Things to do instead of shop on Black Friday.

Who knew that all the Thanksgiving feast loveliness would end in a Friday run to emergency? Too much creamy-goodness for my gall bladder, apparently.

I'd only recently found out I had a gallstone--it had shown up in a routine x-ray my doctor had done. She and  I had agreed that since it was giving me no trouble we wouldn't do anything about it. But now at least I knew where my gall bladder was, something I'd never given much thought to before. But Friday evening that bit of information became quite useful. Yup, that there's my gall bladder where that pain is!

Who needs Black Friday shopping when they can visit the emergency room instead? Dear hubby took me after I'd made a couple of calls to the advice nurses. The pain was reminiscent of labor, but to my knowledge, no baby was forthcoming. (Thankfully. I'd like to leave that kind of thing for the younger folk.)

By the time we arrived at the emergency room the pain had lessened, and I was begging quietly to just go home. But no, a couple of tests later and they had decided to keep me, and two very eager young surgeons visited me with their intentions to remove the offending organ on Saturday morning.

God bless intravenous drugs, everything after placing that cute little cap over my hair was a fog until I was back in a regular hospital room. My nurses were all great, and my baby-surgeons seemed pleased with their handiwork. (Well done, boys.)

And here it is, Monday. Got to sleep in my own bed without the distractions of various alarms going off in the night or doctors walking in at 5:30 to talk to my roommate, flipping on all the room lights. Finally got a shower too. (I knew you'd want to know that.)

How did you spend your Thanksgiving weekend?? Hopefully more traditionally. :-)

The As-Finished-As-It's-Gonna-Get Puzzle.

Round puzzles are tricky. The pieces are shaped strangely. Hubby-Dearest finished off the blue section for me in minutes--guess his brain works differently than mine, but then he's one of those sheet metal layout kind of guys who gets that spatially relative stuff.

The funny bit is, there's a piece missing. So it's as finished as it's ever going to get.

We have a kitty who thinks puzzle pieces are the bomb to play with. She even took some back into the bedroom with her. Did she steal the missing piece? Or is it that the puzzle came from a friend's father's house who must have gotten it second hand since the Christmas tag on the box has someone else's names on it entirely?

A Facebook friend said if you look at it really quickly it could be a WWII bomber or large winged creature. Made me giggle.

I'm good with the imperfection. It reminds me that nothing is perfect, this side of heaven. Our health is flawed. Puzzle pieces go missing. I need to keep my sense of humor and see the flaw as a large winged creature, since I get way too frustrated when I see these things as Interruptions rather than life.

More on Cymbalta Withdrawals.

In light of my previous post, "Cymbalta Withdrawal Is the B Word," I thought I'd post a link to an article I came across. It's always SO good to know I'm not the only crazy person out there!

"Cymbalta Discontinuation Syndrome." Look! It even has a name! An interesting fact in this post written by Christina Lasich, MD, is she has found antihistamines (such as the over the counter Benadryl) to be helpful with withdrawal symptoms. Maybe being sleepy is a good thing when your mood dictates ripping someone's head off due to the mood-swings of the withdrawal...

Sharing is our friend.

i'm trying to catch up on some blog reading today. It's an enjoyable pastime, though i'm not getting much done that truly NEEDS to be done this way! But i wanted to share a couple of things from other blogs that i thought you might enjoy.

First: Gorgeous fall photos by Betina at B-Happy, a blogging mom and photographer who has dealt with infertility and adoption and then surprise fertility. She has a knack for capturing a moment whether it's fall's leaves or the antics of her kids. And she has a way of expressing things that makes me smile.

Second: A borrowed idea from SouleMama about savoring a moment from the week over at Sperlygirl. The quote from SouleMama that explains this idea:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

i love the idea of finding a way to mark time by the good things. i wonder what way i could do that? They've used photography to capture a moment to remember from their week, but my photography runs more to quickly snapped shots of my dogs being cute--on my iPhone. i tend to be a journaling sort, or a crafty sort. Perhaps a crafty journal?

i need to find a way to be more hopeful. i need to capture good moments to review, rather than only remembering if it was a good week or a bad week in fibro-world, or how i fell short of the things i thought i should have gotten done.

Seriously, follow the links and go see the photos. i think it's stealing if i put them directly in my blog, and i don't want the blog-police to come and take me away to blog-prison, though if it's a prison made of words i might like that.

