I rarely write about fibromyalgia anymore.
I think it could be due to the fact that I’ve fully accepted my reality, that for whatever purpose, I have this disease for life. I keep up with the latest news and information, but I no longer obsess over it.
I’ve grown accustomed to its nasty little face.
To the groundhog burrowing under my skin muscle spasms (hard to explain), the extreme fatigue, the pain of unknown origin, the charley horses and, of course, the brain farts.
All of it, from the minuscule symptoms to the big mama ones.
I was recently diagnosed with gout and much to my doctors delight, there’s a blood-test for that. I was given steroids that worked quickly, but once the 5 days worth of them ran out, it came back, again lighting up my big toe with a blowtorch. Now I’m on something else, but I was warned that one of the probable side effects could cause loose bowels.
I’ve become honestly so numb to what my body likes to do to amuse itself.
Bitching and complaining won’t do me any good, so I just try to keep it as light as possible, making my little quips to steer the conversational direction away from myself.
I am a bona-fide quip master.