Fibronaut At Home

Fibro Fail #…I Lost Count

I’ve been re-evaluating my plan of attack on my fibro.  It is a new year and it only took me 24 days to get to where I was ready to actually focus on what I wanted to accomplish this year.  That isn’t what this post is about though.  This post is about how I messed up my back doing a remedial yoga program that is for people just like me.  The DVD is called “Healing Yoga for Aches and Pains”.  I’d tell you the other info, but I’m feeling lazy and tired.  Google it.

The majority of the program is performed sitting in a chair, kind of like that lady on public television who does the exercises for older folks.  There is a brief standing portion and then you’re on the floor.  I’m pretty sure I could invite all the retired lady’s in my neighborhood over for a group workout and they’d find it easy and probably laugh at me behind my back.

There is this one stretch where you lie on your back, pull your knees toward your chest, lay your legs to one side and then turn your face the other way.  I forgot to breathe while moving into the stretch and then I just went for it.  In no way should I have stretched as far as the very fit and does-yoga-for-a-living lady on the DVD was stretching.  The rest of the program had gone so well, I think I got cocky.

Now I have pain all down my right side of my back and I’ve tried pain cream and a bath.  A special thanks to my hubby who rubbed the pain cream in for me and helpfully pressed on the huge knot and said “You’ve got a huge knot!”  I knew there was a reason I married him.

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My Hubby Is Superman

I just have to do a post about the love of my life.  He is so sweet, caring, loving and awesome.  Let’s not forget sexy, smart, handsome and sexy.  Through this whole explosion of suckiness with maximum sucktitude that is known as Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, he has been my rock.  He listens to me whine, groan, moan and bitch about how much I hurt or how tired I am.  He works 40 hours a week, gets the kids ready in the morning and takes them to school.  He helps me with housework when I am in a flare and sometimes even when I’m not.  He helps the kids with their homework and plays with them every night.  He takes me to doctor appointments and when he can’t, he drives me an hour and a half to my Mom’s, after working 8 hours, so she can take me.  He deals with all the bills, does all the grocery shopping and handles everything else you can think of.

Last month, we had a water pipe freeze in the basement where our kids rooms are.  He cleaned up all the mess he could, ripped out carpet, moved all the kids crap plus the furniture, dealt with the insurance company and all the repair people.  I pushed a steam cleaner for a little bit and then laid on the couch for the rest of the day with painful spasms and fatigue.  My hubby has back and neck problems but he still does all this because he knows I can’t.  This weekend, he spent all his free time painting my daughter’s room.  Yesterday, he worked 8 hours and then spent an hour at my daughter’s preschool cleaning because we can’t afford her tuition this month.  Then he came home, ate and began moving mattresses and bed frames upstairs so we could get carpet today.  He shoveled the walk from several inches of snow this weekend and finished getting the basement ready for carpet.  He didn’t sit down till after 9 pm.

Babe, you are awesome.  You are the best father and husband and I just want you to know how much I love and appreciate you.

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Heart to Heart

At my doctor appointment today he asked me to keep a journal.  I told him how much I sucked at journal writing.  He said to focus on the painful things that have happened in my past that still affect me.  I have always hated writing in a journal because I feel like I am never honest with myself.  I will write something, read it and then edit it, worrying about someone else reading it.  I think I imagine that someday, after I’m dead, someone will find what I’ve written and judge me badly.  If I’m worm-food at that point, why do I care?  I usually end up destroying any of my writing I come across.  In middle school I got my first diary, had it broken into and read aloud by a sibling.  I destroyed it immediately after.  In high school I wrote notebooks full of poetry that I destroyed in college.  Surprisingly, this blog is as honest and open as I’ve ever been and it is on the internet forever.

I just had a heart to heart with someone who I care about and it made me realize something.  It is unfair of me to constantly edit myself, especially with those people I love and care about.  I expect honesty from my loved ones, but I hide part of myself from them, worried that they would judge me negatively.  My new mantra is “What other people think about me is none of my business” but I’m not really practicing that if I’m constantly smiling and nodding like some drone, afraid to show the real me.  If one person I love is speaking negatively about another person I love, why shouldn’t I be brave enough to stick my neck out there?  Were the situation involving someone I didn’t like speaking negatively about someone I love, I would have no qualms about sticking up for my loved one.

