Way back in the olden days, I fancied myself a writer. I wrote- longhand, in spiral notebooks- stories, fiction and nonfiction. I have three or four completed novels that are just absolute shit. Just terrible. Seriously. In my defense, two of them were written while I was in high school. 9th and 10th grade, specifically. Not surprisingly, I failed not just 9th grade General Science, but also Biology I in the 10th grade. I would write those stories while I was supposed to be taking notes. I still remember my teacher (same teacher for both classes- Mrs. Johnson) saying to me: "I don't understand why you're not retaining any information, I see you taking notes all the time!"
Sorry about that, Mrs. Johnson. But my English, Creative Writing, and literature teachers loved me. I still remember being in Ms. Goll's class and telling the group at my table (we used to have to sit in groups to do class things) that every class I had with the Disabled Guy (who was called Jerry back then, because that's his name), I always scored a whole grade higher than he did, sometimes two grades higher than his. Without missing a beat, Ms. Goll said: "You will in this class too." (don't feel bad. He kicked ass in math class and wood shop and auto shop).
I made up my failed grades in the 11th grade. Let me tell you- being a junior in a freshman class was very odd. They didn't act like I was the stupidest person on the planet, they all just thought I was incredibly cool. And why wouldn't they? Especially with fashion sense like this...
Yes, I had a popped collar. It was 1986, what do you expect? But I digress...
Back to the purpose of today's blog post... I'm in day three of a flareup. I have no idea why other than it was sunny today and now its cloudy (yeah, thanks for that- I can't even go take photos of the moon- which, according to Facebook, is a big deal tonight). The first day of the flareup was a typical one, with the pain and tiredness. So much tiredness. I can live with the pain, but this bone-crushing, mind-melting exhaustion is really hard to deal with. I drink more caffeine to deal with it, and caffeine can exacerbate the pain issues.
The second day had the pain and the tiredness, but also the insanity-causing itching skin. Scratching doesn't help because the itch is coming from under the skin. Rubbing it, as if it were a tattoo or a sunburn, doesn't help because again, under the surface. Plus, my skin is usually really sore during this kind of thing. So even the mildest touch causes me to wince. Those are the days when I end up stripping down to nothing and laying under my two soft fleece blankets. One blanket isn't enough and it just makes me itch more. Two is just enough weight to soothe the problem.
Today, we're back to mostly the pain and some of the tiredness. And that's what I want to describe. The pain. (I am also having some itching, but it isn't as bad as yesterday). Also- all of this is on top of the fact that yesterday, I had to go to the VA hospital for an appointment and then the grocery store. And today is actual payday, so I had to run errands and stand in line at the post office. I did end up half-stripped under my fleece blankets in my room for about an hour. I didn't nap though, because I'd had two full-lead Mountain Dews that morning (as opposed to diet Mountain Dew, which is what I usually drink) and I was texting with a friend about everything from closing weekend at the faire to cute guys we know. (those two subjects aren't mutually exclusive as there are a lot of handsome people at the faire).
Side note- closing weekend *SAD FACE*
AND we're back... Pain, the pain, oh, the pain.
Today, at this very moment- 815 PM Central US time, I'm sitting at my desk. I'm typing with both hands, because I was taught how to type in the 8th grade (I had awesome hair back then too. The feathering! So much feathering!) and I don't even look at my hands. So, my pain level- with just my hands moving and my body sitting upright (because I have good posture when I type)- is about a four. I'm also two hours into my Hydrocodone for the night (three 5/325 tablets) and an hour into my Cyclobenzaprine (two 10 mg tablets). My shoulders ache like I've been lifting heavy things. My back is okay, because I'm not moving. My feet are sore, but they're always sore. My hands- the wrists and fingers, actually, are sore and the skin is itchy. The pain in my hands and wrists is a dull, constant ache. Sometimes, I clench my hands together, thinking it will help ease the ache, but it never does. Three times today, I dropped things I was holding onto because the pain caused me to lose my grip.
When I move, the pain shoots up. In my arms, the biceps and shoulders, it just feels like I worked out too hard. You know that feeling. It almost feels good when you move and you feel that ache and think, "yeah, I lifted heavy things for an hour, I AM A GOD!" except that you didn't lift anything heavy and if you tried, you'd just drop it and people would look at you and who wants that, right?
My lower back aches when I move too. As do the muscles in my butt. And my hip muscles. That's where the pain will shoot up to a ten. It brings tears to my eyes. If you see me at the faire and I've been sitting for any length of time, I'll go to stand up and wince. That's the pain in my hip muscle (or muscles, as the case may be). If you see me limping, it could be the hip muscle or it could be the feet. (I have so much -itis in my feet, plantar fasci-, burs-, tendon-, and arthr-, and some extra bone-spur issues).
The skin on my arms and hands (the forearms, wrists, and hands) feels hot. It feels like its burning. Luckily, this seems to just be localized to my hands/arms. Yesterday, it was all over. My skin was on fire.
When I'm sitting still, everything hurts at a low-level ache. When I move, it hurts at a high level stabbing/throbbing pain. When someone touches me or hugs me like this, every part of my body that their body touches feels like I'm being jabbed with something sharp. And I hate that. I'm a hugger. I would hug everyone if I could. Well, I would if it didn't hurt like I was being stabbed with a sword every time.
Wait a minute... I like to hug people, I go to the faire where I end up hugging people, and some of them carry swords or daggers. Hmmmm... I wonder if they've been trying to tell me something with the stabbing- no, no, that's ridiculous. All weapons are peace-tied and if they're not, they get zip-tied by security. Surely if someone were actually stabbing me at the faire, I'd notice, right?
Where was I? The pain, that's right. What the hell else would I be bitching about on my fibro blog?
Heating pads don't work. Ice doesn't work. Hydrocodone and Cyclobenzaprine do very little, but they take the edge off. I don't have much choice there, the long-term medicine caused me to swell up like a blowfish and even with my awesome hair, that's not a good look for me. Or anyone.
So, it looks like I'll be facing closing weekend with a steady level of opiates and muscle relaxers in my blood. And, on top of the three days of faire, (and the around 1500 photos I'll end up taking), we have to move Christine to her dorm on Tuesday. She's a sophomore this year. Ha, I say "we" like I'm actually going to be doing the moving. I doubt I'll be doing much. Sometimes, guilt and embarrassment of looking lazy takes over and I end up doing too much. But then, when we moved her out of the dorms, I didn't spend three days prior to that at the faire.
I predict that next Wednesday will be a terrible day for pain. Luckily, I'll be buried in three days of photos.
So, I'll see you at the faire. You'll know its me because I'll be dressed in garb with a DSLR perma-attached to my face.