Category: Health

It’s been challenging to transition through one decade and head to another. I am midlife, but am not sure I’m ready to either share the exact decade or which I’m heading into. Still, growing older can have challenges.

Naturally, most people in the West-if I can speak on behalf of most-have some level of excitement to transition into adulthood, and then specific decades of adulthood. An entire industry has been profiteering off of birthdays for so long. The idea that there are some hallmark birthdays also contributes to the hoopla: 18, 21, 30 and so on.

Heredity is a tough taskmaster from which there is no escape. Sure, there are tools, gimmicks, procedures, and medications to aide in some ailments, issues, and so on. We want to perform better, look better, be better, do better….there’s much to be said about contentment, is there not?

There are such internal microscopic things, though, that are so engrained, we simply cannot imagine how they become strong enough to show out. Didn’t we learn more about diet than our predecessors? Were we not more mindful of activity and muscle protection and development? Vitamins? Minerals….supplements? Then why are we more vulnerable to issues, maladies….hiccups to our selfish focus for enjoyment and lust for youth….?

I can’t be certain, so I can’t pontificate.

I also cannot speak to environmental impacts nor outside influences. I mean, we do rely on industries to be honest and present properly vetted options, right? Like, they aren’t attempting to sabotage our health through nefarious means, yes?

Anyway…

As I close this one long yet interesting chapter of my life, I’m floored by the amount of health issues that have begin to crop up. It’s like some garden I planted seeds into while sleeping or something. And yet…

Yet, there are some things that I know for a fact affected my grandparent(s), too. I can’t blame them, of course. What did they know? And, for that matter, the issues weren’t even named the same way as they are today. Take my grandmother, for example. She was bound to a wheelchair most of her adult life. She had multiple doctor appointments across years-but for what, I’m not sure. I want to say they called her condition, “acute arthritis.” But what if she had the same lame moniker for something doctors can’t figure out called: fibromyalgia? Or, what if she had rheumatoid arthritis versus osteoarthritis? I hadn’t have answers, only questions. Plus, anyone would could conjecture on the same are also gone.

I live with daily pain. I was once told I had “mild arthritis” in one knee. I think that’s a mistake. My knees sound like diapers when I walk up stairs. Both of them. I have pain throughout my body, especially when the weather changes. I also have more chronic pain in joints, particularly after doing a thing. For example, tomorrow my hands will ache because today I typed a lot. Not sure how to feel about it, let alone what to do.

One thing I do not do is share how bad it really is with anyone. I had tried, but to no avail. I simply cannot put into words how it feels. And then I don’t want to trouble my younger kids; it’s a burden they can’t bear since it’s not like they can solve it. It’s not quite the same as putting dirty clothes in the hamper or sweeping up crumbs. So, I suffer quietly.

There are days I want to stay in bed. Naturally that would make it much worse, so I get up.

There are days I’d rather unzip my body and step out, leaving the pain laden shell in a heap on the floor. I’d love to walk away. For that matter, I’d love to ski again, or go hiking, mountain biking, skating…

When the pain is there and I see doctors, I’ve done what I can do. Right? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?

Alas, heredity is a behemoth of a conundrum, wrapped in cellophane, and dipped in wax. It’s something to view and not something that can solve much. At least not today. For these issues. But someday, perhaps the right combination of effort, supplements, doctors, vitamins, therapy or whatever will pay off.

I know, long title.

So, we decided to try Keto together, to get some weight off, and to start the year off right. At least the second part is what I tell myself. It sounds some sort of romantic. We both could stand to lose to pounds, but also don’t want to commit to what amounts to a monotonous routine for a diet. Don’t get me wrong, if you are only doing the diet, then you can be creative, and/or try different things. When you’re making food for other people, they may not always want to eat what you are eating. Therein lies the rub.

So, let’s get to it.

We are on day 19. So 2 1/2 weeks thus far. Initially we didn’t have the “water weight” loss that we have had before. As a consequence, we were nervous that maybe because we are older this avenue wouldn’t work this time. Turns out, it is working, just differently. In the past, when we would try the diet, the first X amount of time would be rapid weight loss, then a few days of stall, then more loss, and then less and less drastic iterations as the weight came off. This time we had an initial stall. By the end of week one we almost felt like giving up. The weight loss was negligible-like .5 lbs negligible. However, we stuck it out and lo and behold we have lost weight.

