Fibronaut At Home

Killing Two Birds With One Stone

Not literally.

Today, in continuation of my happiness project, I vacuumed out my van.  It has not been vacuumed in YEARS!  The sad state of my van is one of those things that bugs me daily, not to mention embarrasses me anytime someone else sees it.  I was waiting for my hubby to clean it and obviously my hints of “This van is so dirty” every time he was in it, weren’t working.  I’ve long since given up nagging about the cleanliness of my van and just kind of let it go.  Then, while reading “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin, I started thinking of things I could do for myself, that I normally nag the hubby about.  She talks about how it’s not really fair to expect her husband to do certain things just because he’s the man.  If I don’t want to do it, he probably doesn’t either.  I’ve now added “clean van” as one of my monthly to-do’s, because as I’ve noticed and as Rubin also talks about, doing something more often makes it easier to do.

Thinking back, there are other tasks I’ve taken on since I’ve started feeling better that normally I would reserve for the hubby.  I’ve taken a more active role with our dog, I’ve been more involved in the trash duties and I’ve been hanging pictures and other things myself, rather than nagging incessantly and cursing the hubby while he largely ignores my tirade.  I’m sure he appreciates the decrease in nagging as well.

I just looked and the title and realized that I forgot to talk about the dead birds.  In vacuuming the van, I have also worked out.  BOO-YAH!!!  Two birds, one stone.

Side laugh:  I was just doing my tags and I typed “two birds one stoner”.  LOL.

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Jury is Still Out

I can’t sleep.  Apparently, the Nuvigil I took at 9 am is still affecting me at 11 pm.  Yay.

On the plus side, I did get the majority of the laundry separated into baskets for folding at some point this week.  I did get the dishwasher unloaded and everything was clean.  Hell yeah!  Washing the dishes on the cycle designed for pots and pans really does save time and water!  I didn’t have to cook dinner because the hubby brought home Wendy’s for dinner.  Then, after the kids went to bed, since I was riding a high from actually accomplishing WAY more than I thought I’d be able to do, we got a little quality time (wink, wink).  It feels like I won the lottery tonight.

I am not talking about the pain, because then it knows I feel it and I’m not giving the pain that satisfaction.  Take that Pain!

The Nuvigil worked wonders today, except for the fact that I am now, at 11 pm, WIDE AWAKE.  I’m going to listen to Bedtime Beats, The Secret to Sleep and do a jigsaw puzzle online.  That usually helps me get to sleep.  Really crossing my fingers here.  I’m not even going to think about the amount of pain all this activity is going to cause tomorrow.  You will not win Pain!

One more thing: My hubby is pretty freaking awesome.  I forget to mention that sometimes, but seriously, if I could clone him and give every single one of you, one of him, I would.  Maybe I will rent him out.  Then, I will sort of be bringing in income.  Do you think he’d go for that?  Tell me what you need done, I’ll send him over.

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Dear Winter

Dear Winter,

When it was hot in the summer and I was sweating profusely, I pined for you.  I couldn’t wait for you to render me useless beneath heating pads and heated blankets.  I longed for luxurious soaks in Epsom salts baths.  My only desire was to alleviate my pain without sweating like cold drink on a hot day.  No more sweaty under boobs, cracks or crevices of any kind.  No more painful blasts of air-conditioning.

Well, I guess I’m just not ready to commit.  It has become quite clear, that I don’t know what I want or need.  This past Saturday was the first day of Fall.  You know Fall right?  Lower temperatures, kills off all things green?  Sometimes, it rains.  Sometimes, it snows.  Sometimes, it just blows.  

It started yesterday afternoon.  I had been feeling my normal, ho-hum self all day.  Then came the Brick Wall of Fall.  I felt like my battery had suddenly been drained.  And the pain!  Everything hurt.  Face, neck, head, arms, shoulders, hands, elbows, ribs, gut, hips, knees, thighs, and feet.  Pain, pain, everywhere and not a thing to help.  I have one heating pad, since the fire fiasco.  I was already too exhausted to take a bath.  I listened to my “Bedtime Beats: The Secret to Sleep” CD and was able to relax enough to go to bed.

The remainder of my night went like this.  Wake up from dead sleep to use the facilities.  Go back to sleep.  Wake up from dead sleep, in absolute terror, because it sounds like my son is crying and my hubby is yelling like they are being attacked.  Resist the urge to kill hubby, when I realize he is watching “The Walking Dead” and that accounts for the sounds that woke me up from a sound sleep.  Wake up to daughter crying.  Wake up to daughter coughing and Daddy trying to help but Daddy has work, so here I go again.  Sit up with daughter until she falls asleep.  Surf Facebook, because now I’m wide awake and the more my daughter snores and sleeps blissfully, the madder I get that I can’t sleep.  Sleep the rest of the night, eventually.

I feel I’ve digressed, slightly, from my topic.  Hold on a second.  I need to go to the top of this letter and remember why I was writing you a letter in the first place.  Oh, yes.  I remember now.  I was trying to let you down easy.  Since I hurt too bad to sugar coat it anymore, I’ll just put it this way.  Winter, you suck.  I’m not ready to hurt every minute of every day.  I’m not ready to be so tired I can barely walk, let alone do the five hundred other things being a Mom requires.  Also, I was just thinking that maybe I should try selling some of the stuff I sew.  Thanks for taking that dream away from me as well.  I can barely get my kids to and from school and their sport’s practices like this.  My poor Hubby is so grouchy from his work situation, that I am the only one getting anything done around here.

Not to be harsh, but nobody likes you.  Maybe, when it snows and the ground is covered in white and glistens in the sun, but that is the only time.  And, maybe, when you leave the trees all frosted in the morning.  Other than those two instances, you could go away and I wouldn’t miss you at all.  I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I would rather be sweaty, in pain and fatigued from doing more than normal, than to be in pain, fatigued and pretty useless for no good reason at all.

