This is not a post I thought I would ever be writing… mainly because, I suppose, you never plan to be ill. As a child when you wonder about your future and what you will be when you grow up – you never imagine being ill, it doesn’t factor… being, crippled with pain with no hope of getting better.
Having suffered on and off with depression for more than half my life (which sounds so depressing in itself to write down) I can understand – dealing with things only you can see and feel and the challenges that can create. The lack of understanding from the majority (and yes, this really has been my experience) – maybe it is beyond comprehension if you have never experienced it – like a migraine – you can never really appreciate the agony until you have had one? Or like childbirth – you can never really appreciate the agony and ecstasy until you have experienced it?
I suppose I should get to the point. I have Fibromyalgia, recently diagnosed but I have been suffering for a fairly long time. The diagnosis (or rather the ruling out of everything else) should probably not have come as a shock – I knew before I knew. But I still hoped. Hoped that there would be some other explanation, something that could be treated and get better… a take-two-of-these-a-day and you will feel better in no time. Something that wasn’t going be stretching into my future –sucking the colour out of everything.
Maybe I am being melodramatic, there seems to be lots of things I can do and try which might help make my symptoms better – medications, physiotherapy etcetc, Medication is already a sore issue – to start taking it, I need to stop breastfeeding my daughter – I know she is two and I could have stopped long before now – but I don’t want to. I don’t want to add breastfeeding to the list of things that my daughter has to miss out on because of me.
I very much felt like my body failed me when I was pregnant, like the Hyperemesis Gravidarum was a punishment of some kind, my body telling me I was a failure – I guess that’s my old friend depression talking. But although the residual feeling remains – as soon as my daughter arrived (and the sickness lifted) I felt better – I had managed it – my body, ultimately did what it was supposed to do. Now I feel that way again – my body is failing me, letting me down, betraying me.
I have a mental list of all the things my daughter has had to miss out on, because of me, this group, that party, a trip to the park on a sunny day (added in to the missing sibling that I can’t give her because deep down I know I can’t face Hyperemsis Gravidarum again). And this list is just going to get longer – and the guilt is going to get worse.
I am not really sure what the point of this post is, if post’s need to have a point. I suppose just to get it out there – sharing my journey of suffering with Fibromyalgia as a parent. I hope, might help someone feel less alone – as I certainly feel very alone right now. And maybe doing that little bit of good might help me feel better…