The way it is coming off this round is 2 steps forward, 1 step back. It’ll be a slow trickle, then a small dump-like 1-2 lbs overnight, then back up 1 lb, then back down. Like that. Oddly, we are both down about 7.5 lbs so far. Still, if we make it to the end of January, we have enough time to potentially lose 10 lbs. That’s not too bad in a month, but it’s like the normal “1-2 lbs a week is healthy” way. Keto used to work much quicker, but would take the “long haul” approach if a lot needed to be lost.

I don’t want to project ANYTHING at this point. I can’t speak for my S.O., but for me, I could top off this month anywhere from 8-15 lbs. I have no clue.

And it’s not like we’re cheating. No alcohol. No sugar. No bread-well, except Keto bread and that’s on occasion (me, not as much).

We eat twice a day with a snack in the middle or end if we want. We do high fat zero carb at breakfast. Almost exclusively we’ll do a breakfast meat and eggs, sometimes with cheese. We will even cook in bacon fat. YUM….We then will have a dinner, and often something the rest of the fam can eat. It’s a meat and either an acceptable beg, cauliflower rice, or both, or neither. Just depends.

If you’re considering Keto, there are numerous websites now, and even cook books and recipes, online. However, try not to get too caught up in all the things at first. If you can do just ONE thing to begin, I would consider limiting Carbs to 10/day, but using the counting method. You can also get “Net” carbs, which is more specific than simply “Total Carbs” of an item. For example, if you have a food with 10 grams of carbs, but 3 grams of fiber, then you have 7 NET grams of carbs. Count the net, not the gross :).

Additionally, part of my ongoing work on self involves including exercise. I might write an entire post about this later as I feel that explaining my focus and goals is worthy of exploring. If nothing else, try to do “something.” There is an entire science behind endorphins and feeling better about self when incorporating exercise. Good thing about this diet, though, is that it’s more challenging to “reward” yourself with food…which is dumb, anyway, and we should all just admit it. But since we can’t, it’s harder to say, “Since I burned X calories, I can have Y food” when the acceptable foods are specific…..like I could have a fat bomb coffee after, which includes BUTTER (ew, gross), but I couldn’t have a piece of pie.

Hopefully you feel accomplished when attempting to lose a few L B’s. I know I do (on the mornings when the scale moves south, not north). So, definitely keep the momentum going. And if you’re dieting at the moment, why not share what you’re up to in the comments below.

Well, superfluous or not, “diet” seems synonymous with “new year” does it not? Alas, I’m at it again. My resolve is a little more focused this time around. No, I don’t wait until January 1 to begin a diet. I may change something here, tweak something there…I may fast a day or more….I may think about what I’m eating and be more intentional. However, for now, I must admit that doing a prescribed diet is what I’m working on. With a partner. Just for 30 days of January.

Who begins a diet on January 1? There is still New Year’s goodies sitting out, or leftover fatness from Christmas. I decided, along with my partner, that waiting that one day would give us just 30 days. Then, if we so chose, we could be off the next month, just 28 days, then back on for March-31 days there, so either migrate it to be an extra February day or bite the bullet and do a full 31 days :).

Dieting is usually partnered with exercise. For me, and me only, dieting is, by itself, the means by which I can lose weight. If you spend any amount of time researching, looking for anecdotes or science, you might discover that people who have particular conditions (or perhaps not), may end up in a cycle that’s super depressing. Working overtime planning meals and watching macros, then adding in hours of intense exercise a week, only to see a lackluster or abysmal loss across months.

Don’t get me wrong, exercise in itself is a wonderful addition to a healthy “lifestyle.” In fact, I sort of enjoy it as a stand alone; but, adding in that it could be a means to an end, and suddenly I’m not as interested in the effort. So, because of my interaction with a virus, I had to wait quite a while last year to feel well enough to exercise. I took the scenic route. Although I recall having a great time jogging or running, tracking my miles, and being completing impressed with my own efforts, I also knew that it was out of the question to go so intense. Instead, I found a walking partner-not the same partner I’m working with now-and we met just a few times a week to walk. As a result, I was able to improve my efforts across the last three months of the year. I felt accomplished.

