Back To Square One

Faroe Islands, August 2016

It feels as though I have gone back in time – well, sort of.

Let me to take you back to 2014, before Fibromyalgia had appeared on my horizon. My mother had finally moved into the retirement complex that was her idea of Utopia. Leading up to the move, on the Monday evening she had graciously (hmm, my tongue was firmly in cheek for that particular statement!) granted me special dispensation to begin packing her clothing, shoes and possessions. This was a huge concession on her part as it meant she was going to have to live surrounded by boxes for, oh, three days. Sorry, do I sound bitter?

Come moving day, I organised the removal men whilst trying to finish the packing, clean the flat, deal with all those last minute things that crop up and answer the phone to her, seemingly every 10 minutes. And, it was a stinking hot day. I do not and have never coped well with hot weather. The following fortnight continued to be excessively hot, with wall-to-wall sunshine. I was getting up at 5 o’clock every morning so that I could try to clean the flat properly before the day became even hotter. During the day I would have to take my mother out so that she could buy lots of new stuff for her new home, then, come the evening, I would do more cleaning and unpacking. After two weeks of cleaning, unpacking, sorting and so on, I finished. Phew.

I went home and, within a couple of weeks, was hit by a chest infection. After several weeks of the myriad joys of a chest infection, and almost as many courses of antibiotics, I was still suffering chest pain. I also had pain in the thoracic region of my back, which I had not previously experienced with a chest infection. Not only that, but I was totally exhausted: I was sleeping for hours during the day, as well as through the night. After a month or so, the Amazing Dr. A diagnosed Fibromyalgia.

I spent most of September, October and November asleep. Not dozing in a chair, but asleep lying on the sofa. (I don’t like going to bed during the day unless I really have to.) And, now, I feel as though I am in a time warp as I seem to be sleeping an awful lot of the time. Groooaaaaannnnn. Actually, I probably haven’t been sleeping quite so much as in 2014, but the amount of sleep does seem to be increasing this week. I have been able to do less and less during the past few days.

Not very long ago, I was able to do quite a bit. Even on a bad day I would be knitting, sewing or on the internet during the time that my body needed to rest. Now, however, things have changed. I still knit, but can only do a few rows in any session. I can do a bit of hand sewing, but only for 20 or 30 minutes. But… I now spend quite a while doing nothing (apart, perhaps, from watching trashy television). It’s a sobering reality, how little I can do. I still hope that this level of fatigue is temporary, that this Fibro flare will calm down, but it’s becoming more difficult to believe it.

I am at a stage in life when I should be enjoying myself. I have few responsibilities or obligations and I don’t have to work. I should be seeing, doing and learning new and exciting things, going out with family and friends, living the life I dreamed of. I shouldn’t be falling asleep at the drop of a hat and struggling to make sense of simple things. ‘Snot fair! I don’t like it!