments and that sort of thing, because my disability has made lifting his wheelchair into and out of the car almost impossible. My two children who are still at home help out more than they should have to right now, and I tell them daily how much I appreciate them. However, my middle son will leave for college next fall, and my youngest one will only have two years of high school left and then he will be gone for college as well. What will we do when it is just the two of us?
Right now, I am equally afraid of dying at a relatively young age, and of living to be a very old woman. I don't want to be a burden to my boys. I want them to be able to live productive, happy lives without having to worry about what to do about Mom and Dad. I also worry about the possibility of them inheriting their father's condition. While we had no way of knowing about it, I wonder if I would have had children if I knew we would possibly be handing this to them. But, being selfish, I can't imagine my life without my beautiful boys.
I pray all the time that one day, I will wake up and my physical pain will be gone. For the time being, that prayer isn't being answered. I wonder, though, if I would be the woman that I am now had I never suffered with this chronic pain. Would I be as empathetic towards others? Would I reach out to people who suffer? Would I be sharing my life through my writings with others? While I can't fully answer these questions, I would like to think that I would. I also wonder if I would be thinking about my own mortality at fifty if I hadn't been given the life that I have now.
My mother turned 72 this year and she is in better health than I am, and yet the thought of losing her scares me more than the thought of my own death. My mother is still my best friend and my biggest cheerleader, and the thought of not being able to just pick up the phone and call her whenever I want makes me very sad. I would do anything to be able to move home just to spend the rest of her life being there for her, the way that she has always been there for me. But right now, that just isn't possible.
My husband and I are both in poor health, even at this relatively young age. As many of you know, my husband has a progressive neurological disease which is hereditary. I constantly worry about what will happen when I am no longer able to care for him. It is already getting to the point that I can't get him out for appointments and that sort of thing, because my disability has made lifting his wheelchair into and out of the car almost impossible. My two children who are still at home help out more than they should have to right now, and I tell them daily how much I appreciate them. However, my middle son will leave for college next fall, and my youngest one will only have two years of high school left and then he will be gone for college as well. What will we do when it is just the two of us?
Right now, I am equally afraid of dying at a relatively young age, and of living to be a very old woman. I don't want to be a burden to my boys. I want them to be able to live productive, happy lives without having to worry about what to do about Mom and Dad. I also worry about the possibility of them inheriting their father's condition. While we had no way of knowing about it, I wonder if I would have had children if I knew we would possibly be handing this to them. But, being selfish, I can't imagine my life without my beautiful boys.
I pray all the time that one day, I will wake up and my physical pain will be gone. For the time being, that prayer isn't being answered. I wonder, though, if I would be the woman that I am now had I never suffered with this chronic pain. Would I be as empathetic towards others? Would I reach out to people who suffer? Would I be sharing my life through my writings with others? While I can't fully answer these questions, I would like to think that I would. I also wonder if I would be thinking about my own mortality at fifty if I hadn't been given the life that I have now.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Honesty isn't Easy
Writing my blog has been one of the most freeing, and terrifying, things that I have ever done. I have given myself permission to open up and allow others to look into my thoughts and feelings. For me, this is a daunting task. I've written before, that, thanks to the way I was raised, being open and honest is never easy. I was always told that you should "put your best foot forward", and I have always tried to live that way, even though, on many occasions, it has led me into deep depressions. Today, a lot of things have been coursing through my mind, and I'm going to take a big step towards being totally honest. It isn't easy, but I think it's important.
Okay, here goes. The last few days, I have been doing a lot of soul searching and I am starting to assess some of the things I'm learning about myself. Even though I often feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I try not to show that to the the people in my life. I am very good at suppressing my emotions, stuffing them down so deeply, that even I think that they don't exist. But, you can only stuff so many things into a container. Pretty soon, that container starts to over flow. Well, my inner container is full, and things are starting to fall out. I can try picking them up and stuffing them back in, but soon, you realize that nothing else is going to fit.
Right now, I'm really angry about the way my life has turned out. I take full responsibility for most of it. I have made mistakes that have led me to where I am, and there is no way to go back in time and change these things. I really thought that I had learned to accept my life as it is, but I do have regrets. Some of the things that I'm angry about, however, are out of my control and these are probably the hardest to live with. Chronic pain has stolen so much from me. I want my life back! I want to know what it's like to wake up in the morning, feeling rested and without pain. I want to be able to just pick and go do things without having to access how I'm feeling, or how I'm going to feel if I actually do what I want. I want to be more available to my children instead of always telling them that I can't because I feel so bad.
