Word of Warning: This is a rant/life update post that also makes something of a point. Other chronic illness fighters may relate to the point, and I hope “healthy” readers can appreciate it and maybe learn something from it!
So without much adieu, here’s the point, nice and early, so you don’t have to read till the end.
As my husband has been known to say, “the point is the point.”
OK, just kidding. No such luck! But if you stare hard enough at it, and then look away, you will see a square. I hope that makes up for the the last 20 seconds of your life reading a bad joke. No money back guarantee for the next 20 seconds if you don’t see the square, though.
For the last month or so, I seem to be hopping between flares. This last one has lasted a few weeks, replete with intractable pain and bone-crushing fatigue that is made worse by lack of sleep. That I come close to passing out unwanted (often at my work desk) but then struggle to sleep at night just feels like an unfunny joke my brain is playing on me.
Although my husband is much more mobile now, I am still taking care of some house chores. After a full week of work, I was feeling the lack of adequate rest on the weekends for a while. It’s a bit like I kept making automatic payments out of an already overdrawn bank account. Except here we are dealing with the biological currency – ATP – adenine triphosphate, aka, raw naked energy.
If you’ve ever overdrawn your account, you know the overdraft fees that apply. It’s money that you pay for not having money to pay with in the first place. Well, the Bank of ATP is no charity either. Pushing forth on empty just pushes you deeper into a hole that becomes harder and harder to come out of. That’s where I was when the weather flip-flopped rapidly. Without any energy left in savings to speak of, I went down almost as fast as the barometer.
(In a bizarre way, this flare makes me feel vindicated that I did not just stop partaking in the chores for material pleasure — it actually made physical sense for me to spend the weekends resting, and recharging the battery for the following week.)
Since I also just started my new job, I don’t exactly have an abundance of leave time or bargaining chips (or any really!) accumulated yet. That means I simply have to push through, even as I am struggling to stay sitting up. I am also starting work much earlier these days. That means forcing my body to move before it’s had a chance to thaw, thus using up more energy for the “wake up” routine than it otherwise would.
Kind of like the chicken you didn’t have time to thaw before dinner, and now it’s going to take extra power to cook from frozen.
Which, all, finally brings me to the point of this post:
All that about counting energy bars used for strenuous activities like “waking”, and struggling to breathe through the pain, and running while practically on empty, is what makes fibromyalgia a little more than just feeling a bit achy and tired.
I know a lot of people get achy when it’s rainy. Nobody likes waking up early after not getting a good night’s sleep. Everybody gets tired from time to time. And I know all of these people still do everything that I do, and maybe a dozen things more, and chalk it all up to “adulting” without a complaint.
So why can’t I? Because fibromyalgia is a bit more than just feeling a tad tired and achy sometimes. It’s feeling like that all the time. And I work through it too without most people even knowing I have a chronic pain condition.
But “achy” is not the same as the band of pain and muscle tightness and spasms that grip my chest and make every breath a struggle. And after having tasted quite a range of the pain menu (joint, muscle and nerve), I can safely say that the Iron Maiden — my most favorite metal and least favorite pain band [yes, the “band” pun was totally intended] — is the absolute pits.
That is a bit different from when someone is sore for a day or two from the weather or an especially hard exercise routine. They don’t have to brace for a major flare from ignored achiness, that might bring on new heights in pain sensation. The ache is the flare. It’s downhill from there.
In a fibro flare, on the other hand, I have been known to want to cry, but the fatigue is so all-encompassing that I realize it will take too much energy to cry. I have to save whatever is left of me to move my limbs and get through the day without passing out. A large part of what makes the flare worse is also poor sleep. What I once described to my doctor as an “all-body migraine” means I cannot get comfortable enough to sleep well, and lack of restful sleep in turn makes both the pain and the fatigue worse; and thence is triggered a vicious cycle.
Avoiding these kinds of flares that have the potential to floor you become of near-paramount importance in the management of a condition like FM. I have had to restructure my whole life, sometimes struggling to keep up with even the reduced pace, cutting back everywhere and on everything that I can, just to avoid these flares. I imagine people with chronic pain disorders know what I am talking about. But it is very hard to explain this to somebody who doesn’t see the struggle behind the shallow breaths, even when they otherwise know what being in pain feels like. They don’t have to worry about the localized pain turning into an all-over flare that literally affects every part of the body, everything from sore feet to a foggy head.
The centralized nature of this pain disorder also means that I never know where and when to expect an exacerbation of the pain. The back is a constant, so at least I know that’s a house guest who’s staying again today. But who else is coming to visit — and for how long? Is it going to be my arm? The wrist perhaps? Or maybe the knee, or the feet (are the ankles coming too?), or perhaps it’s going to be the thigh? Is the neck pain just from sleeping funny, or is this about to be a killer migraine? And how long will that last?
The uncertainty and unpredictability of pain due to a central sensitization disorder makes it very hard for people with only peripheral injury-related pain experience to understand or empathize with this kind of “achy”.
If you can expect a pain a certain way, it’s easier to take mitigating steps, which you know will work with some reliability. With centralized pain, you never know what to prepare for. And because you can’t be prepared for everything all the time, you are likely to be sometimes caught off guard. Like I know laying down helps me breathe again when the pain otherwise tightens the vise around my chest, but I cannot lay down at work.
And the fight it takes to keep sitting up when the pain is overpowering takes up more energy that I don’t have. I used to be a high-achieving student, so I know what “tired” feels like. I never dreamed it could be counting how many ATPs it took me to get out of bed this morning! Some days it takes more than others. So you can either plan your day accordingly, or, if you’re fresh out of choices, you go further into overdraft at the Bank of ATP. And then you feel the dire exhaustion that takes “tired” to the next level.
My friend describes it as being like a “zombie”. Well, it’s pretty accurate. I was alive and moving, but all the life juice was taken out of me, and I was just performing the motions. I felt like I might collapse into a bag of bones the minute I didn’t pay explicit attention to allocating the necessary resources to hold my body upright.
All of this constant daily struggling, peppered by knock-out flares, is why fibromyalgia is not just feeling “kinda tired” and “a bit achy” once in a while. That’s why, even when people are not trying to be belittling, I can only sigh when I hear things like, “you’re fine, everybody gets tired”, or “I didn’t feel like waking up this morning either”, or “yeah, this weather’s hard on everyone”. I appreciate that people often mean well, and are trying to be kind when they say those things. I just wish that before they said it, they had a small inkling of what we truly felt like.