Making Lemonade

Fibromyalgia officially sucks. Ok, so I have made it plain in several posts that I’m not appreciative of it’s effects on me and how it messes with my life but I haven’t talked about the very valuable things I have gained from it. It has taught me gratitude. That may sound strange but when you can’t do things you learn to appreciate the times when you can do them. There is a bracha in the morning prayers which reads:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-meichin mitzadei g’veret.
Source of Blessing are You, Adonai, our Source of Powers, Sovereign of the Universe, Who makes firm my steps.

When you spend a few weeks not knowing if your legs are going to hold you when you take the next step, and have no idea of what’s going on and no insurance for those expensive tests to find out, you become grateful for every step that you take without hitting the floor. When the strength in your legs returns to the point where you can count on it, as suddenly and mysteriously as it left, a wise person remembers not to take anything for granted.

Being 1 of the 3 people living in this house and the 3 of us equaling between .75 and 2 able bodied people on any given day, I am grateful for the ability to do simple things when I want or when I need to like making a meal, washing dishes, carrying 5 gallon buckets of water or soil across the yard to tend the gardens or livestock; there are days I can’t carry a gallon of water in each hand or reach above shoulder height without my arms feeling like they’re going to fall off - or rather that I’d like them to. I’d like to blog more often but too often my forearms and hands are screaming at me after too short a period of time working on the computer regardless of mice, keyboards, supports, gloves etc. The inconsistency of abilities and lack of control over the situation is enough to drive someone batty. ARRRGGHHH!!!

One of the things that drives me nuts about how American society views disability is that there is this expectation that one’s condition is a constant thing - in some cases it is but in other cases one can be debilitated one day and not be hardly able to get out of bed or lift anything or type for more than a few minutes and the next be able to garden all day or clean the whole house or type pages and pages of material or carve hard maple with no apparent change in conditions. Now of course, one forgets to take it easy and pace one’s self and overdoes it on the good days partially because you feel guilty for not being able to do stuff at other times (and society expects one to be able to get certain things done regardless) and end up paying for it. Baruch Hashem for affordable strong pain meds and a doctor who trusts your use of them but sometimes the meds just aren't enough and don't do anything to deal with fibro-fog or fatigue.

I can’t find it in myself to condemn people who get end up getting caught by the dragon, otherwise known as addicted to prescription pain meds, because I dance with that dragon. If it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t enjoy being high, except on a rare occasion, and develop a tolerance to pain meds very easily and value having something to kick the pain in the butt when I really need it to, it would be too easy for me to join those ranks. I am grateful for the God/dess given willpower and insight which allows me to dance with the dragon but mange to stay just out of reach of it’s talons.

I have also come to acknowledge and value the strength the Holy One has given me to deal with things and the fact that my symptoms from the fibro, the seizure disorder, or the depression, are not as bad as they could be. That’s not to mention being consistently reminded of those who are there when I just can’t do something or it gets to be too much or I need an understanding ear or a good swift kick to the rear. There’s also the fact that I live in a country and time where I actually have access to care and meds that make life easier, not that life couldn’t be a whole lot better but I’m grateful it isn’t worse than it is.

This blog entry has gone to the dogs

The law of inertia states that an object at rest is inclined to remain at rest. Obviously Newton never met Daphnae, my Siberian Husky.

Here she is at rest, restoring her energy cells so she can get up beg for a walk, bounce around or flog us or the Purr-Cat aka Purim with her knotted rope. I'll tell you that thing hurts. She even has her own blog. I found this picture and had to introduce her. Not only is she beautiful and shares my opinion that my husband is someone special (although I think she may actually love him more than I do) she's intelligent and there are times I even wonder if she's psychic. Or maybe either my husband or I are broadcasting as she will react to something we're communicating that she can't see or hear as if she understands. We are on our 3rd synonym for 'walk' - this one is "going to see the former president" as we have to be able to discuss things without having to deal with the behavior if she's expecting it and it doesn't come to be. Help! :)

Back in July the shelter told us she was a year old - I don't think so; she's probably just past a year now. In any case she's the youngest dog I've ever had which is quite an adventure. One of the plans for this summer is to construct and train her to a harness so that she can be hitched to a sled and help haul wood in next winter. With the fibro I can use all the help I can get with chores and she'll think it's some sort of game and she'll be with her people which to her is the dog's bark. Last fall she thought it was wierd but kind of fun when I tied her long lead around some maple staves I'm going to carve into walking sticks and had her help me haul them back from the woods. If I only had her energy. sigh