The epiphany I had today: There is nothing therapeutic about keeping a journal in which I am dishonest with myself.

What that means for my blog is that it is time to get serious.  I’ll still post goofy, fun, TMI-stuff from time to time too, but life can’t all be unicorns farting rainbows and butterflies belching glitter.  If this blog is going to be my journal and if I want to get anything worthwhile out of it, I’m going to have to go to some pretty uncomfortable places.  Good thing I have the internet, so no matter where I go, I’m never alone.

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Denver Broncos Wishes and Justin Bieber Dreams

It is 3:57 am.  I’ve just filled the humidifier because I have one of those dry coughs that isn’t really a cough.  I have had two of the most awesome dreams ever.  Two dreams in one night?  And not those crappy dreams that freak you out, making you think you might actually be a lesbian or you just went somewhere naked, but two freaking awesome, totally fabulous, seemed real at the time dreams.  Following is a brief (?) synopsis of both dreams.  My inner-freak-out-dialogue is in parentheses.  

Dream synopsis #1:

The National Football League has decided to hold special games at local high schools.  The Denver Broncos are playing somebody at Aurora Public Schools Stadium at William C. Hinkley High School.  (Shut the front door.  That is my high school.  Where I went for four years.)  Yours truly is on a step team/cheer leading squad made up of former alumni.  We are in the sweetest Bronco gear ever and we are so bad-ass that no one is watching the game.  We even do a step routine that takes us around the whole track.  Even the NFL players stop to watch.  The Broncos lose (WTF?) but no one cares because we are the most coordinated, hyped-up, epic step team/cheer leading squad ever.  At the end of the game, the Broncos even huddled around the coach at the end of the field for their team meeting, just like football games in high school.  Only our families are left in the stands because they know we’ve saved the best for last.  We do our encore and the Broncos stop to watch us.  (Isn’t reminiscing with my sub-conscious fun?)

Dream synopsis #2:

I go into a very busy and weirdly set up salon for a haircut.  It is set up, kind of like I would imagine a hair stylist classroom.  Imagine lots of stations set up in rows, just like desks in a classroom.  My hairstylist is non other than the very famous hairstylist Justin Bieber.  (BAHAHAHA!  Where does my sub-conscious come up with this?)  I tell Mr. Bieber that I need something different and he starts messing with my hair, preparing to cut.  The whole time, he is talking to himself, psyching himself up.  “Come on.  You can do it.  It’s just hair.  Why does it have to be a cut?”  Then I feel bad for him and I tell him, “Don’t worry.  It’s easy.  I’ve cut my own hair before.  I checked out a book from the library.”  (That last part is true.  How To Cut Your Own Hair (or Anybody Else’s)” by Catherine Heckman, Cathie Obiedo and Claudia Allin)  So The Biebs is getting more nervous and just decides to take a whack at it.  He cuts a huge, diagonal chunk from my temple to my nose.  He immediately starts freaking out and I start trying to calm him down.  He calls someone over to look at my hair.  Now there are several people staring at the massacre.  The waitress (Where did she come from?) asks if I need a drink.  She mentions a couple different drinks and roller skates off to fill my order.  Another waitress skates up and brings a hamburger and fries.  My tummy is growling, but the food is for The Biebs.  Justin Bieber is a stress-eater.  He starts wolfing down the food while someone else is messing with my hair, trying to figure out how to fix the mess.

After this I woke up either because I was hungry, coughing or just realized that there is no way Justin Bieber would be doing my hair.  There is also no way that The Biebs would survive eating a burger and fries in front of me when I’m hungry.

Unfortunately, I was so enthralled with my dreams, that I couldn’t sleep until I shared them.  Which means that although I slept well enough to have a couple kick ass dreams, I’ll probably still be a zombie today since I’m up typing this at four in the morning.  Go Broncos!!!

 

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