How would you mark the moment? Thoughts? Ideas??


Skimmer's Recap: Just follow the links and look at the pictures. That's the good stuff anyway!

Crafty Goodness.

Clutch Purse on Interweave.com

"Crafty Goodness" is the name of a folder on my computer desktop. In it resides directions for knitwear patterns, how to dye your own yarn, ideas for multi-media art pieces, weaving, stuff like that. Like I mentioned before, I'm kind of a "Jack of all crafts and Master of none." Crafting is just....GOOD.  And even if I never do all the projects living within that folder, they exist there in that magical land to welcome me when I open their door. An escape for my imagination to a land with unlimited artsy supplies and space to do them, where I can dream and plan... Exploring the different ways to create makes me happy.

Where do you escape?

Things i'm learning from a jigsaw puzzle.

I've been on a bit of a jigsaw puzzle thing lately. When my brain is not working adequately in more fruitful directions, working on a puzzle keeps it busy and out of trouble.

I've been working on this round puzzle. Notice how I've done all the "fun" bits, all the parts with recognizable shapes like flowers and buildings.

This left me with all these shades of blue pieces, nearly indestinguishable. Blecch.

Notice the big blank spot below, waiting to be filled with those same-y same-y looking pieces.

But I just keep hacking away at it,

piece by piece.

Need I actually speak the comparison to life? The fun bits are important too, and they go fast. We can be left with all the boring filler same-y same-y bits. They're important too. At the moment in this puzzle I feel stuck with the blue bits that are hard to figure out. But if I keep slogging along, eventually the whole thing will come together.

Wonder if I should have done a better job of balancing out the boring bits and the fun bits? You know, done some of the blue while there was still some of the colorful bit left to work?

I feel stalled out on the puzzle. Also feeling a bit stalled out on my Pursuit of Health as the removal of Cymbalta does seem to have left me with some agitation and anxiety even after nearly 8 weeks, along with a loss of word and creative mojo. This doesn't feel as clearcut as the decision to quit the Fentanyl. With that I KNEW it was causing more harm than good. With the Cymbalta, I'm less sure.

Cymbalta Withdrawal is the B Word.

Wow. The things they do not tell you.

Take this, they say. It will improve your life! And maybe it does for a time before your body gets used to it and you end up with only the side effects and not the benefits. What then?

If you watch television at all, you've no doubt seen the commercials for Cymbalta, one of the wonder drugs of the 21st century. Their tag line: "Depression hurts." As does Fibromyalgia, one of the uses for Cymbalta. Quite honestly, I've dealt with depression over the years, so when I got clocked upside the head with Fibro it did cause some pretty depressed feelings. Chronic pain can drag you down no matter how Pollyanna you want to be.

Apparently, Cymbalta works with the central nervous system to reduce the pain of Fibromyalgia. My doctor and I decided to try it out. And soon I actually felt a difference, a lowered perception of pain at least. One thing about a person who hurts 24/7 is that they're willing to try most anything, (as I realized about myself during the "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" Fentanyl era) with little thought to the aftermath. Common to most of the people I attended Pain Management class with, I would like something to just take the pain away! But we don't always go in with enough information to be clear on what the medication might take away along with the pain. Sometimes we lose more than we gain--like the ability to feel life or deeply enjoy things--and the withdrawals can be a b****!

Today, for example, I see that people from Georgia, Virginia, Texas, and Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest (I couldn't tell you where that last one is, let alone pronounce it) have visited my post on "FENTANYL: the Withdrawal Experiment."  How many of the people who've started out innocently and trustingly enough on a plan to reduce their pain levels have found they are now in the pit as they try to pull back out of the pain medication fog? And I'm by no means saying we didn't NEED the help or even benefit from the medication, but boy howdy, we need help getting off!

Common withdrawal symptoms from Cymbalta that I've read on message boards online etc:

• headaches
• intestinal upsets, bloating
• brain zaps (electrical feeling/sounding jolts that go through your brain and body)
• dizziness
• nausea/vomiting
• "irritability"

And that's just to name the main few. I put irritability in quotes, because would you call Jack the Ripper "just a guy with poor social skills"?