Sincerely,

Fibronaut at Home

PS.  I just realized, this morning, that we would soon have a Daylight Savings Time event.  Bite me, Fall!

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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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It’s 2 o’clock in the morning…

…or TMI and Vampires continued.

I’m reading a very steamy anthology titled “12 Shades of Surrender”.  My hubby is very happy about this.  Let me explain how this works.  I read something naughty and he actually gets to enjoy the reason he “bought the cow” in the first place.  The mood struck, I couldn’t get my muscles or my mind to shut off, so I went for it.

I only have myself to blame this time for my sex-induced insomnia.  Thankfully, I’m now embracing my fibro-vampirism (Dictionary.com says that vampirism is a word.  Google Chrome’s spell-check can suck it!).  I let the three-year-old stay up late tonight so she should sleep in which will allow me to sleep in.  Theoretically.  I may have just jinxed this theory by writing about it.  My older two are don’t have school tomorrow, so they will be at my beck-and-call tomorrow.  Double jinx!  Dammit!

If you have fibro and you aren’t taking advantage of your insomnia to blog or launch a stealth-sex-attack on your partner, what is the point?  If you are going to be awake in the middle of the night anyway, why not do something productive?  As long as you stay away from sharp objects and heavy machinery, you are good!

Fibro-vampires unite!

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Weight a minute!

I have never, in my entire life, through all the depressions I’ve eaten my weight in chocolate and through three pregnancies, have NEVER weighed what I do today.  173 pounds.  They say age ain’t nothin’ but a number.  Well weight isn’t either.  Especially when your weight gain is due to a pill you have to take.  I don’t mean want to take, I mean have to take.  Without Lyrica I shake and spasm all the time.  My hands shake, my muscles jump and sometimes, my entire body spasms.  When I think of those months where I woke up me and my husband with my spasms, I want to cry.  When I think of all the pretty and wonderful clothes that I love that I had to box up in the last year, I want to cry.  Fibromyalgia isn’t just about pain, although it hurts.  Fibromyalgia takes your life and what you knew you and yourself and your family and your marriage to be and it blows it into a billion pieces.  I have to fight for every one of those pieces of my life.  The fight for my weight and my body to look the way I want it to look has recently reared its ugly head.

People see a fat person and they see “lazy”.  They see “doesn’t work out”, “never met a doughnut she doesn’t like”, and my most recent and most embarrassing “when are you due?”  I didn’t correct the hair dresser because I didn’t want to make her feel bad when I myself have told my husband that I look pregnant.  I also had a family member tell me that someone saw me in the grocery store and asked them when I was due.  I read somewhere (can’t remember where, but that’s another post) that the majority of Fibromyalgics (yes, Google Chrome, that is a word!) carry their extra weight in their tummy’s.   Please, for all that is holy, stop asking people you think are preggo, when they are due!  If they wanted you to know, they’d tell you!

I will never judge someone based on their weight again.  I will never comment on ill-fitting clothes again.  I’ve spent an embarrassment of money in the last year going from a size 8, to a 10, to a 12 and now to a 14.  I asked someone that I thought was bigger than me what size they wore, when she told me it was the same size I had just left, I was shocked.  The hardest part of the gain has not been the stretch marks, although they are painful to me, or the stretch on the pocket book, although that has been an added stress to an already strained relationship with my husband.  The hardest part is looking at myself in the mirror and hearing all the comments that my husband or myself have said over the years about others.  I know that he does not find overweight women attractive.  So how, when I still feel sexy and I look in the mirror and I see the curves I’ve always wanted, do I process that?  He is the most sensitive man I’ve ever met and he knows better than to say that he doesn’t like the extra weight.  Well, I don’t like the extra weight!  So I say so and then he suggests work-out solutions and then I get mad at him for that.

I was always skinny growing up and until my second pregnancy had no trouble keeping weight off.  I had a high metabolism, ate whatever I wanted and ate frequently.  I was always self-conscious however, because I never ate large portions, and three meals-a-day has never worked for me, so my smaller portions got me called anorexic.  Therefore, I hate to eat in front of people and I get sick when people comment on what I’m eating.  Now that I’m overweight, I get comments all the time, but to the opposite.  I eat the same way I did before and the same portions, only now it is the way I’m eating making me fat.  It is the Lyrica!

I’m supposed to to stay positive to fight the symptoms of Fibromyalgia, but there is nothing more depressing than completely emptying your closet, realizing that there is little hope that you will ever wear those clothes again.  I’m not wealthy, so everything I put away I love.  Bright colors, smooth fabrics, sleek dress pants, dressy shirts that are bedazzled to death, casual pants and jeans, khakis and cords, flowy and flirty skirts and dresses, comfy and form-fitting sweaters, baby tees, t-shirts, pajama pants and shirts, nightgowns, matching panties and bras.  I’ve had to replace everything.  And if that isn’t a metaphor for my life right now, I don’t know what is.

I detest leaving my blog on such a depressing note, but there is no helping it.  Yes.  I bought new clothes.  Yes.  I’m alive.  Fibromyalgia won’t kill me.  But it has already altered my life, my children and my husband in such a way that I can’t help but feel like my closet.  Empty.  My children are still at an age where they love me no matter what, but what about the others in my life.  The people and relationships that I didn’t even throw away.  They just left and gave up on me assuming that I was making up my symptoms and that I had a choice in any of this.  I’ve had to start over at a point in my life where I was satisfied with what I had.  A home.  A job.  Three kids, a mini-van and a husband that I loved more than life itself.  Before I’ve even had a chance to figure any of this out, I feel like people are giving up on me.  Please don’t give up on me.  I’m trying!

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