This Monkey Hurts

I have fibromyalgia. Not an easy thing to say publicly. Admitting a flaw is easy; a flaw is something that can be fixed or corrected. But admitting a weakness is something else entirely. A weakness identifies you as less fit to survive, an admission with which I've had to cope since receiving a diagnosis last April.

Read the description at the link I gave. Fairly accurate; in fact, most of that page applies to me. I'll spare you the litany of specific aches and pains I experience on a daily basis, if for no other reason that my fingers would cramp before I finished typing it.

The pain started when I was in high school, though until recently I could usually push through most of it. I'd go see doctors asking why I hurt so much at such a young age. The typical response: eat more vegetables and drink more water. Um... no.

After I moved to Portland, I started seeing my wife's naturopath (who, by the way, is frackin' awesome!). It took a while and a few blood tests, but she pinpointed that at some point I had contracted mononucleosis... but never got sick. Instead, the virus lingered and caused damage to my organs and how they function incrementally over a couple decades. The virus is gone now, but the damage will take time to undo.

One of the few treatments with some effect is cupping. Imagine the glass part of a snow globe, jam a flame inside, then press against the skin. The heat creates a vacuum in the cup, which results in major suction against your skin. This pulls the muscles apart and helps the body release toxins. I'd usually fall asleep midway through as my muscles relaxed and woke up covered in perfectly circular welts. Sometimes they would blister from the amount of toxins being released. Gross, but part of living with this condition.

Am I writing this post seeking sympathy and compassion? While appreciated, such displays only draw attention to my weakness, something I typically prefer to avoid. So why am I writing it? To be honest about my life, for starters. I'm tired of hiding my pain and, really, it's gotten to the point that I can't anymore. Second, to put it out there and be a voice for people with fibromyalgia. Specifically, to show that no matter how detrimental the pain, a happy life can be had. And lastly, so I can stop being asked: Are you ok? The answer is always no, so I either have to lie to be polite or risk annoying someone who wasn't interested in hearing anything other than "Fine!".

But I'm a sympathetic and compassionate person, you tell me... what am I supposed to say? Easy. Give me shit. Call me an old man. Make fun of me limping. Make me... laugh. Laughing produces endorphins which reduce the pain. If you've met my wife, you can now clearly see that I'm just using her for her laugh, which comes easy and often and is largely responsible for the happy life I have. (You could go Uncle Jim's route, but not everyone's that cool, so stick with humor.)

So go out there and to show your support, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES give your loved one with fibromyalgia a hug. They'll remember it later when they're shopping for your birthday present...

~NCMSW?