One Good Turn…


For a variety of reasons, FPR and I went on a quick coach holiday to Edinburgh over the Christmas period. I love Edinburgh but struggled to find a photograph which reflects that, to use for this post. Then I realised that when I think of Edinburgh feelings, rather than images, come to mind. That must be why it has taken me far longer to choose a photograph for this post, than to write the actual post itself!

Anyway, back to the point of this blog post.

Regular readers will know that I have been encountering more difficulties with the Fibro lately than I usually do. New symptoms have cropped up, with tiredness and fatigue being particularly troublesome. I had taken the build-up to Christmas gently to make best use of my spoons, but it had still made itself felt. Luckily, those around me are aware of and accommodate the restrictions of my Fibromyalgia.

We were staying in a hotel but had been invited to spend time with FPR’s brother and his family. We had also had an invitation to visit friends, so that was Christmas Eve and Boxing Day spoken for. We spent a quiet day at the hotel on Christmas Day. Well, I say quiet… but, more of that later.

The plan was that, on Christmas Eve, the entire family group would go to North Berwick for some cobweb-blowing therapy, but my cobwebs would be allowed to remain intact. In other words, they would walk and be battered by the wind, but I would stay in a cafe, snug and cosy, knitting up my own personal storm. However, as the weather was being a trifle unco-operative, North Berwick was knocked off the agenda. We adjourned, instead, to the House of the Long Men (so named by me as all the males were over six feet long!). The change of plan was a surprising bonus for me. Remaining at the House of the Long Men meant that I was able to properly relax. I enjoy having coffee in a cafe but it is definitely a less-refreshing form of relaxation than being with people, and in a place, one is at ease with. The pleasant result of the day was that I felt better than I had for a while. My Fibro symptoms eased right off. Bliss.

As I mentioned earlier, we were remaining in the hotel on Christmas Day, which was absolutely fine with us. Our fellow travellers were generally a pleasant bunch, our coach driver was cheerful and ready to chat with anyone and the hotel staff were pleasant, polite and helpful.

There was a couple on the holiday we had been talking with, both of whom had obvious disabilities. At mealtimes, the husband would to fetch his wife’s food first, then return to the buffet to pick up his own. In my interfering way, at the Christmas dinner I said to him that I would like to give him a Christmas treat by fetching one of the meals, so that they could eat at the same time. I was very pleased when he accepted. (What I hadn’t told either he or his wife was that I was going to be providing the entertainment.) He told me that they were going to have soup so I fetched two bowls of soup and a couple of rolls. When I was a couple of steps away from their table, my performance began.

I caught my foot on the wife’s wheeled-walker and went flying through the air, soup and rolls in hand. I made a technically superb piroutte before landing elegantly in a crumpled heap on the floor – and I didn’t even drop the soup! Actually, I must have dropped it at some stage as the bowls crashed dramatically, emptying their contents on the floor. I have to say that I was very pleased that I didn’t get any of the soup on me!

I will say, at this point, that contrary to what many people thought, I was not in the least embarrassed. I was disappointed for the couple that I hadn’t managed to carry out what I had promised. I was also upset that the husband tried to take the blame for my fall. It was nobody’s fault but my own. I had been the one to suggest that he park the walking frame in that spot and I was the one who tried to walk through it, instead of round it.

OK, back to the gory details of the performance. Help appeared from all directions, in an instant. I was not really hurt – just a bit of muscular pain and some preparatory work for a couple of bruises. I think you could say I was very lucky! I certainly felt lucky FPR jokingly said that’s what I get for doing a good turn and that I’d better not do any more but I hope it won’t stop me.

(This is where I found the photograph at the head of this article. It was one of the results that came up as being free to use, when I searched on Google.


‘Twas The Night Before Christmas…

The Italian Chapel on Mainland in the Orkney Islands

FPR and I have spent a lovely few hours with family this afternoon. They had their Christmas celebration yesterday so on Christmas Eve it was Boxing Day! A bit of a mixed-up time, eh? Not only that, but I have had a generous early Christmas present.

My friend, Fibro, decided to give me a present consisting of multiple symptoms that I don’t usually have a problem with. I must say, at this point, that none of the individual symptoms has been unbearably awful. However, the arrival of lots of them at once has been a bit anti-social. It has felt overwhelming, at times. I have been feeling pain in places that don’t usually give me any trouble and it has also been making itself at home in the places where it is a familiar face. It has been particularly bad in the thoracic region of my back and up across my neck, shoulders and arms. Fatigue has been playing up for a while but, the last few days it has ramped up the action or, should I say, the lack of action. An example of this is that I have only been able to work a few short rows of knitting, before having to rest – particularly irritating as I am trying to complete a Christmas gift!