Now we are facing the daunting task of weight loss. My partner is male, and he seems able to drop excess weight at a steady clip with effort-even mediocre effort. However, he introduced me to this diet, so when he commits, he’s in! I, on the other hand, have something called PCOS, and that does mean I have internal hinderances. Even though I’m nearing a monumental birth year, I still have not figured out how to balance macros to maintain a more slender physique. It’s fine, it’s fine……

We began this last Sunday, and it’s now Thursday. The weight is coming off already. I keep telling myself that I can do this for 30 days. Yes, it’s a mental exercise, but one I must endure. I know my body will appreciate less girth to manage. I also know that should I not lose as I’d like, I must be appreciative of my own efforts. Truly, give yourself credit for effort when it’s warranted. If you TRY something and it doesn’t work out as planned, is it wasted effort? I mean, I guess it could be. On the other hand, if my goal was 10 lbs this month and I lost a solid 7.5, is that bad? Well, of course not! The measuring stick might be the problem :).

I am weighing daily; it’s the cardinal sin of weight loss. I also took measurements and to be honest, those were what woke me up. I do wish I could workout hard and intense like one of those weight loss shows, hours upon hours of teasing, restricted diets causing diet delirium, and hard-as-nails exercise for 8 hours a day. Perhaps that would make my body submit. At the end of this month, the collateral impact should be a few inches and some pounds. That will definitely mark success!

I’m not sure I can quantify my experience in a way that conveys all that it encompasses. Getting hit with such an intense virus is sudden, and slow. Just in case preparation, readiness, voluminous reading, constant observation, observing protocols, and weighing the gravity of it’s uninvited invasion, combined with intentional or subversive persuasive tactics published everywhere, is taxing.

I continued to feel worse and exhausted for an entire week. It wasn’t like the flu, until it was. Instead, it was similar to the time between a potentially late period and finding out you’re pregnant. Like that. If you’re a type A like me, you push yourself toward exhaustion anyway, because you don’t want to give up the organized chaos you’ve created for yourself in your own home. So, I continued to do my work-thankfully from home-while hoping that it was just a bug. Since I cannot get pregnant any longer, I knew it wasn’t a pregnancy. If anything, I was heading toward my once a month disaster anyway, so perhaps my feelings were a new version of PMS.

Making a call to a medical televisit, I was told to get a pulse ox and no further instructions on what to look for, and wait for a call from the pharmacy for a prescription. Fine. I sent my dutiful spouse to the store, and obtained the oxygen pulse detector. When I reached 86 oxygen molecules per 1,000,000, an exaggeration beyond compare, I knew that something was amiss. So, I made arrangements for my children, who had been kept at a distance outside a closed door, to have a filling supper, and then kept in the oversight of the near adult of the bunch, while my husband took me in. We didn’t pass Go and collect $200; the urgent care would have been a waste of time. Instead we drove directly to jail, er um, the hospital.

Within 5 minutes I was admitted. Apparently oxygen of 85 was not good. I had dropped a point. *I prefer straight A’s (theoretically).

While in the ER, I was given oxygen, some shots, an IV, and taken down to get a CT of my lungs. The machine couldn’t have been more than 3 feet long, but my anxiety, which excruciatingly escalated after hitting the fourth decade, vetoed the excursion, so a fractious nurse gave me some happy juice and I took the image. Later, when I saw what my lungs looked like in cross-section, they looked frighteningly full of inflammation.

I’m happy to report that, to date, I don’t have any scarring.

My stay in Hotel d’Hospitable was an excruciating five days; yes, it could have been worse. It almost was worse. However, my new besties, the all female nursing and cleaning staff, were amazing. I was surprised by how they didn’t flinch at having to care for a plagued individual. We weathered the storm together.

Arriving home with an oxygen concentrator-something that runs like a loud, obnoxious generator-I was able to move with relative ease as long as I had the 50 ft tubing as my constant companion. I was weak. I had an inhaler meant for a COPD patient. I couldn’t sleep. I had nose bleeds.

My ordeal wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t over. On day two home, I had a lovely rash appear across my entire chest. Not. Attractive. Being a dutiful daughter, I recall my dad using alcohol for absolutely everything. I got out my trusty stash, and applied it twice a day to my decolletage. The mystery finally disappeared. I then had some gastrointestinal issues. My stomach hurt often. The various aches and pains and enervation ran the gamut and are too voluminous to itemize here. It was lame. I don’t like to be down…

…and then I faced hair loss. Not, oh, my scalp is dry loss, nor, oh, I just had a baby so some hair is coming out. Hormone changes, you know. Nope. Clumps, lots and lots of hair. Drain clogging hair, added to the full hair brush, added to the drape I wore down my back, added to the compendium of strands scattered across my floor. LOTS. OF. HAIR. I wore a constant side braid. I thought it would end. I first didn’t notice until the daily collection could fill a gallon sized bag. I went to urgent care. “It’s a lesser common symptom of long…..” What!?! I also had folliculitis. So, I got an antibiotic. The carnage continued.

