Observing You

Dear Fibro,

Today, I feel like you are hovering all around me, like you’ve fashioned yourself into a suit of scouring pads, hugging me tightly at every turn. I can’t remove you while you scrub into me. Abrasive to my peace of mind. Bruising me with invisible bruises. 

I feel the weight of you with each move I try to make. Whether I sit, stand or lie down, each position brings its own individual challenges — stabs, jabs, or prickles of pain. Shooting pain or radiating pain. A never-ending menu of surprises.

I stare at you in the mirror sometimes, and it’s like staring at myself but more elusive.

This week, I noticed that I have worn a hole in my sheet with restless legs in pain at night.

I have no questions for you now — just making these observations so that I can remember these days.

~Nicole

Arms, Please

Dear Fibro,

You’ve gotten into my arms a lot so far this week. I was trying to do some light work in my garden & you set off the alarms! From shoulders to fingertips, you were a blaring, raging siren screaming at me to stop. I felt the energy drain from my whole body & my arms began to tremble in resistance to this force of pain pushing from within. I don’t know how to process moments like this–there’s no tidy category in which to file this combination of ache, weakness, and powerlessness. May I please use my arms without quite so much ruckus for the foreseeable future?

Thanks.

~Nicole

Can You?

Dear Fibro,

Today, I want you to remember one thing – I am more than this body. More than pain that shakes me. More than sleep that knocks me out cold for a dozen hours and beyond — more than everything somatic. I am a scandalous cocktail of ideas and feelings and desires. I know that sometimes you aren’t able to open yourself up to considering the bigger picture, to taking this all in. Can you open your arms up wide enough?

~Nicole

 

The Things I Want to Say . . .

Dear Fibro,

I feel like there are a lot of things I want to be able to say to you that I can’t quite put into words, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe some of those things are things that I want to confront myself about but just haven’t worked up the breath to speak. I would like to work on this, and I’m hoping that maybe somehow you can help me. Can help me to realize that I’m only 30-something and not an 80-year-old and that there are still many adventures to be had. I’m hoping that you can help me to straighten my spine and take the truth like an adult, whatever it may be. For tonight, I’m just asking that . . . asking you to please help.

~Nicole