I'm tired of seeing the person in the mirror who looks back at me. I have gained so much weight lately. I talk about losing weight, but just can't seem to do anything about it. I am an emotional eater. Happy, sad, angry, it doesn't matter - I can find some sort of food to stuff in my mouth that I think is going to fill the hole. But it never does, and then I eat more, trying to fill the hole that eating the first mass of food created inside me. Now, you would think that knowing this about myself would be half the battle, but it isn't. Knowing that I do this to myself almost makes it worse. It's like I think I'm past the point of no return and nothing I do is going to fix it.
Food is my drug. I love it and hate it at the same time. I have been this way for almost as long as I can remember. As many of you know, I was molested as a child. I really believe that my emotional eating started with this monstrous act. I was also an extremely shy and awkward child. I didn't have many friends, but I always had food. It was always there, and it always made me feel better, at least for a short period of time. I was miserable in school, and when I got home, there was always something to eat at home. I could always get my fix, and know that the pain would go away, even for a short period of time.
Over the years, I have been able to diet and lose weight, but it always came back. Something would always come along to drive me back to my drug of choice. I have gained and lost a couple of people of the years. I think it would be far easier to kick a drug or alcohol habit, because you can live without those things. Unfortunately, you can't live without food. Whenever I feel hunger pangs, I feel terrified. I almost feel like I am going to die from the pain, and I have to immediately eat something to stave off the pain. I think that those pains of hunger represent the emotional pain throughout my life. If I don't feel the pain of hunger, then I won't feel the emotional pain that has always been a part of my life.
I wish that I could end this piece by saying that I have a handle on this, and that I have started a diet which is going to be the one which is going to take. I can't say that yet. I wish I could say that I am ready to end my toxic relationship with food, but I can't. What I can say is that I am ready to publicly admit what I am going through. I am ready to admit that food is my addiction, and that I am powerless against it. That seems to be the start of the battle, and I pray that one day soon, I will be able to say that I am at least fighting the war.
Okay, here goes. The last few days, I have been doing a lot of soul searching and I am starting to assess some of the things I'm learning about myself. Even though I often feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I try not to show that to the the people in my life. I am very good at suppressing my emotions, stuffing them down so deeply, that even I think that they don't exist. But, you can only stuff so many things into a container. Pretty soon, that container starts to over flow. Well, my inner container is full, and things are starting to fall out. I can try picking them up and stuffing them back in, but soon, you realize that nothing else is going to fit.
Right now, I'm really angry about the way my life has turned out. I take full responsibility for most of it. I have made mistakes that have led me to where I am, and there is no way to go back in time and change these things. I really thought that I had learned to accept my life as it is, but I do have regrets. Some of the things that I'm angry about, however, are out of my control and these are probably the hardest to live with. Chronic pain has stolen so much from me. I want my life back! I want to know what it's like to wake up in the morning, feeling rested and without pain. I want to be able to just pick and go do things without having to access how I'm feeling, or how I'm going to feel if I actually do what I want. I want to be more available to my children instead of always telling them that I can't because I feel so bad.
I'm tired of seeing the person in the mirror who looks back at me. I have gained so much weight lately. I talk about losing weight, but just can't seem to do anything about it. I am an emotional eater. Happy, sad, angry, it doesn't matter - I can find some sort of food to stuff in my mouth that I think is going to fill the hole. But it never does, and then I eat more, trying to fill the hole that eating the first mass of food created inside me. Now, you would think that knowing this about myself would be half the battle, but it isn't. Knowing that I do this to myself almost makes it worse. It's like I think I'm past the point of no return and nothing I do is going to fix it.
Food is my drug. I love it and hate it at the same time. I have been this way for almost as long as I can remember. As many of you know, I was molested as a child. I really believe that my emotional eating started with this monstrous act. I was also an extremely shy and awkward child. I didn't have many friends, but I always had food. It was always there, and it always made me feel better, at least for a short period of time. I was miserable in school, and when I got home, there was always something to eat at home. I could always get my fix, and know that the pain would go away, even for a short period of time.
Over the years, I have been able to diet and lose weight, but it always came back. Something would always come along to drive me back to my drug of choice. I have gained and lost a couple of people of the years. I think it would be far easier to kick a drug or alcohol habit, because you can live without those things. Unfortunately, you can't live without food. Whenever I feel hunger pangs, I feel terrified. I almost feel like I am going to die from the pain, and I have to immediately eat something to stave off the pain. I think that those pains of hunger represent the emotional pain throughout my life. If I don't feel the pain of hunger, then I won't feel the emotional pain that has always been a part of my life.