After cutting 8 inches off my hair, and delicately handling each wash and brush, the loss stymied, and I now feel it’s back in the normal range. Total casualties? 60% of my hair volume. Yes, you read that correctly.

Now I have palpitations constantly. My BP is higher than it every was previously. I know, because I kept a record on my notes app. I now take it daily and it’s annoyingly consistently higher. Boo for changes. I have an appointment for a heart monitor, called a halter monitor, to wear for a week. The effect of this long version is absolutely long. I’m almost at the 4 month mark since being hospitalized. And, I do hope this condition turns. Not a coy look over the shoulder with a smoldering look kind of turn. I want to see an ollie turn of 180 and a smooth ride back to before this beast invaded my private space. And at that time I’ll give it that smarmy librarian look of knowledge, with an edge of aggravated resolve, and gratitude that prayers, more than anything, have salvaged me from further ravages of this blindly obedient virus.

Having lived and continuing to live through this infection has been an interesting journey. I’m certain that I’ll fully recover. Until then, I nap almost daily, try to eat well, drink lots of fluids, take several supplements, and continue to read ad nauseam. I like to be informed. And as Reagan famously said, “Trust, but verify.” Things like this can happen to anyone. Literally: anyone. It happened to me, it can happen to you. And?

I have always believed in the power of prayer. I don’t believe its the Lord’s desire to see his children in pain, nor live with chronic pain, maladies, or other issues. Doesn’t that sound a bit cruel?

If I’m walking with my child, and they trip and fall, I don’t watch them cry and wait for them to get over it. Instead, I help them get up, and if there is something in my power to make it easier, facilitate healing, or make the pain go away, I administer that. And if I don’t have the power to make it better, then I take them to the doctor.

The Bible is replete with references to the Lord as the divine healer. That isn’t a recommendation or thoughtful adage….it’s something we should depend on. In fact, I’ve always wondered why, when a church has healing services, the leadership doesn’t address all the glasses in the room. Am I right? Glasses are a sign of an incomplete body part, that needs healing.

In my own life, I’ve tried extra hard not to rely on medical care as a crutch. That will sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be. What I mean is, I don’t go running to the doctor for every little ailment. When I was in the hospital recovering from c-section, I took half the pain pill so I wouldn’t be loopy. I probably wouldn’t have been loopy, but I was taking that approach just in case. And when I stubbed the heck out of my baby toe, I KNEW I had broken it. It was my first broken anything, so in a way it was a badge of honor. Did I go to the doctor? Nope. Instead, after about two weeks, it felt so itchy, so I looked it up, and lo and behold the “itchy” was a sign that the broken bone was attempting to heal; it was the histamines at work.

When I shared this with my adult child, they questioned my reality. They claimed I couldn’t “self-diagnose” and wouldn’t “really” know it was broken. I mean, how do our kids think our ancestors worked with their remote locations but by knowing their own symptoms? Good lord! SO, I went to the urgent care, paid to have the X-ray (grrrr) and, gee, I was correct. I had broken my toe. There was nothing they could do by that point. Oh, and let’s not forget we already knew of the “tape two toes together” trick, which is what they still use 40 years later…sigh. We are in trouble if our adult kids can’t rely on instinct even on occasion.

Of course, like all young people, they simultaneously think they are above reproach, and more intelligent than their parents. Isn’t that what the 20’s is for? Harumpf. Rebellion, I say. Isn’t experience the best teacher or is that an alternate universe?

One leftover from my youth that I just can’t quit shake, though, is the exact same thing. I know better for me. Which brings me to my current situation. See, about five years ago I was hit hard with overwhelming all over pain. I mean, I could barely get out of a chair without help, or I’d have to get on my knees and lean on a table;I actually had to use the stair rail like it was my job; and the pain was not managed with OTC meds. It was merciless. Finally, I went to a rheumatologist. As it turns out, I was diagnosed with “fibromyalgia” and osteo-arthritis. To be fair, it was a shock. Still, the doctor prescribed some pain meds, which turned out to be an antidepressant, and did an X-ray of my knees, claiming I have mild arthritis in my knees.

After that first initial bout with Fibro, I felt much better with the med. However, I wasn’t depressed, I was pissed! I wanted to be pain free, and I wanted to treat the problem not the symptom. So, I stopped seeing the doctor, quit the med cold turkey across a few days, and settled into my routine of managing pain when I could.