What I personally experienced:

• loss of words (it's taken me weeks to write this post)
• PAIN and muscle fatigue
• brain zaps
• intestinal upsets
• minor dizziness
• DON'T LOOK AT ME WITH THAT TONE!!
• Oh, really? You don't like what I made for dinner? WELL YOU CAN JUST BLEEPING BUY A NEW SLAVE!! *sob*
• Um, "irritability."

I'm now 5 weeks off the Cymbalta. Still experiencing extra pain and muscle fatigue. Brain zaps are gone. I followed advice from Cymbalta withdrawal online boards (such as cymbaltawithdrawal.com and depressionforums) to take extra Omega 3s and drink lots of chamomile tea, and within 3 days the brain zaps were over. The extra dizziness is gone. The words are coming back and I can actually string a few together now to make a complete sentence. The intestinal upsets resolved within the first 2 weeks.

While it has improved, I'm still working on the irritability. Has my true self merely come forward and I am really an impatient, screaming lunatic? I really really hope not. As does my family.

Picture of me withdrawing from Cymbalta.

No, not standing above, the one at the bottom.



Skimmer's Recap: Cymbalta withdrawals are not for the weak. Or for our families.

Isn’t he lovely?

Who knew, when that bouncing baby boy came to us before Christmas in 1988, he’d be with us 23 years later?

When we began as foster parents back then, we had no thoughts of keeping any children. But what do you do when 3 years later the child you've been loving and feeding is now free for adoption, and you can't imagine someone else coming to collect him and his things and driving away? Keep him, of course.

He has the sweetest most compassionate heart. He knows every movie ever made in the past 20 years, and every video game sold. I can't even imagine my life without him.

It just had to be said. (Especially since I took this really great photo of him after a wedding.)

Friends Don't Let Friends Buy La-Z-Boy.

Lousy La-Z-Boy

Dear La-Z-Boy:

With dreams of reclining comfort, we set out to purchase couches from you. No more low-cost disposable couches from Levitz, no more build-it-yourself from Ikea, we were going to Do It Right and buy grown-up furniture. Wads of money in hand (since your product does not come cheap) we set out for your Pleasanton store.

After much sitting and reclining, we decided on a couch and loveseat so new they weren't even in stores yet. Their lines were clean and pleasing, and we were assured they were practically identical to a chair we tried in store. Looking forward to many long years of happy lounging, I special ordered a sturdy fabric of chocolatey-brown loveliness and waited excitedly.

We repainted and scrubbed and organized in anticipation, and finally, two months later, they arrived. And just 2 short months after that, the cushions were breaking down and the mechanisms squawked and swayed. The previously fluffy back cushions were flat and the fabric hung loosely, the seat cushions were flattening uncomfortably. Hopefully a one time "mistake" at the factory, perhaps workers who decided to start their weekend drinking early?

Many emails and phone calls and photos and a service call later, you agreed to replace our couches with a different model. Back to the store we went--the store, I might add, that decided they would no longer carry the Braxton model we had purchased, due to its low quality.

Torn between the desire to have the fabric color of my choice or having somewhere comfortable to sit sooner rather than later, we decided to pick something readily available in your warehouse. So only 3 months after delivery of our first couches, we were sitting pretty on some different caramel-colored goodness. And we all lived happily ever after, right?

Wrong. We've had these couches for less than a year, 7 brief months to be exact. One entire seat cushion has needed replacing. The cable pull that releases the foot rest where my hubby sits broke off. His end of the couch slopes to the back corner. The back cushion in the same seat has flattened more than the rest of them.

Service calls take anywhere from 1 to 2 months to happen, parts take another 2 weeks to the more likely 8 weeks to receive, and not till those parts are received do you set up a visit to do the repair.

I've welcomed a variety of La-Z-Boy service technicians into my home. They've all been lovely people, but I don't want to meet the entire staff of the La-Z-Boy service department. I just want my thousands of dollars worth of couches to do their job and last longer than their much less expensive Ikea counterparts.

Yesterday I sent photos of the end of the couch where I sit and the end of the couch where my husband sits, to show the obvious difference between them. Your technician's advice was that we should "rotate" where we sit and not always sit the same place. Perhaps if the product you've designed for seating cannot be used for sitting, you should rename it "magazine rest" or "decorative flat area."

