I have
moved and traveled for the majority of my short life. I was born in Texas and
moved to Kentucky, Virginia, and Maryland before I reached my freshman year of
high school. At the end of my sophomore year, my mom moved to Montreal, where I
lived with her for a year before moving back to Maryland to live with my dad
for my senior year of high school. After graduation, I wanted to move back
north, and found myself in the Eastern Townships of Quebec for 4 years of
college. In college, I moved from campus, to an off-campus apartment, and then
back to campus again. During that time, my dad and step-mom moved to Indiana to
care for their aging relatives, where I joined them after graduating. I am no
stranger to moving, relocating, and starting over, and have always considered
myself able to adapt to new things in my life with ease. I dreamed of living
and working in Paris or London, enticed by the idea of big city living, in
foreign places; I day dreamed about holidays spent in traveling through Europe,
possibly going to Southeast Asia and all points beyond. There were no limits to
where my imagination could take me, no journey I wouldn't embark on if given
the opportunity; I knew where my roots were, but I wanted to see how far my
wings could take me.
It
was 2007, and I was waking up for work. My alarm had gone off, and I had just
begun to open my eyes to the sunshine that had flooded my apartment. It was
almost summer, and already getting warm inside and out of my one-bedroom. I had
the brief flickering thought that I was possibly late for work, and as the
panic set in I realized I would never forget this morning. I thought I was
going to scream, but I wasn't sure that would really resolve the intense pain I
was feeling. It didn't take long for me to realize the cause of my intense
discomfort; my arms were crossed tightly across my body, my hands were clenched
into fists and locked shut, my jaw was locked closed, and my legs were bent at
my knees. I felt like my body was a discarded, crumpled piece of paper. I'm not
sure how I managed to come untangled. I'm not even sure now how long it took,
but it felt like hours before I could put my feet on the floor and drag myself
to my shower.
The
next few hours are fuzzy, a now common occurrence in my life. I remember
driving to work almost two hours late, explaining to my boss over the phone the
intense pain I was feeling. I remember my tears were hot streaming down my
face, and I was grateful for the flexibility in our office- I was wearing jeans
and no make-up. I remember turning around when I was almost to work, convinced
by my boss to call my doctor, stay home for the day, and rest. I remember the
short burst of relief I felt when my doctor managed to fit me in that day, but my
pain was still there. My doctor was able to give me a two week script for a
pain killer, enough to get me by until I could see one of the three arthritis
doctors she referred me to. When I asked what was wrong with me, she replied
"It could be one of three things: rheumatoid arthritis, Lupus, or
Fibromyalgia." None of my options sounded too good.
In
between doctors’ visits, blood work, reading up on all three of my potential
diagnoses, and waiting at the pharmacy for whatever remedies that could be supplied;
I knew my life was changing. I felt like I was on a merry-go-round of emotions,
contemplating my own mortality, doubting my sanity, and blaming myself and my
actions for what I was going through (I thought my experience was part of some
cosmic, universal punishment; my karmic fruit if you will). A few weeks later,
my diagnosis was confirmed by a rheumatologist: Fibromylagia was the big
winner.
That
was the day I began my journey into something I knew nothing about- chronic
pain. That was almost 5 years ago. I was 24.
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