Torture

I was watching a report on the release of the CIA notes re: the treatment of terrorists during the Bush administration tonight and it made me angry. Those who protest the disagreeable treatment of terrorists or suspected terrorists in the course of their questioning seem to feel that not only are these people entitled to the rights of an American citizen, a position I happen to disagree with but which is a topic for another post and probably a different blog, but that this interrogation should not be more than uncomfortable for the interrogatee. First of all, I don't think that torture is terribly effective in gaining accurate intel but it makes me angry when people think that it is such a violation of somebody's human rights to deprive them of sleep, to cause them significant pain, to physically assault them, to subject them to a situation where they feel they can't breathe, are subjected to uncomfortable environmental conditions or to place them in a situation where they can't think. If being subjected to these things is truly a violation of one's human rights then my human rights are being violated by the very entity that Thomas Jefferson declared gave me those rights and the medical establishment, government and society that does not aid in my release from this situation.

What the heck am I talking about? The fact that most nights I spend at least a half hour feeling like my body is being subjected alternately to the strains of the rack and strappado, that I frequently wake up with painfully black and blue legs, that often when I try to relax I am subjected to muscle spasms including ones which seize up my breathing for as much as 10 seconds causing the same panic as someone who feels like they are drowning (BTW, waterboarding protocols specified no more than 40 seconds), that my perception of temperature and smell has been affected to the point that I am often freezing or sweltering at temperatures which are comfortable for most people and I perceive many odors much more acutely than most people, that often I suffer from significant fatigue and insomnia and anything that is strong enough to knock me out and allows me to get real rest leaves me hung over, that it is often agony to move or stay in position and I almost continuously am in pain. True, there are homeopathic and pharmecutical treatments that address many of these situations but because of the cost of healthcare in this country I don't have access to the diagnostic procedures that would direct me to the proper course of treatment and I can afford only so many $70+ prescriptions a month; the cost of homeopathic treatment is little better. That isn't even taking into account the side effects; I happen to value my ability to be a reasonable facsimilie of a thinking person and most of the drugs that are strong enough to alleviate the pain, allow me to sleep, quiet the spasms etc. rob me of that and I tend to be more violent when sleeping deeply albeit less aware of it.

Unlike those the government has subjected to 'torture', I, and many who suffer with medical conditions, have not done anything to remotely justify this treatment. I often ironically make the comment that it's a good thing that I am something of a masochist. In fact, being a bottom in a BDSM scene is easier since there is a point under a decent top where the pain can transport you to an elsewhere that has it's benefits and you have the comfort of the knowledge that 1) you made an active choice that led to this torturous situation and 2) there will be a release from the torture, a reassurance that I am sure the terrorists in US custody enjoy that I and many others do not. Somehow I have a hard time feeling a whole lot of sympathy for the terrorists the US has tortured in the interest of alleged national security. When somebody starts being as concerned about the human rights of those of us who are tortured on a daily basis as they are of those who are detained by a government then I will feel as if there is a true interest in justice and not just causes. OTOH, the fight against torture has to start somewhere.

Fibro and a Good Book

I could have alternatively entitled this entry 'The Curse of a Good Book'. Today was really rough both in terms of the level of pain and the fact that half my brain cells took an unscheduled vacation; the joys of not getting enough sleep and having fibromyalgia. I only got a couple hours of sleep last night. The pain of fibro and the spasming of that stupid seizure disorder kept me up even with the pain meds and phenobarb but fortunately it wasn't bad enough to keep me from reading.

My current easy read is Kelly Armstrong's Industrial Magic, the 4th book in her Women of the Otherworld Series. It's well written and a good book in of itself but I started to read it and found out that I needed the background in book 3, Dime Store Magic, to really understand what was going on. That one was good too.

4 hrs later I finally couldn't keep my eyes open anymore thank the Goddess. Only a few hours after that the best husky puppy ever, who I could have cheerfully tossed out in the nearest snowbank, except for the fact that she'd think it was some new game and enjoyed it way to much, woke me up by knocking over piles of books and driving the Purr-cat, aka Purim, aka The Tribble, nuts. Of course the husband was dead to the world for which I was both glad and could have tossed him into that same snowbank I wanted to toss the dog into and I guarantee he wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much. Anyway, after getting rousted out of bed and tending the fires I wasn't able to get back to sleep so I spent another several hours reading until it was way too late to get any sleep and still have anything of a day to work with. Like I said, the curse of a good book.