My friend Linda tells me that she and her hubby have the best La-Z-Boy recliners ever. Now this is beginning to feel personal. Have we somehow offended the La-Z-Boy gods? Could I perhaps sacrifice a young chair and break the curse? If you can help me please let me know.

Beleaguered in the Bay Area,
me.


Skimmer's recap: Having hoped that throwing large amounts of money at the La-Z-Boy gods was sacrifice enough to get a sturdy, working couch, julie begins to feel desperate. And don't even get her started on why she trusted someone who can't even spell "Lazy" correctly.

Wow! Where have i been??

Can't believe it's been a month since i've written anything on here. It's as if i vomited up all that information about my Travels in Fibro Land and just ran out of words.

i've been reading lately more than writing, and finished out the summer with a week of Grandma Camp, otherwise known as having the grandgirls over for the week to shop and sew and eat out and just have fun. Guess the supplements and the gym and all have helped, i didn't collapse till day 5!

Books i've read lately: "Heaven Is For Real" by Todd Burpo, co-written by a lovely lady author i met at Mount Hermon, Lynn Vincent. It's (as its subtitle states)  "A Little Boy's Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back." 4 year old Colton's appendix bursts, leading to emergency surgery. Parentally speaking, it's horrifying with all the chance of losing a child and the second guessing of "why didn't we know/why did we wait" questions his family goes through. But as Colton begins dropping bits of information regarding his visit to heaven during his surgery, the bigger picture starts coming into focus as his small town pastor dad and teacher mom begin to try to put together Colton's story. Pretty quick reading, pretty interesting reading. Made me feel better about heaven. i mean, as a Christian i know i should look forward to heaven, but it's just another big unknown to me, and i'm fearful of the unknown. Streets of gold don't compel me, i'm not that into metal. But now i'm curious to see if it's all Colton says.

i've also read the first 2 Sullivan Crisp books by Nancy Rue and Stephen Arterburn and have 1 more to go. Arterburn is part of New Life Ministries, a group of Christian counselors who do workshops and answer calls on their radio show and just generally try to help people to move forward in positive ways in their lives, a theme i am a particular fan of. The first book, "Healing Stones" deals with the subject of when families and marriages fall apart. Sullivan Crisp is the quirky therapist who helps her figure out what healing really looks like in the situation with all its complexities. The second book is "Healing Waters." In this novel Sully the therapist is doing some dealing of his own while helping Lucia, a self-consciously overweight woman, deal with her past and present. Other interesting subjects in this novel are the "prosperity gospel" pseudo-Christian belief system as well as a lost baby and a failing marriage. Both kept me turning the pages--what the heck, it's like free therapy!

What have you been doing lately? What are you reading?


Skimmer's Recap: julie gives herself therapy through grandchildren and books.

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 3 of 3.

Year 6. 2010.

I've been blogging about my Fibromyalgia and the rest of my life now for a few years. Oddly there are quite a few people who find me by Googling "how long does it take to withdraw from Fentanyl?" I pray for them, knowing the awful depths withdrawal can drag you. Some of them write me to say “the doctor never told me what this would be like” and I try to encourage them that yes, it’s awful, but you can make it through this.

I know I am still relying too much on ibuprofen and Vicodin--I'm afraid to be in pain. And the Cymbalta I use for the Fibromyalgia seems to no longer help with the pain and all I'm having of it are the side-effects.

I spend the last half of the year clearing my body and brain of any extra medications: the Cymbalta is reduced to the lowest dose (with the blessings of my doctor) and I'm no longer taking my everyday dose of allergy medication since I feel foggy in the brain already. I figure I'll deal with the allergies as they come, and enjoy the clearer head I'll have without the pills. I pretty much quit taking the ibuprofen as it seems to begin eating a hole in my belly after a time. The Vicodin I will use when I really need it. No more preventative pain medications, just "as needed."

Year 7. 2011.

I can read books again!! After collecting books and books since I love to read and simply haven't had the concentration to do so, I'm working my way through the book piles. This is a happy thing.
I also decide that in a year the same amount of days will have passed no matter what I do with them, so what if I step out with a small amount of faith and choose to do something positive for myself with those days?

In mid-February I pull out the business card of a Naturopathic Doctor, given me by a friend a couple of years ago, and make the call. Set up an appointment. And the same week I get an appointment at the gym to talk with a trainer to help me exercise right and not cause flares or injuries that I know would just make me whine and quit. My Get-Well money is in play now.

