I just found out that April is National Poetry Month. I wrote a poem about Fibromyalgia to celebrate.
A Lament of Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
“Show me where it hurts,” you say?
Well, tell me, have you got all day?
Head, shoulders, knees and toes,
The pain it stays, it never goes.
Hips, back, fingers and gut,
Fibro is an actual pain in the butt.
Insomnia keeps me up at night,
Then all day long, it’s sleep I fight.
Fibro-fog’s the funnest part,
I forget what I’m doing before I start.
With all of the pills I take every day,
Why won’t the pain and fatigue go away?
Is this fibro-diagnosis junk?
Am I just in some sort of funk?
Is all the pain inside my head?
Maybe I should try this or that instead?
Until you’ve held spoons in your hand,
Then you cannot begin to understand.
Invisible, my illness may be,
But watch me closely and you will see.
I cringe when I move, stand or walk.
My face hurts whenever I eat or I talk.
I conserve energy however I can.
My good moments are a flash in the pan.
Yoga, acupuncture, grounding, meditation.
Name it, I’ve tried every new health sensation.
Lyrica, Cymbalta, oxycontin, oxycodone,
Flexerall, Fentanyl and hydrocodone,
All these and more I’ve tried.
They made me wish that I had died.
Write in a journal, and go way back,
Try to figure out why you’re out of whack.
Join a support group, listen to others whine,
Then you’ll realize you’re doing fine.
Take it easy, take it slow,
Breathe deeply, calmly, go with the flow.
Gluten-free is the way to be?
I don’t have the time or the money.
I want to be healthy and eat right,
But our budget is already way too tight.
Sugar and caffeine are bad they say.
When I’m dead, you can take those away.
My Cognitive Behavioral Therapist
Told me what others think of me is none of my business.
But when you can’t work and have to prove you’re sick,
What others see is what makes you tick.
Especially when you feel okay,
You struggle with guilt for feeling that way.
Different doctors say different things,
Depends on which drug company is pulling their strings.
Once I say Fibro or Chronic Fatigue,
They act like my health is out of their league.
I just want to be treated like a human being,
Not like the head case they keep on seeing.
My house, car and life is a mess.
I’ve got too much anxiety and too much stress.
Whenever I manage to take a shower,
Rest and recovery takes an hour.
My definition of dirty and clean
Do not mean what you think they mean.
Every activity is well thought out,
Even then, there is always doubt.
What if I start to hurt half way through?
How long do I rest before I can continue?
What if I need more than a short nap?
What if I still feel like crap?
There is a storm coming in day after tomorrow,
The pain starts today and the fatigue will follow.
No matter the temperature, no matter how nice,
I do way too much and pay for it twice.
I need to move to a climate with nary a storm,
Where the sun is always shining and it’s always warm.
I could go on and on about all this crap,
But I’m starting to yawn and it’s time for my nap.