I wish that I could end this piece by saying that I have a handle on this, and that I have started a diet which is going to be the one which is going to take. I can't say that yet. I wish I could say that I am ready to end my toxic relationship with food, but I can't. What I can say is that I am ready to publicly admit what I am going through. I am ready to admit that food is my addiction, and that I am powerless against it. That seems to be the start of the battle, and I pray that one day soon, I will be able to say that I am at least fighting the war.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Please Don't Ask Me How I Am
Do you ever get tired of people asking you how you are doing, and then watching their eyes glaze over when you actually start to tell them the truth? Have you learned to respond with the obligatory "I'm fine", because you know that's really all the other person wants to hear? I know I am. The real title of this post should be "Don't Ask Me How I Am Because I Don't Have The Energy To Lie To You Right Now"!
Through the years of living with chronic pain, I have learned that most people really don't mean it when they ask you how you are. They want the short, sweet answer of I'm fine. Most of the time, I can toss that one off with ease. I can even smile when I'm saying it, and make the other person believe that I really am fine. The truth of the matter is that I want to say, "I feel lousy right now! Every inch of my body hurts, and just standing hear talking to you is almost more than I can bear!". Of course, I don't say this, but boy, do I want to!
Right now, I am going through a really rough time. My pain is about a 20 on a scale of 1 to 10. I find myself avoiding people, because I don't have the energy to smile through the pain at the moment. And to be honest with you, I'm tired of listening to my self complain about how I feel. We've all known someone who does nothing but complain, and sometimes, I think that I'm turning into that person. Then, I think if I am turning into that person, I don't want to inflict myself on others, so I find myself withdrawing. It's a vicious circle to be caught up in.
I am supposed to be going to see my mom next month. She is paying for me to fly down and spend a long weekend with her. I am really excited about it, but in the back of my mind, I am almost afraid to go. I worry about having a flare up or just complaining too much. I worry about trying to get through an airport in this condition. I worry about getting there and not having the energy to do anything. I know my mom understands, but I haven't really traveled with this before and I don't know how it's going to affect me.
At the moment, I am just sick of the whole thing! I am tired of the pain! I am tired of complaining! I am tired of the person I am now! I am tired of worrying about offending someone else if I actually have the nerve to really tell them how I am! I think from now on, I will respond to the question of "How are you?" by saying, "Don't ask me if you don't really want to know". That way, the other person has fair warning that they aren't going to get a simple "fine" out of me. They know that something is coming, and I'm giving them an out from hearing about it! Once I get started, I may still see their eyes start to glaze over, but they can't say I didn't give them fair warning!
Through the years of living with chronic pain, I have learned that most people really don't mean it when they ask you how you are. They want the short, sweet answer of I'm fine. Most of the time, I can toss that one off with ease. I can even smile when I'm saying it, and make the other person believe that I really am fine. The truth of the matter is that I want to say, "I feel lousy right now! Every inch of my body hurts, and just standing hear talking to you is almost more than I can bear!". Of course, I don't say this, but boy, do I want to!
Right now, I am going through a really rough time. My pain is about a 20 on a scale of 1 to 10. I find myself avoiding people, because I don't have the energy to smile through the pain at the moment. And to be honest with you, I'm tired of listening to my self complain about how I feel. We've all known someone who does nothing but complain, and sometimes, I think that I'm turning into that person. Then, I think if I am turning into that person, I don't want to inflict myself on others, so I find myself withdrawing. It's a vicious circle to be caught up in.
I am supposed to be going to see my mom next month. She is paying for me to fly down and spend a long weekend with her. I am really excited about it, but in the back of my mind, I am almost afraid to go. I worry about having a flare up or just complaining too much. I worry about trying to get through an airport in this condition. I worry about getting there and not having the energy to do anything. I know my mom understands, but I haven't really traveled with this before and I don't know how it's going to affect me.
At the moment, I am just sick of the whole thing! I am tired of the pain! I am tired of complaining! I am tired of the person I am now! I am tired of worrying about offending someone else if I actually have the nerve to really tell them how I am! I think from now on, I will respond to the question of "How are you?" by saying, "Don't ask me if you don't really want to know". That way, the other person has fair warning that they aren't going to get a simple "fine" out of me. They know that something is coming, and I'm giving them an out from hearing about it! Once I get started, I may still see their eyes start to glaze over, but they can't say I didn't give them fair warning!
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
I'm Afraid
Yesterday, I had several errands to run. I had to pick one of my sons up from school, and then I had to do a few run of the mill errands. I was in the car for about two hours, and luckily for me, my boys are able to do minor grocery shopping. So, I sat in the car while they ran into a couple of stores and pumped gas for me. By the time we got home, I could barely move! My wonderful boys helped me out of the car and up the back steps. I was in tears by the time I got in the back door.
