Day 363

I'm counting backwards.

It just occurred to me that if anyone does indeed read this, they'll probably think it's strange that I would count backwards.  Why?  Because I'm counting off a year.  Counting down to day one, to see if this illness still has such a powerful grip on me after 365 days.

When I first started this blog, I was on FMLA for two reasons--one was to care for my son, and the other was to care for myself.  I was burned out and miserable and having an intensely difficult time at work.  I also wanted the opportunity to talk about a certain TV show which for now shall remain nameless (but I will say since they brought Goren and Eames back they both are better than ever).  But like most things, life changes.

My only rule with this blog is to write honestly.  I think by this time I've lost almost all of the five or so readers I had generated.  I mean honestly, who wans to read the rantings of a person in pain?

I see this as a way to document the complexities of this condition as well as the difficulties in treating it.

As I was talking with a friend yesterday, I started counting of the number of doctors, specialists, and other professionals I have to see to treat this illness.  First, there's my PCP, who's supposed to be managing it all but I'm not sure really knows her ass from her elbow.  My rheumatologist, who diagnosed me, is more helpful in general but doesn't really deal with any of it but the diagnosis.  My pain management doctor, who I ranted about yesterday in her lack of belief of narcotics, even when they're useful.  Then there's my therapist.  I have to give a shout out to her because I actually like her.  The hour I spend with her each week is probably the fastest hour of my week.  She wants me to keep a dream journal, which I haven't been doing, but I do wake up with weird, random songs in my head.  This morning's theme was "The Girl Is Mine" by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson.  Keep in mind Michael Jackson, from my perspective, was a pervert, so even though I recognize he had an incredible musical gift I'm not overly pleased to be singing any song by him in my head.  Especially this one, which is like bubble gum pup music.  Blech.

Okay, back to treatments.  There's also a physical therapist, a massage therapist, ultrasound and x-ray technicians and phlebotomists (those are blood people--I, like many fibro patients, have low Vitamin D levels).  There's the restorative yoga teacher.  Oh, and a psychiatrist to mess with all my meds.

I don't know how many people that is but it sounds like a full time job to me, and feels like it too.  These days I'm overwhelmed at going to one appointment, never mind two or four.  I'm tired and I want to sleep.  My arms and shoulders hurt.  If it were up to me today, I'd be going back to sleep, but I have to get a couple things accomplished, so too bad for me.

Today seems to be one of exhaustion rather than so much pain, so it's a good day.  Days in which I can hardly stay awake are good days, because the pain seems to lessen.  I still have pain in my neck and shoulder lingering from yesterday, but overall, I'd really just like to take a nap.