Flying Monkeys and the "F" Word

Denial is often a wonderful way to keep from facing the distasteful facts of life, and it can often also allow whatever one is trying to avoid to grow into something that can no longer be ignored.  Sort of like ignoring a small drip from a pipe until your basement is flooded.  It may be easy to do for a while but eventually you have to start bailing out the water.

That is what the past fifteen years have been like for me.  In 1997 I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia.  There were a ton of reasons I didn’t like the diagnosis.  First of all, the medical community at that time seemed to use the syndrome as a place to put things with which they did not want to deal.  Hey, neither did I.  Especially because of the second reason I didn’t like the diagnosis.  Fibromyalgia is something that has to be managed.  You can’t just take a pill for two weeks and it goes away.  Surgery doesn’t remove it or fix it.  It just hangs around like a crazy relative that decides to move in next door.

The biggest reason I didn’t like it, though, was that no matter what was happening to me it was attributed to the fibromyalgia.  Urinary tract infections, whole body aches, irritable bowel, exhaustion, poor sleep, depression, itching, and the list goes on and on and on.  I started to worry that something would start to happen in my body that wasn’t related to the fibromyalgia but it would be disregarded and put under the fibromyalgia category until it was too late.

However, now it is because of that second reason I have to put on my big girl panties and surrender to the diagnosis but not to the illness.  I need to really dedicate myself to managing it.  I don’t want to but I have to.  I am not one to manage.  I tend to let things happen.  I take pride in doing a good job, but I am one on whom the details often get lost.  It is a struggle for me to manage car maintenance and personal finances, much less a medical condition that requires that I listen to my body.  One of the reasons I don’t do diets well is all that counting of points or calories or grams or servings or whatever makes me anxious and I end up focusing too much on the food.  I am fairly mindless in my approach to life although I have been making attempts over the past few years to be more mindful.

Why am I now ready to surrender and face the facts about this?  Flying monkeys.  Yes, those minions of the Wicked Witch of the West that swoop down on unsuspecting scarecrows, pummel them to the ground and tear the stuffing out, spreading it hither and yon.  Those damn monkeys have become a regular part of my daily life and they really need to go.  I am still trying to figure out why they appear.  I had a ton of tests done in hopes that there was something wrong that could be fixed, but no.  Again, it is attributed to the fibromyalgia and most likely the related issue of adrenal fatigue. 

I know all the reasons behind why this is happening in my body.  It probably all originates from when I had third degree burns from a very hot cup of coffee I managed to pour on myself at the age of 15 months.  Some of the research on fibromyalgia says that the body does not handle pain messages well.  My neural pathways related to pain were probably screwed up when the accident happened.  Other life stressors probably haven’t helped either. 

Fortunately, over the past fifteen years there has been enough research done on the syndrome to gie it more credibility and I now feel more confident about it.  It no longer seems to be a catch all.  New information is coming out about it all the time.  I also have a doctor who knows what to do and she also manages the syndrome for herself.   I trust her.

I have just completed the first step - admitting that I have a problem.  It is not my fault, but it is my responsibility to do those things that help my body.  I need to rest when it tells me it wants to rest.  I need to exercise when I don’t want to.  And I need to eat better.  Rumor has it that sugar and white flour (why does this keep coming up?) are fuel to the fire and need to be cut out.  I also need to continue to follow through with massage and acupuncture treatments.  I can’t overdo or under do.  Moderation is a word that does not normally describe my life style.  However, it needs to.    Or else I will continue to be fighting off flying monkeys or wondering who has made a voodoo doll of my body and is poking it with needles. 

I didn’t want to share this journey.  However, I realize it is a big part of my life, but I won’t let it define me.  As I said above, I will surrender to the diagnosis, but not to the illness.