It's June now. I'm taking steps toward a healthier, less whiney me. Sure, I get frustrated that things aren't moving faster. I still hurt, but it's generally lower, midrange, on the pain scale, the one where 10 means "please hospitalize me or at least shoot me with rhinoceros tranquilizer darts."
I try to deep breathe, I try to still my mind. I wake up better in the morning, but truth is, I'll never be a true morning person.  I still find putting any sort of dinner on the table a pain in the arse since I’m not a big fan of cooking, but not in the same “can’t lift my arms” sort of way.

It may be slow, but it is after all a process, something Merriam-Webster defines this way:
       Process
      1 a: progress, advance b: something going on: proceeding
     2 a (1): a natural phenomenon marked by gradual changes that lead toward a particular result     (2): a continuing natural or biological activity or function

So the fact that it is indeed something continuous, something that moves forward, is a happy thing, even if it isn’t instant. Fact is, I’m tired of this pain, tired of this fatigue, tired of this body. I can choose to stay the same, or I can choose to move forward.

I mean, why NOT me?


Skimmer's Recap: Fibromyalgia, while not my favorite companion, has taught me things. And baby steps are still steps.

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 2 of 3.

Year 3. 2007

I file for disability. I'm turned down. I file again. I can't quite figure out how to do life since my body has turned against me. More pain. I feel weak. I annoy my family by whining and feeling sorry for myself. Grocery shopping seems impossible, putting any sort of meal on the table insurmountable. I try countless supplements. I research more and more. Maybe I can find some secret answer being hidden from me.

I'm obsessed.

Year 4. 2008.

Turned down for disability again. I feel gutted. I know I don't look different—no casts, no missing limbs--but I feel so very different from the person I was a few years ago. My only recourse is to get a lawyer to represent me, someone who knows the system, someone who can take my side in this. If I can't manage two different appointments or events outside the home in a week, how will I ever work again?

My doctor sends me to a 5 week class for Chronic PainManagement. I attend 4 days per week, some days so exhausted by the end of the class that I have to buy coffee to hopefully stay awake for the drive home. We are an odd mix: woman with migraines, men with back surgeries, another woman with Fibromyalgia, another with a neck injury, etc. etc. We are taught to meditate, to do relaxation exercises, to do gentle stretching, to speak only of positive things. We are told not to get involved in each other's lives, yet we do. The few of us with a sense of humor sustain each other in secret moments. We are corrected like small stupid children as they teach these things. This gets in the way of learning. Yet, I learn things.

My husband's dog gets very very sick in the midst of this and dies. We are both devastated. I consider giving up on the class (I only have 1 week left) but those in charge let me take a week off and return to finish.

My pain management doctor tries to kill me with many different heavy opiates. My husband says, "For somebody as stoned as you are, you should be having more fun." I decide to get myself clear of the final one, Fentanyl. The withdrawals are pretty much Satan incarnate.

Year 5. 2009.
The lawyer wins my case. All I have to do is feel humiliated in front of a judge and several others as I listen to them try to invalidate my experience. But I now have disability benefits, a small amount, since I worked part time when I last worked. But it's something, maybe I can use this for my Get-Well money. And clothes, I will surely need some new clothes to get well. And the occasional pedicure.

I am in a full flare of Fibromyalgia total body pain, fatigue, and confused head, when someone decides to fill me in on the “fact” that “if you only ate this way you would be fine.” She also tells me that “at least” I don’t have cancer or diabetes. I look at her and say, “The good thing about Fibromyalgia? You don’t die from it.” She smiles a great big cheerleader’s smile. I continue.” The bad thing about Fibromyalgia? You don’t die from it.” Her face folds in on itself. She quits talking. Finally.

Don't change that dial--i'll be back....

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 1 of 3.

Having grown up holding my breath, my whole fight/flight/freeze system was pretty tender already. I think that each major emotional upheaval in my adult life just caused the skin on that system to become more and more fragile, until one day the final emotional hit came that tore through that thin skin altogether.

Year 1. April 2005.