My youngest son, Jack, took my shoes and socks off for me, and then my husband had to come in the bedroom and basically undress me and change my clothes for me. Talk about embarrassing! I know they love me, and they don't mind doing these things, but who wants to admit that they can't take their own shoes and socks off, or change their own clothes? I made it to my recliner and just sat there and sobbed.
This morning, every inch of my body hurts. I can barely move, and I know that today is going to consist of trying to recover from yesterday. I miss the days when going out and running errands was just that! I hate having to have a day to prepare myself for things like this, and then another couple of days to get over it. I am angry with my conditions and with my body. I feel like I am being betrayed by someone who has always been there for me.
As you know, my husband has a progressive neurological condition which has confined him to a wheelchair. He is no longer able to drive, although he is a wonder around the house. I have handled all of the "running" since he became ill. It hasn't always been easy, but I have always been able to do what had to be done. I accepted that it was my role in the household. Even though I usually hate doing it, I knew that this was the main thing that I did to contribute to the household. I almost feel like I'm losing a part of my identity.
Pain has been my constant companion for many years now. I go to bed with it at night and I wake up with it in the morning. However, I've always been able to keep it at bay a certain amount of the time. But now, the amount of pain I am experiencing is getting much worse. It is the type of pain that makes you catch your breath and wonder how you are going to make it until the next minute. How does a person keep going with pain this severe? How do you continue to have a semblance of a normal life? How do you keep from feeling like a burden to the people you love? These are questions that I just don't have the answers to right now.
Dale and I aren't getting any younger. Our children are starting to leave the nest, and in just a few years, it's just going to be the two of us. I am terrified about our future. What will happen to us if both of us are no longer able to function in the real world. We aren't wealthy people and we can't afford to hire people to cook, clean and run errands for us. Will our only choice be to move into a nursing home while we are still relatively young? This just isn't the future I had pictured.
I still have hope that someone somewhere will find a way to treat chronic pain. I still have hope that at some point, I will start to get better. I still have hope that this is a temporary setback and I will start to feel better soon. But, it doesn't take away the fear that I am experiencing right now. I don't want to continue living like this and I don't know how to stop the fear. It's not an easy life, but I'm not giving up. I am going to keep fighting this until I don't have to fight it anymore.
My youngest son, Jack, took my shoes and socks off for me, and then my husband had to come in the bedroom and basically undress me and change my clothes for me. Talk about embarrassing! I know they love me, and they don't mind doing these things, but who wants to admit that they can't take their own shoes and socks off, or change their own clothes? I made it to my recliner and just sat there and sobbed.
This morning, every inch of my body hurts. I can barely move, and I know that today is going to consist of trying to recover from yesterday. I miss the days when going out and running errands was just that! I hate having to have a day to prepare myself for things like this, and then another couple of days to get over it. I am angry with my conditions and with my body. I feel like I am being betrayed by someone who has always been there for me.
As you know, my husband has a progressive neurological condition which has confined him to a wheelchair. He is no longer able to drive, although he is a wonder around the house. I have handled all of the "running" since he became ill. It hasn't always been easy, but I have always been able to do what had to be done. I accepted that it was my role in the household. Even though I usually hate doing it, I knew that this was the main thing that I did to contribute to the household. I almost feel like I'm losing a part of my identity.
Pain has been my constant companion for many years now. I go to bed with it at night and I wake up with it in the morning. However, I've always been able to keep it at bay a certain amount of the time. But now, the amount of pain I am experiencing is getting much worse. It is the type of pain that makes you catch your breath and wonder how you are going to make it until the next minute. How does a person keep going with pain this severe? How do you continue to have a semblance of a normal life? How do you keep from feeling like a burden to the people you love? These are questions that I just don't have the answers to right now.
Dale and I aren't getting any younger. Our children are starting to leave the nest, and in just a few years, it's just going to be the two of us. I am terrified about our future. What will happen to us if both of us are no longer able to function in the real world. We aren't wealthy people and we can't afford to hire people to cook, clean and run errands for us. Will our only choice be to move into a nursing home while we are still relatively young? This just isn't the future I had pictured.
I still have hope that someone somewhere will find a way to treat chronic pain. I still have hope that at some point, I will start to get better. I still have hope that this is a temporary setback and I will start to feel better soon. But, it doesn't take away the fear that I am experiencing right now. I don't want to continue living like this and I don't know how to stop the fear. It's not an easy life, but I'm not giving up. I am going to keep fighting this until I don't have to fight it anymore.
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