I started taking liquid Tumeric, Alleve when necessary, and watched the barometric pressure. When a rain storm was coming, I would feel much worse. Oh, and interestingly, I felt much better across the fall and winter than in the spring and summer.

The kids were suffering from my unexplainable bouts of pain, and that bothered me so much. I have no trouble going to the pool and jumping in with the kids, and this pain was frustrating. However, this year, as winter turned to spring, the pain was overwhelming. It was the addition of a new symptom that did it for me.

People with fibro can have all over pain, yes, but one insidious attribute of the condition is feeling irritable with each touch, by clothes, by anything. When that hit, I knew I was in trouble.

Praying for full and complete healing as that is God’s best for me, and you, is essential. However, as much as I’d prefer a radical and complete healing, I will have to do my part in the waiting period. Ever see a kid fall off a bike? The first thing they do, if they can, will be to get out from under the bike, while crying, and try and help themselves. If they trip and fall, they will get up and hold the painful area while attempting to remedy the issue. They do what they can-depending on age and maturity, of course-to help themselves and then rely on older people, usually parents, for next steps.

I guess I’m there. I can’t live with all over cinching pain, knee and hip pain, finger joint pain, headaches, piercing pain from what may be a ruptured ovarian cyst, as I need to manage the pain in the waiting. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

As it is it has been four months since I broke that baby toe, and the side of my foot and that joint still hurt some. I guess that’s part of breaking something. I have no idea. Perhaps this journey to pain relief will affect that left over pain, too.

It’s not a defeat to fight the good fight for yourself and your health. It’s often recognizing what is out of your power and control. And that is the sign of maturity.

I wake up to the startling sound of my alarm at 6:05 a.m. I know I need to get up and get ready. My husband is out of town and I’m a one woman show for the week, managing kids, work, life. I am immediately aware of the pain I have coursing through my body. I’m annoyed that it’s the first thing I notice; it almost always puts me in poor spirits.

I miss the days of waking up feeling rested. Well, I can’t say that is exactly how it happened. There are many memories of feeling like I had been in battle-dreams can do that to me. But, at least I know my body was doing the recuperating necessary for another day’s tasks. Still, these days I wake up feeling like a truck ran over me repeatedly: exhausted, pained, annoyed. Not a good elixir for the day.

Today my hands ache. Why, I wonder. I didn’t do too much typing the day before. I didn’t even wash that many dishes, comb hair too much. I actually worked at trying to avoid work! They almost burn, but don’t. Instead they taunt me with the reminder that my body is abusing me from the inside. What else hurts? My knees are a constant. The crackling sounds they make as I go up or down stairs has intensified and I try to ignore it. That sound scares me. What could it mean? Less cartilage? More pebbles in my knees? What? My lower back and lower abdomen hurt. I’m not sure if that is due to hormones and a lady visitor or just pain. My hips hurt some. And, then this annoying pain on the outside of my thighs began, again…I’m not even sure what it is. On the pain scale it’s so low that I can ignore it. Darn hands are screaming.

I don’t even notice the plantar fasciitis any longer. It’s almost a welcome relief to the other pains I have. The only time my feet concern me these days is when my toe joints and other bones on the top of my feet ache.

The shoulder pain is the worst, though. When I went to the orthopedist, he said it was bursitis in my rotator cuff. I’m not happy with that. A few months before I had gone to the walk in clinic and was prescribed what I believe to be an anti-inflammatory often prescribed for arthritis. Meloxicam. I must admit, that stuff worked so well! I ran out. The doctor told me to visit the orthopedist if I continued to feel pain in a few weeks, and I did. Unfortunately, the orthopedist didn’t prescribe pain meds. Instead, he sent me home with some exercises, a flexiband, and instructions to use an ice pack and not heat.

As I type this I’m using a lovely heat pad my mother in law made. It’s got some weight to it; it’s made of rice. I nuke it and the warmth feels more healing. The ice only numbs the area for about 5 minutes. I’ll try anything, though. I don’t like constant pain.

The shoulder pain is what wakes me up throughout the night. It is the one body part that is on duty of late. They all take turns. When I have intense pain, often referred to as a flare up, the pained area takes precedence over all others. I guess I’m grateful that I don’t have many areas aflame at once. Perhaps I’d be a bonfire. I miss the beach.

I have to decide early in the day which pain med to try. I’m told to use Alleve by two of my doctors: the orthopedist and the rheumatologist. I have also read there can be adverse effects to my internal organs. I’m 46. How long will I live using one detrimental OTC drug each day? I opt to rotate these minimalistic panacea, hoping one will be the champion for the day. Some days I skip meds to show my internal resolve to not be dependent on them. Some days it’s not a problem. I can tell today won’t be one of them. I persevere in my cause and avoid any for now.

