My most recent visit with my Fibro doc (last week) went like this:
Me: Let’s talk pain.
Me: I don’t think Cymbalta has done what we hoped it would over these past two years.
Me: I don’t have help with laundry, or vacuuming and light cleaning from my daughter anymore (I paid her to help). You know, she’s at that age. It literally pains me, but she and my other daughter have other priorities right now and I have no help.
Doc: You live alone, right?
Me: Yes. (I used to feel awkward saying yes to that question, but now it’s like a badge of accomplishment).
The doc stared at my recent blood test and biopsy results. I can see a WTF look come across her face – not the kind of look that shows sudden discovery or alarm – more like a What now? kinda look and I felt the need to break the silence.
Me: There’s never a straight line to an answer.
Doc: No there isn’t…not in my field – another long pause – Maybe we are taking the wrong approach with you. Maybe we ought to take the autoimmune road.
Me (asking myself – haven’t we already? But I knew the answer. Officially fibromyalgia isn’t classified as autoimmune.): Ok. What does that mean?
She prescribed Plaquenil and Prednisone, and half the dose of Cymbalta. I had no idea if the Plaquenil would be of any benefit, but was ecstatic I’d have Prednisone in my arsenal. I knew what Prednisone could do – I could be nearly as capable as I was before I got the F word. I was excited!
Four days in to my new Rx regimen…I woke up and stretched without wincing! I walked downstairs without feeling both ankles were broken, made coffee, fed Bella and Tucker (my two dog-sized felines), emptied the dishwasher, put the trash in my cart for the next time I leave the house, and headed back upstairs feeling pretty pleased with myself.
I finished my coffee while listening to music. It was great. No pain so far. I put away some clothes from last week’s ‘I gotta have clean clothes or buy them scenario’, vacuumed and mopped my kitchen floor. I vacuumed my bedroom.
I thought, wow. I am finally ok – or at least close. I will do a little like this at a time and then there is no stopping me!
I rested the rest of the day. Didn’t want to expect too much from my independence from pain. I took a 2 hour nap – surely I wasn’t doing too much and the rest was the right thing for my body. I had to. I work full time and had to be ready for Monday.
A very long night trying to find a position to sleep comfortably. It gets hot in my loft bedroom, so a fan is necessary to keep from cooking on my best friend (heating pad). The air from the fan felt like it was burning my skin. Every turn shot pain in my arms and back.
So. Here I am. Monday morning and can’t move. No coffee. No music. No stretching. Just pain.
Feeling foolish, and missing a day of work. My hands are tired and hurting from writing this….so I leave you, turning in my normal card.
Now I’m the one with WTF on my face.
Peace and blessings.