I am doing a program at home that’s a combined upper/lower body set of exercises involving 5 pound hand weights. Suddenly, where I’ve been easily able to do 10 repetitions, I can only do 3 before my muscles simply won’t move anymore. Suddenly, on my first trip down the stairs in the morning, the bottoms of my feet seem filled with rocks. Suddenly, my solid nights of sleep become fewer and fewer, and my body is achy and stiff on waking. I have a few driving experiences where I turn a corner in a perfectly familiar neighborhood and ask myself, "Where am I?" I’m exhausted all day long—every day. What is happening??

I find myself pushing my doctor to actually test me for possible medical explanations. Her answer, (with a look of embarrassment for me,) is that "Sometimes when we deal with our emotional/mental issues, these other pains go away." JUST TEST ME PLEASE.

I am doing my own research online and in the library, and there’s a cluster of medical issues including Fibromyalgia with similar symptoms. It appears to be the least deadly of the bunch. I convince the doctor to test for all the others to rule them out (or not), and finally get her to do the thumb pressure test set up by the American College of Rheumatology on the 18 “tender points” associated with Fibromyalgia.

"Oh." My doctor looks up at my face as she presses lightly on places that made me flinch in pain. "You do seem to have Fibromyalgia," she says in surprise.

This has only taken 10 months, as opposed to the many years that others have suffered with Fibromyalgia before getting a diagnosis. I count myself fortunate.

Thank God I am already seeing a therapist. She helps me stay sane during this time.

Year 2. 2006.

More reading and more reading. More horrible days of exhaustion, my body feels heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger. More full-body pain, some days burning like fire, other days a flu-like aching.  My spirits head to the pits of Hell. I give in to the silly question of "Why me?" when I already know the more realistic question is "Why not me?" We are broken people in a broken world. Our bodies break down. Things go wrong.

I have a sleep study, and find out I do have sleep apnea. Maybe using the cpap machine will solve the poor sleep/waking up exhausted issue.

 It doesn't. Why not me?

to be continued...

Fibromyalgia and the Perils of Not Listening to My Body.

But there were sales, and the opportunity to go shopping with a friend at the outlets. And then there was my trainer the next day. So I didn't listen when I should have.

Shopping and training and pain, Oh My.

You see, in Fibromyalgia, the body talks. Much earlier than they used to, the muscles yell "ACK! NO MORE!" But I must be listening.

Nothing about me looks different to remind myself or others that something is different. No cast, no limp, no wheelchair. Just the same Julie that walked the earth 20 years ago, give or take a pound or 40.

A person with a back injury may walk with a cane. I've known one of those. A person with a broken bone wears a cast. I've done that. Even a person with a cold probably has a red nose. But with Fibro, we just look like our same old selves, because the working of it is inside us, in our central nervous system, where our bodies tell us that a gentle wave of pain is actually A TSUNAMI RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

The funny bit (well, not at the time maybe) is that when I am in a flare, having overdone and caused a tsunami, even my brain gets scrambled. Those days my brain is a shaken snow globe, and the flakes of snow are pieces of words and thoughts and scribbles that just can't quite connect to make a whole ANYthing. I once saw a movie where a confused woman wore her bra on the outside of her shirt to work. When I started experiencing the "brainfog" of Fibro, I thought, "Oh no!! That could be me!"

Honestly at those times I fear for myself and my decisions. Should I be trusted with a car, or trusted out of the house at all?

I was there for all of last week and into this week, in FibroFlareLand. Hadn't really visited there for more than a day at a time in several months. Got a little cocky about that. Felt a little powerful. Thought I was strong.

And again I was humbled--I was reminded that I have this thing, this interloper and interrupter. But since this is my life right now, I'm trying to learn to muddle through--trying to show up for the gym, show up in my family's life, show up for myself.

These times of weakness remind me that in myself I'm not really all that strong. I'm at the mercy of this thing that lives in my body. I want to be all spiritual and be able to calmly say, "God's strength is shown in my weakness," but in all honesty, I don't know whether I'm doing that for Him. I'm still not sure what that looks like in this case.

The flares bring me down, but not as far as they used to, so I must be learning. Maybe that's where His strength comes in. I'll keep you posted if I ever figure it out.


What's your place of weakness?

Fibromyalgia and the Gym: Things I've Noticed Besides People in Spandex.

