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Kids, Don't Get Fibromyalgia. It Sucks.
Jun. 2nd, 2011 06:28 pmHello, June. What a way to say hello.
I fell yesterday around noon, in the main bathroom. I was wearing my awesome Dan Post cowboy boots, which are supposed to be slip-proof. The fake wood linoleum floor is supposed to be slip-proof, which is why Adam spent all that time and effort laying the tiles down years ago. None of that mattered to my brainbody, because as I moved toward the door I was suddenly airborne, falling backwards and to the right. I crashed so hard that I heard something else crash: On the wall outside the bathroom, the shadowbox holding Adam's Most Interesting And Probably Worth Money Lighters shook enough to dislodge most of the lighters, sending them tumbling down the stairs. My very first thought was "Well, fuck, this is stupid. Also, ow." I was already trying to flail my way upright when Adam, who had been asleep (his day off), launched out of the bedroom and hurtled toward me, asking "Are you okay? Are you okay?" I mumbled something like, "Yeah, probably, whatever." He grabbed my hand and arm and literally had to pull and scoop me up, I had that much trouble standing.
Some unlikely things happened after that, guaranteed due to shock: I told Adam to go back to bed. I hobbled down the stairs somehow. I moved Adam's laundry from washer to dryer and from bucket to washer. I hobbled up the stairs. I went into the entertainment room and stared blankly for a while. I heard Adam getting dressed and moving around.
I was on my couch, assessing my pain levels and muscle damage, and realizing just how dissociated I was becoming. Adam sat on the other couch and watched me carefully while working with the PlayStation. I kept making pained sounds, like a wounded kitten or wounded puppy. He told me to come to him, because I was shaking and pale and my eyes looked faraway. We discussed (me shakily) the possibility of going to the hospital. I didn't think I needed that. We figured I was more stunned and bruised than anything. I asked him to do a hands-on assessment, as he used to be a volunteer EMT back in the day and still had plenty of knowledge about injuries.
I stood, trembling, leaning on him, while he ran his hands up and down my right leg. I flinched, winced, and cried out whenever he touched me. When he gently poked my hipbone, I yelped and sobbed. We decided that I was mostly just very very very bruised all over, possibly even bruised at my hipbone but not serious for an ER visit. He grabbed the arnica, I dumped four tablets under my tongue. Then I got the hydrocodone, then he made me lay down with him and breathe so I could stop shaking. At some point, I took a Klonopin as well, because I could not stop sobbing, shaking, or whimpering, and I had long since accepted the pain.
Over the next several hours, I would often announce how I felt in detail. I still wanted to run the day's errands, which consisted of us driving to a book store for me, a sporting goods store and Home Depot for him, and CVS for me. I took my cane. I walked like a very old wounded woman. Adam paid for everything: A copy of "Deadline" by Mira Grant and a copy of "Neon Graveyard" by Vicki Pettersson; two bags of Lindt truffles (buy two for twenty dollars); his fishing license; plants for the garden; and my current prescription refills plus the new prescription for Zoloft.*
Back home, I took more arnica plus a Soma, and then made good friends with an ice pack. I still had an urge to keep moving, to keep walking even though it hurt, to keep the blood flowing. There was no visible bruising on my skin but I could feel it deep inside.
And so, today. I am sore and stiff and achy and really if I were a NormalPersonTM it would be fine. Just a stupid slip and fall, just get up and quit whining. Oh, fibromyalgia, you soulless heartless monster you.
The trick will be to keep moving even as things explode in various kinds of agony. Moving is important.
*I took my first dose of 50 mg Zoloft last night. I actually felt something. I felt... good? Nice? Calm? I felt my brain shut up and stop obsessing, I felt my mind settle into a slow sweet roll, I felt my chronic worrying lay down and sigh, I felt myself relax physically, I felt a very soft nudge of happy, like a kitten curling up in my lap without me noticing. I was able to sleep well, but I did have vivid strange dreams and I did wake up a few times. Yeah, I am that sensitive and that reactive to drugs. I do feel them on the first dose. However, it remains to be seen how I will feel in the coming days, weeks, and months. I'll be taking one pill every evening, and right now I have sixty pills. Let it begin. Out of the hundreds of scary hateful negative internet posts about this drug, maybe I can be one of the smaller positive happy voices.
