I’m so angry lately. I’m furious as I sit in my high risk pregnancy doctor’s office, staring at pregnant women, waiting for my turn to be called in. Why am I even here? Flora was lost 2 months ago. Why must you continue to twist the knife? I loved this doctor. Now? I feel like he’s insensitive and inattentive; I can’t even stand to look at him. Not once has his office called to check up on my mental state. He and his head nurse both have my cell number and I have theirs. The nurse had me “promise” (“I like promises”, she said) to reach out if I felt certain ways. Well, that’s a two-way street. If I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed or eat or function, what the fuck makes you think I’m gonna call you between sobs? And what the hell are you gonna do other than tell me to go check myself in somewhere? Get lost.
I know I’ve said it already, but they’ve tripled my anxiety meds and it kind of works sometimes. I applied for my weed card which up until this year, you had to practically be on your deathbed in my state to qualify. But I quietly waited and suffered in silence until someone who didn’t have their head up their ass became governor and recognized anxiety and chronic pain as qualifying conditions. Hallelujah.
And I’m furious at my medical conditions. I’m aggravated that I am not the same person I was 8 years ago. That all the pain I’ve held inside for years eventually manifested to a wide spread, stress induced pain. Confused why I couldn’t get off the couch. Unsure as to why everything hurt and I was always tired. Not understanding why I was forgetting words. I used to be eloquent and articulate. Now I find myself constantly frustrated at my lack of ability to find the words that adequately and accurately express how I feel.
Fibromyalgia has robbed me of my life. What does fibro feel like? Well, let me tell you. You have the aches of the flu, you feel like you’ve been run over by a truck, your muscles are sore as if you live at the gym, you get migraines, you’re sensitive to stimuli (noises, crowds, and lights for me), you’re forgetful, you’re exhausted because you get unrestful sleep (being in one position too long becomes painful so your brain actually wakes up several times a night to shift even though you don’t know it. I JUST had this confirmed this month during a sleep study, so I promise you that’s why you’re tired), you’re stiff and sore, you’re irritable, you’re depressed, you’re just generally on edge (anxious). And let’s not forget that doctors don’t know what EXACTLY FMS (fibromyalgia syndrome) is and what causes it. It’s a diagnosis by exclusion. That means that it took MONTHS to get diagnosed (in my case, years). I was tested for hepatitis, lupus, RA, Epstein-Barr virus, and a plethora of other things. No stone was left unturned and when everything came back “normal”, it was “well, you have fibromyalgia”. I had to fight to get a diagnosis from people who don’t know what it is they’re diagnosing. Frustrating doesn’t even begin to touch it.
I mourn who I was before fibro. I would’ve liked to see what kind of mother I would be without this pain. When I can’t bring myself to go outside and play with my son because I’m too tired or stiff. Sometimes it’s because it’s too hot outside and I can’t handle the heat; it burns me to my bones. Or it’s too cold and my joints become painful and stiff. Temperature intolerance is another HUGE part of fibro. Sometimes I sleep under three blankets and I’m bundled up. AND I sleep next to the furnace that heats the entire house.
It’s been 9 hours since I started writing this blog and I’ve since seen the psychiatrist. In summation, wow. Talk about a waste of time. It was nice to get my PTSD formally diagnosed, but other than that, nada. I walked in there telling her I had a mood disorder and anxiety. What did she diagnose me with, you ask? “Unspecified mood disorder” and “unspecified anxiety”. Oh, so I did half your job for you. You’re welcome. She’d ask me a question and cut me off in the middle of answering it. I just have no words for how infuriating that appointment went. She did, however, agree that I fall somewhere on the bipolar spectrum. The most frustrating thing was that she didn’t take me seriously when I was telling her about my lows because, “don’t forget, you just lost a child and your hormones are going crazy”. Oh, thank you, because I fucking forgot all about that! It took me breaking down into tears and telling her that this has been 16 years of my life that I’ve been fighting for a proper diagnosis. Don’t you dare gaff me off and use the death of my daughter to do so. You don’t know me and quite frankly, you’re not even trying to do so. So she wants me on a mood stabilizer. Cool. I just, I don’t even know. I care but I don’t care.
All in all, today was a pretty shit day. I saw two doctors and hated every second of it. Tomorrow I see my therapist. I’m ripping off band aids and holding my arms out to bleed. And everyone just walks by, going about their day. I so desperately want things to scar over and heal and fade over time. But so much time has passed and some things still surface. When will this be over?
I know this post is all over the place, and I’m sorry. But this is what my brain is harping on right now.
I’m tired of feeling so unimportant that even the small stuff is insignificant now; it’s not enough. A hug, a kindness, an “I love you”. It all feels forced. Insincere. Shit doesn’t change. People don’t change. I’m over it.