I get myself ready. I make it a point to make my bed each day. Some people on support forums note how daily tasks are almost unbearable. I pretend that won’t be me and push forward. I move on to helping one, then another of my children: making their bed, too, and helping with hair and other morning tasks. I hope to get in a cup of coffee before having to jettison a few of the kids to school. Thankfully pouring cereal is not an issue. My hands still ache. I ignore the pain.

It’s been 6 months or so since I had a diagnosis for some of what ails. I lived with daily pain before and thought it could be blamed of everything from weight to age to genetics. It could be none or all, I’m not sure. Osteoarthritis. Fibromyalgia. Crap. Not the direction I saw myself going midlife.

At the time the sympathetic 30-something rheumatologist told me to take a name brand prescribed drug for “pain.” He said he had taken it and it worked nicely. He’d start me off with the lowest dose, and then increase if needed. The drug is for depression. It’s a neuroinhibitor. It should block pain sensors. I was in so much pain I agreed. It took affect rather quickly and I noted that even my aunt’s visit wasn’t that painful; in fact, it was almost negligible.

Being a pugilist and a non-conformist, I took the elixir for enough time to feel I didn’t need it any longer and quit. I quit a drug. Actually, to be fair, I quit two, but that’s another issue and another story. This decision was based on the fact that at my follow up visit, the rheumy said I should increase my dose, “to cover all pain from this condition.” Um, no thanks. My decision was a bit harried, but I was committed.

The drug is the type that online alarmists noted they opened and counted beads inside the capsule. I don’t like math. I decided instead to waylay my dosing so that, over time, I was taking one every 24, then 30, then 36 hours and so on. I just stopped on day 4. I don’t have time to wait out a 30 day prolonged and agonizing detox. I didn’t get a headache or anything.

My pain did begin to increase. A little at first. I blamed the barometric pressure, the cycles of the moon, the color of the walls. I’m not sure where the pain originates, but I don’t like putting a bandaid on applesauce. It doesn’t make the mush disappear.

So, here I am with a bottle of said drug in my medicine cabinet. I reach around it for OTC drugs instead. I must be a glutton for punishment.

I also use a topical NSAID, spray magnesium, and even Aspercreme. I use the roll on-less mess.

To add insult to injury, the orthopedist- a doctor that other osteoarthritis suffers from support boards see on a regular basis-said that my X-rays do not show that [my shoulder pain] is caused by arthritis. The clarion call of alarm bells begin to ring in my head. Er, arthritis is a soft tissue condition, whose early stages are not detectible on X-ray. Still, pointing to my X-ray, he says that if it was arthritis, the distance between point A and point B would be eroded. How he would see early stages is still like a parrot in my head, but I nod and say, “thanks.” His exercises are painful. They are not working. And, unlike his compadres in other parts of the world, he doesn’t prescribe ANY pain medication. I’m a sailor without a life vest. Lovely.

Now I have two competing diagnosis, though they are for different parts of my body, and an umbrella diagnosis. I don’t like this companion “fibromyalgia.” Sure, it is supposed to help cover body-wide pain issue. And, I am sympathetic to that need. But *I* want answers. I want to know causes. I NEED help because *I* want to solve this complaint, and jail the transgressor for good.  I wish I had a medical degree-access to medical research. OH wait…the World Wide Web is available.

It’s another day with chronic pain. I doubt I mask it well, but I refuse to expect my family to do all the things so I can wallow in misery. I do most of what I want to do, and garner support from my husband and kids as I can. We’re an army; I can’t expect to sit by and not help facilitate the compendium of scheduled chaos. As it were, the busyness of the day takes my mind off of most of the pain, engaging my brain in activities such as blogging.

I ruminate on the many anecdotal stories of others who go to support boards to complain about the constancy of affliction. The inability to move, bend, bear weight, walk, run, use scissors, cook, brush their hair and teeth, put on socks, find relief, find support, find hope….scares me a little. I wax poetic but have nothing to offer. But, I decide, if I find the magic formula, I will give it away for free. My silent tears in isolation are not a consolation prize of dignity in public. They are the cry of a warrior in the middle of a fierce battle.

When the lights are turned out, though, the pain screams at me. I wrestle with the beast, deciding on a medicant-since it’s really not a med-i-can-and work to get to sleep.