I fell yesterday around noon, in the main bathroom. I was wearing my awesome Dan Post cowboy boots, which are supposed to be slip-proof. The fake wood linoleum floor is supposed to be slip-proof, which is why Adam spent all that time and effort laying the tiles down years ago. None of that mattered to my brainbody, because as I moved toward the door I was suddenly airborne, falling backwards and to the right. I crashed so hard that I heard something else crash: On the wall outside the bathroom, the shadowbox holding Adam's Most Interesting And Probably Worth Money Lighters shook enough to dislodge most of the lighters, sending them tumbling down the stairs. My very first thought was "Well, fuck, this is stupid. Also, ow." I was already trying to flail my way upright when Adam, who had been asleep (his day off), launched out of the bedroom and hurtled toward me, asking "Are you okay? Are you okay?" I mumbled something like, "Yeah, probably, whatever." He grabbed my hand and arm and literally had to pull and scoop me up, I had that much trouble standing.
Some unlikely things happened after that, guaranteed due to shock: I told Adam to go back to bed. I hobbled down the stairs somehow. I moved Adam's laundry from washer to dryer and from bucket to washer. I hobbled up the stairs. I went into the entertainment room and stared blankly for a while. I heard Adam getting dressed and moving around.
I was on my couch, assessing my pain levels and muscle damage, and realizing just how dissociated I was becoming. Adam sat on the other couch and watched me carefully while working with the PlayStation. I kept making pained sounds, like a wounded kitten or wounded puppy. He told me to come to him, because I was shaking and pale and my eyes looked faraway. We discussed (me shakily) the possibility of going to the hospital. I didn't think I needed that. We figured I was more stunned and bruised than anything. I asked him to do a hands-on assessment, as he used to be a volunteer EMT back in the day and still had plenty of knowledge about injuries.
I stood, trembling, leaning on him, while he ran his hands up and down my right leg. I flinched, winced, and cried out whenever he touched me. When he gently poked my hipbone, I yelped and sobbed. We decided that I was mostly just very very very bruised all over, possibly even bruised at my hipbone but not serious for an ER visit. He grabbed the arnica, I dumped four tablets under my tongue. Then I got the hydrocodone, then he made me lay down with him and breathe so I could stop shaking. At some point, I took a Klonopin as well, because I could not stop sobbing, shaking, or whimpering, and I had long since accepted the pain.
Over the next several hours, I would often announce how I felt in detail. I still wanted to run the day's errands, which consisted of us driving to a book store for me, a sporting goods store and Home Depot for him, and CVS for me. I took my cane. I walked like a very old wounded woman. Adam paid for everything: A copy of "Deadline" by Mira Grant and a copy of "Neon Graveyard" by Vicki Pettersson; two bags of Lindt truffles (buy two for twenty dollars); his fishing license; plants for the garden; and my current prescription refills plus the new prescription for Zoloft.*
Back home, I took more arnica plus a Soma, and then made good friends with an ice pack. I still had an urge to keep moving, to keep walking even though it hurt, to keep the blood flowing. There was no visible bruising on my skin but I could feel it deep inside.
And so, today. I am sore and stiff and achy and really if I were a NormalPersonTM it would be fine. Just a stupid slip and fall, just get up and quit whining. Oh, fibromyalgia, you soulless heartless monster you.
The trick will be to keep moving even as things explode in various kinds of agony. Moving is important.
*I took my first dose of 50 mg Zoloft last night. I actually felt something. I felt... good? Nice? Calm? I felt my brain shut up and stop obsessing, I felt my mind settle into a slow sweet roll, I felt my chronic worrying lay down and sigh, I felt myself relax physically, I felt a very soft nudge of happy, like a kitten curling up in my lap without me noticing. I was able to sleep well, but I did have vivid strange dreams and I did wake up a few times. Yeah, I am that sensitive and that reactive to drugs. I do feel them on the first dose. However, it remains to be seen how I will feel in the coming days, weeks, and months. I'll be taking one pill every evening, and right now I have sixty pills. Let it begin. Out of the hundreds of scary hateful negative internet posts about this drug, maybe I can be one of the smaller positive happy voices.