I have passed the three month mark in my Experiment In Fitness. I started back at the gym in mid-February, and started seeing a naturopathic doctor about the same time. My trainer at the gym has kept me from hurting myself and my naturopathic doctor has supplemented me toward better energy. These are the things I have noticed:

At the gym I can now add light hand weights to my routines. I have better control of the movements my trainer guides me through. I now have to warm up at a faster pace on the treadmill than I did originally in order to start moving my heartrate up, and I've upped my pace on the treadmill altogether from 3 miles an hour to 3.3 miles an hour and added an incline to keep my heartrate in the workout zone. Doesn't sound like much, but it's a change in the right direction, right?

I sleep better and on less medication than I needed for a night's sleep than before. I wake up less groggy. I am better able to do sustained activity than I was previously. I don't see a huge difference, but my dear hubby says it's significant.

Due probably to both supplements and exercise, my flares have been minimal. Where previously I could expect one week out of 4 to be extra fibro-achy and difficult, I've had only a few days in the whole 3 months. This to me, a whiner from way back, is huge. I think it may be even huge-er to my family.

I believe the supplements have supported my efforts toward the exercise, and the exercise is supporting my efforts to take better care of myself. Slowly but surely, forward steps are being taken and small results are being seen.

One reason I started this trip down Supplement-and-Exercise Lane was the thought: In a year from now, what could be different about my health and fibromyalgia? A year will pass one way or the other, so why not DO something?

I've had a number of people tell me that either they or a friend had fibromyalgia "and one day it just went away." I'm not sure if that is intended to encourage me (it doesn't, by the way) but rather than wait around and hope for a cure by The-Raw-Foods-Diet/Prayer/Misdiagnosis or Magic, it seemed prudent to take some steps of my own. And what do you know? The steps are moving me forward.

Where I felt "stuck" in the quicksand of this thing called Fibromyalgia, I'm feeling a bit more in control. What is your area of "stuck-ness"? What choices could you make to improve some part of your life that otherwise will be just the same a year from now?


Skimmer's Recap: Julie finds no magic in her past 3 months, just some serious acts of the will--but finds them oddly satisfying. However, she does not anticipate wearing spandex any time soon. Or ever.

Memorials and Memories.

I sat listening to stories about a friend's father, being bathed in the loving laughter of those around me. They were good memories, strong memories, the kind to bring back out and savor when you need to smile. One told by my friend was of her childhood, of when her father would be ready to leave for church in the morning but the rest of the family wasn't. He would announce, "I will be leaving for church in two minutes and thirty-six seconds!" His exacting times to push the family out the door became an inside joke to those who knew him and loved him.

I also saw the tears of those who would now miss him, for we sat in pews of the church he'd attended for his memorial service. Memories of his strong faith in the God who created him and the ways he kept that faith strong were shared by those he had touched. He memorized scripture and sang hymns, and urged--maybe even nagged--those he loved to do the same. And they were going to miss it all.

I can't pretend to know what other people think, but being Queen Of The Navel-Gazers, I tend to feel self-reflective after memorial services: what have I done to be remembered? How do I want the rest of my days to look?

How do memorial services affect you?


Skimmer's Recap: Julie, who attended her friend's father's very positive memorial service, decides she would also like to be remembered with laughter and cake.

Me At the Gym.

Walking along on the treadmill I looked around me at the women of various shapes and sizes running on their treadmills. I thought, "why not try it?"

So I did. For all of  9 seconds.

I would need to severely batten down the, er, "hatches" for that sort of thing. And by "hatches" I mean all the wobbly bits. Of which I have many.

Maybe in the distant future.

No time soon.

Fibromyalgia and My New Friends: Pills and Exercise.

These are some of my new friends.

 Dr. Ballew, my naturopathic doctor, is working with me toward better health. As mentioned in my previous post, "Fibromyalgia and Spitting for Health," we had tested for hormonal imbalances. And by "we" I mean she prescribed the test and I provided the spit.

She started me on Magnesium Citramate (a clever word for Citrate-Malate), a Basic B Complex and a good brand of fish oil, based on our initial hour and a half appointment in which I blabbed a full history of *Me*. And she never once glazed over or drooled. (A very good skill for a healthcare professional.)

Most Fibromyalgia patients are low in magnesium, B vitamins are supposed to be good for energy, and Omega 3s, well, EVERYbody knows THOSE are good! (What are they good for again? Anybody??)

