In hindsight (truly what would we do or learn without hindsight!) I see I began having problems with those ‘associated’ conditions or diagnoses long before the Fibromyalgia symptoms began. I had migraines and digestive disorders first. Perhaps I am genetically predisposed and my trigger was pregnancy and the birth of my son – who knows for sure, but it’s a theory. It was a difficult (both physically and emotionally) and frightening pregnancy and delivery and my health seemed to continue to decline after his birth. If this was my trigger, I can’t regret or bemoan my situation, as he was and is a blessing worth any suffering I may have or must continue to endure. While I declined, again in hindsight, I see the progression as symptoms were added to my list of complaints. This included several instances of driving to pick my son up from daycare and finding myself forgetting not only where I was going, but why and how to get there – and this was driving to a place I drove to twice a day five days a week. Other’s who have shared their stories also had fibro fog show up in this same method. This was my fibro fog in action. Again who knows really what caused the escalation of my symptoms, but perhaps it was my son’s ongoing health problems throughout his earlier years that was the prolonged stressor or trauma that finally resulted in my head first collision with the Fibro Freight train.
Many Fibromyalgians will understand. There comes that day where everything has become excruciating, you have so many symptoms and so many places that hurt in a way that is beyond description that you can’t put any of it into words, if you are even able to come up with a single coherent thought. I couldn’t get out of bed or off the couch. I couldn’t walk to the mailbox much less run up to 10 miles like I was accustomed to doing in addition to the many other activities and day to day chores I could no longer do. There wasn’t a part of my body that wasn’t in excruciating pain. I was constantly in tears. No one could touch me. I couldn’t hug my son or my husband. The lightest touch to the arm felt like someone was cutting the limb off. Wearing clothes was an exercise in torture (I am confident in saying that everyone in my life was thankful and blessed that I endured the torture and didn’t walk around naked). I wasn’t sleeping. No matter how exhausted my mind and body were, sleep wouldn’t come. I couldn’t figure out how that was possible. If I managed to take a shower, I had to lie down and rest between each step of getting dressed – shower, rest, put clothes on, rest, brush hair, rest… you get the picture. The migraines and digestive problems were worse than ever. My senses, which had always been somewhat sensitive, were off the charts. I couldn’t stomach most smells, noise – even at normal levels – made my head want to explode, bright lights brought headaches, dizziness and nausea. I felt sick to my stomach all the time. The list goes on. And yet, on the outside, to most people, I looked fine. No major wounds or injuries to account for the pain and no way for me to prove to those around me just how much pain I was in when I had had no recent traumas, accidents or injuries to explain the ‘sudden’ development of these symptoms. Body meet freight train.
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