During the long, dark nights of Winter, many people like to share scary stories and so, on this dark winter’s morning I thought I would continue that tradition, albeit my timing is somewhat out. It’s a bit of an odd thing for me to do as I don’t enjoy being frightened. I have only ever watched one horror film: it was more than 45 years ago and it still gives me the creeps when it comes into my mind!
The start of my scary story is something of a cliché…
It was a cold, dark winter’s night and a gale was howling. There was no moon. Everywhere was black as coal: too dark to see anything. A bat skimmed by, leaving a whisper of its flight. A single, almost silent tap was heard, like a fingernail lightly touching glass. Suddenly that tiny sound exploded into a cacophonous clatter. The noise was deafening. It completely engulfed the cry of the rushing wind. Nothing existed but the sound which completedly overwhelmed the senses. There was an absolute knowledge of a cataclysmic happening. Life-changing. Earth shattering. Everything was obliterated by the intensity of the crushing and crashing. (*pauses dramatically)
It was the sound of Fibro Fog indelicately shoving all of Bossymamma’s marbles towards the brain’s Emergency Exit!
Ladies and gentlemen, Bossymamma’s marbles have left the building.
Fibro Fog rules in Bossymamma’s world.
You don’t think that’s very scary? Hmm. Try it. Try reading something, acting on it, making a telephone call about it and, during the call, realising that what you read was not what was written down. Try writing down some important information, only to find that you have changed just about every pertinent detail. Try having an apparently serious conversation with someone you have never met before and, halfway through a sentence, your brain turns to mush and, not only have you forgotten what you were going to say, but the entire discussion no longer makes any sense to you. Or, how about sorting your medication into dosette boxes, only to discover that you have made a confusing hash of it and have no idea what you’ve done or how to correct it? Believe me, it really does feel as though my marbles are AWOL.
It’s not always like that. Sometimes my mind is as clear, as organised and as logical as it ever has been. Sometimes I can function like Me, Well, I suppose that should read “like the Me that I used to be”. However, I don’t want it to be the Me that I was, I want it to be the Me that I still am. It feels as though I am disappearing: being swallowed by Fibromyalgia and irrevocably changed by it. I’m not ready for me to vanish. Bits of me have been disappearing for years. Stress, anxiety and depression have taken their toll, eroding me. I used to be someone who coped, organised, did things, got others to do things, but that has been slipping away, to be replaced by a very different person – possibly one who is easier for others to be near, but not easier to actually be. Mind you, I haven’t completely given up.
Yesterday an article showed up in my Facebook Newsfeed. It discussed reasons why people with Fibromyalgia don’t like talking on the telephone. One sentence, in particular, stood out for me:
‘Personally, I really dislike speaking to strangers on the phone because I don’t want to appear stupid. At least if it’s someone I know well, I can say, “Sorry, I just had a fibro moment. Can you repeat that?” ‘
I have made a few telephone calls over the past couple of days during which Fibro Fog has made itself felt. However, unlike the author of that article, I am unconcerned about the possibility of appearing stupid. You see, I know that I’m not stupid and that is more important to me than the opnion of someone on the other end of a telephone. The way that I deal with Fibro Fog interfering in a conversation, either in person or on the telephone, is to tell the other person that I have a medical condition that sometimes turns my brain to mush and asking them to repeat what they have said, or explain it another way so that I can take it in. What I am telling them, in effect, is that I expect them to take some responsibility for ensuring that they are helping me to understand. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. How often have you heard someone say about computing, for example, that they ask their son/daughter/grandchild to show them? Then they go on to say that said son/daughter/grandchild just touches a few buttons and does it without explaining, so they don’t learn. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? What’s the point of me asking and then pretending that I have understood, when I haven’t? I’m not ready to sit quietly in the corner like a good little disabled person.