I realized this afternoon that it’s July first. That means that the ninth anniversary of the trauma that lead to my Fibro is just two weeks away. I suppose I’m always a little more melancholy in July, some years are better, some are emotionally tougher, but as a whole, July may be my least favorite month. You never get over losing a child, you just learn how to survive it.
Because I am closing in on nine years since my first tangible Fibro symptoms started to appear, one would think that I have learned how to live with it by now. One would think that because that’s roughly one quarter of my life that I know how to live in this new existence. Some days I suppose I do, but some days it still feels raw and new. But to be fair, my Fibro, this new life, has progressed from those first days when I had unexplained pain in my left arm and blown up into in-home oxygen and cervical epidural shots.
I essentially cried myself to sleep last night, and I kept trying to figure out why I feel so sad and angry lately. I keep thinking “what the hell is wrong with me?”. Then it occurred to me that I am dealing with a lot of regular life right now too, and sometimes that and Fibro just cannot co-exist. My oldest child just graduated and moved 6,000 miles away, we’re getting ready to move almost 800 miles north (again), and I have graduated from college and taken on homeschooling my youngest child as well during the last eight months or so. I don’t like where I live right now. I don’t feel safe here and I am honestly surprised at how rude and awful other people can be to each other, and to me almost every day.
Basically my cheese has been moved around a lot during the past year, and as much as I would love to tell you, my wonderful and gentle readers, that I can handle that, I don’t like it. I don’t like my cheese moved. It causes me a lot of stress, and I unfortunately have never been one of those people that grew up able to handle stress by taking a deep breath and laughing. I get very anxious, and anger is a whole lot easier to hold onto than fear or hurt. 
So, I write. A lot. I share my thoughts and fears, and look for hope, with you. This is how I deal with life when it’s too big for me, and by publishing all of this now instead of writing it down and squirreling it away with all my other notebooks, I hope that someone out there can read it and nod their head, and not feel so alone either.
I was sitting at my dining room table, looking out the window and watching the storm clouds earlier, and realized that nine years ago I was here in Florida, adjusting to the storms and struggling with pain and fear, much like I am today. I’m fighting off another infection, but I got to it before it got up into my kidneys this time. I think, I hope.
The studies I have read on immune systems and Fibro connections don’t seem to support the idea that Fibro compromises one’s ability to fight off infection, but I did read something on one of the forums today that did say we seem to heal slower than non-fibromites. Either way, my immune system doesn’t seem to be as strong as most people’s. Instead of a chest cold, I get pneumonia. Instead of a simple bladder infection, I get e.coli in my kidneys and end up on IV antibiotics. 
So, I am sitting here telling myself one of my favorite things from Ging…”I have Fibro, I am not Fibro”. Because some days you have to remember that just because it has a hold of your body doesn’t mean it has a hold of your spirit or your mind. I still have my mind, my hope, my ability to love, and those are so much more important.

Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?

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