To this point, I’ve only being paying attention to how fibromyalgia and Cymbalta affect me. On a day-to-day basis, I assess and react. I’ve only been playing behind the puck, if you’ll allow me an incredibly rare hockey metaphor.
Yesterday I was totally wiped out. All day. I had things to do, what with it being Easter and all. I’d promised Ashley an angel food cake, and, I don’t know if you’ve ever made one from scratch, but it takes a while. Especially if you don’t have one of those nice mixers and you have to stand there whipping eggs with your sad little hand-mixer for almost an hour. I learned that there is literally nothing you can go while whipping eggs. You can’t even sit down, and you certainly can’t nap.
It also fell to me make the Easter ham because at Christmas I made a ham for the first time ever – along with a glaze I invented on the spot and thankfully entered the recipe into my iPhone – and by all accounts pretty much knocked it out of the park, if you’ll allow a more common baseball metaphor after I’ve already gone for a hockey metaphor and have yet another hockey metaphor lined up.(1)
But so anyway. Despite feeling just wiped, I couldn’t simply lie down. Chill out. Take it easy. I couldn’t react to how the f/C combo was making me feel. I had to carry on with life, including going to Ashley’s family’s Easter dinner – the reason for the ham – in which three boys under the age of five were in attendance. It’d be easier to nap whilst whipping eggs than with three monkey-boys on a sugar high running around.
Today I feel even worse. I’m still tired. I’m in a fair amount of pain. I’ve been better than religious about taking my pills. Once I’m gone, they’ll start the canonization process for me because I’ve been that good about taking my pills. Nevertheless, this. Today.
So it’s time to understand. It’s time – and here come that final hockey metaphor I was telling you about – it’s time to play ahead of the puck. It’s time for research, about fibromyalgia and Cymbalta. I need to know what is known and what isn’t known about the disease. I need to know what else I can do. I need to know other ways to reduce the pain and to deal with somnolence, because while I wouldn’t say I’m missing it, Bob, I’ve been absent from work too much.(2) Too much for my own work ethic.
I need to suck it up. I need to grin and bear it. Actually, forget the grinning. I just need to bear it better. So I’ll start how I always start: knowledge and its power. This approach worked with understanding Ashley’s cystic fibrosis and post-transplant issues and how her meds work and interact. It seems silly that I haven’t taken the same approach with myself. Though of course there’s a wide chasm between living with a disease and understanding it.
It’s time I do both.
- And I don’t know enough about hockey to work this baseball metaphor into a more consistent hockey metaphor, is the reason for the baseball metaphor. Also, if you’re reading this, how tired are you of the word metaphor right now?
- Not a metaphor but a pop culture reference, a phenomenon I’m generally suspicious of but I went for this one because I know two of my five readers will laugh at it.