The newer addition to the Pill Arsenal is the Adrenal Stress End, the one mentioned in the previous post that's made of "porcine adrenal." Is the word "porcine" calculated to sound more scientificky than "pig"? I mean, aren't we still talking about the same thing? No matter what we call it, somebody is going to be thinking "Oh poor Wilbur, and Charlotte worked so hard to save him!" But I am willing (and even happy) to eat bacon, so I suppose I can ingest this part of the pig as well, at least in capsule form.

Also new, the addition of the progesterone cream. Apparently progesterone can aid in the balancing of hormones even when the estrogen is in correct range (and since mine is in pill form, it is.)

Things I've noticed. I'm about 2 months into the first group of pills and 1 month into Wilbur's cousin. I'm also about 2 months into my time back at the gym (it only seems like longer...) and 2 months into an often weak attempt to eat less processed carbohydrates and sugar. I am beginning to sleep a bit better, and wake up a bit earlier. I'm still aware of the general ache of FM, but it's a bit quieter.

I am cautiously optimistic--since there is a spectrum in which my Fibro affected energy moves, I still tell myself, "Well, you have felt this good other times in the past 6 years." Hubby says I am much improved, so maybe there is more than I am able to see in myself. Time will tell.

Of course, in the Fibromyalgic world there are always surprises. The past couple of days have also brought a resurgence of weird sensations in my legs and feet--the feeling of bubbling under the skin, a kind of cold or hot sensation. Maybe Restless Legs Syndrome? I dunno. But this is just the dubious beauty of Fibro, our nervous systems do some strange stuff!


Skimmer's Recap: julie doesn't anticipate turning into a ball of energy any time soon, but at least her pill and gym regime keeps her off the street and out of trouble.

Fibromyalgia and Spitting for Health.

 If i were a guy, the whole day would have gone smoother.

The test recommended by my new Naturopathic doctor required spit, lots of it. Four vile vials, in fact.

i think spitting is gross. But spit i did.

The point of the test was to check hormonal balances, one of which is cortisol, a hormone produced by the adrenal cortex. Cortisol is related to stress, something we all deal with daily. Here's a great article on About.com on the Cortisol-Stress connection that explains what cortisol is responsible for and how stress affects it.

But why saliva? Why spitting instead of the pee-all-day-and-save-it-in-an-embarrassingly-large-jug, like my Kaiser health care had me do? According to Dr. Ballew, my Doctor of Naturopathic Sciences and new friend in healthcare, the urine test only measures the overall cortisol level, when what is needed to see how the adrenals are functioning is to see the various levels throughout the day. Like Dr. Ballew explained to me, and the article also explains, the way the hormone should work is to be highest after you have just slept, since you have (allegedly) just awakened from refreshing, restorative sleep. There is a natural downward curve throughout the day in its production, leading at last to the lowest levels at bedtime, when we need to be relaxed and ready for that (alleged) refreshing sleep.

BUT, what are some of the most common complaints with Fibromyalgia? A lack of restorative, refreshing sleep, waking up tired, and general fatigue. Then there's that chronic pain issue, the generalized aching, burning pain. Studies have shown sleep deprivation can cause--guess what--pain. The brain needs good sleep to repair itself or it becomes impaired.

My cortisol level seems to be on its own special little curve--below normal when i wake, then leveling out about 4 pm. But no dropping slowly till bedtime, just full speed ahead at the 4 pm. level. Could this explain the poor sleep i experience? Maybe the difficulty waking up? (Never having been a morning person you can only imagine how Fibro has taken that to new depths of un-morningness.)

If this ends up having a large impact on my health, but how many other Fibromyalgia sufferers are slogging along with the same problem, but they don't have a lovely Dr. Ballew, Naturopath, on their team? I do wonder. Symptoms are many and varied in FM (Fibromyalgia) with some similarities, but could this be one of the big causes? Stress=stressed adrenals that perform poorly=bad mornings and bad nights. Hmm.

My new supplement is made from pig adrenals. Sounds gross, but if i can get a better night's sleep and have a better morning, i'll pig 'em down.


Skimmer's recap: Turns out that spitting can be our friend, but aren't you glad i didn't put an illustration of it up there at the top of the page?

julie's Gym Mathematics.

I suppose this could also be titled, "why julie doesn't get very far ahead."