Sleep has been less restorative than usual. Up until now, sleeping has revived me, but that doesn’t seem to be working, at the moment.

The Fibro Feet have been working hard causing discomfort, as have the Fibro Fingers. Add to that particular mix, the Restless Legs and you have a lively dance to watch.

With the symptoms I have mentioned, and others, has come a general feeling of unwellness. Bossymamma has not been a happy bunny!

As Anne with an ‘e’ says: “Fibromyalgia: the gift that keeps on giving”.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

My lovely boy.

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.




This? That? Or Maybe Some Other

Riga. December 2016

Things have been a bit confusing over the past few days.

The Amazing Dr. Azeer’s diagnosis of my Fibromyalgia came hot on the heels of a chest infection I had been suffering. I have an underlying chest condition which means that chest infections have to be managed carefully. At the time, I attributed the pain in my chest and thoracic region of my spine to the infection. It is not at all unusual for me to need 2 or 3 courses of antibiotics to completely clear things up, so you can see why I made that assumption. However, the Amazing Dr. Azeer (ADA) soon realised that it was Fibromyalgia that was actually causing the pain.

Luckily, I have been in a prolonged period where I have managed to avoid catching many chest infections. Hooray! However, over the past few days, it has been feeling as though I have a good one brewing – just in time for Christmas! But… now, I’m not so sure. The pain that I have had over the past 24 hours has felt more like the Fibro pain in the chest and back. I tend to get that pain when I am very tired (as opposed to simply fatigued). I would define it as coming when the tiredness is due to my having been busy, rather than feeling fatigued without apparent cause. The pain I had felt in the day or so prior was accompanied by the sort of unwellness that I recognise. Consequently, I am confused. Is it an infection taking a leisurely stroll in my direction, ready to knock me for six at Christmas, or is it merely due to tiredness?

I am hedging my bets and trying very hard not to overdo things. I do a bit of a task, then rest. The proportion of resting to working is very skewed because I don’t have to do much to become tired, but that’s OK. Even with all of the necessary rest, I am on target to complete the task in hand, so I regard that as a ‘win’. Oh! We Fibro Warriors are easily pleased, aren’t we?


You Have To Take The Bad With The Good

Carpets on display in Morocco, February 2012

Sometimes, someone or something somewhere (depending upon your beliefs) smiles upon you, making things go well. Sometimes, those same someones or somethings are in a pesky mood and decide to take it out on you and make life a giant-sized pain in the bottom.

Last weekend, the someones/somethings were in a good mood because they decided to go along with my plans to have a day out with my family. Everything that I did or did not do in the few days leading up to Sunday, was designed to help me manage to actually take part in the activity. I can scarcely believe it, but it actually worked! Like a dream! Woohoo! I even managed to get a little shopping done on my way home!


(Can you tell that this doesn’t happen as often as it did pre-Fibro?)

However, since that expedition, the someones/somethings have decided to use me as their personal punch ball. Their displeasure culminated in me grinding to a sickening grinding halt halfway through a little task I was doing for FPR. I must have been in a bad way because he commented on it when I thought I was still managing quite well. It didn’t take long for me to be not managing at all. Anyway, it was a price worth paying for having managed to go out on Sunday. So, it is still a…


The Vice Squad Have Got Me!

Jamaa al-Fna, Marrakech, Morocco. January 2012

It had to happen some day. I knew the Vice Squad would eventually catch up with me. I’m not sure that I deserve it, though. I really hope it will be gentle with me.

No, I don’t mean THAT Vice Squad! Whatever do you take me for? No, don’t answer that! The Vice Squad I am talking about is the one that attacks my upper arms and uses a metal prod on each arm, which feels as though it is about three inches (7.5 cms) in diameter, to do so. It squeezes those two circular discs together, towards each other, in its vice-like grip. Even though no-one can see them, and you could argue that they don’t exist, I can tell you exactly what they look like. How weird is that?

The discs are about 1/2″ (1.25 cm) to 3/4″ (2 cm) deep and the rims are painted a burgundy red, with a hint of blood red in the colour. The red paint is glossy but not brilliantly shiny. The face of the disc looks similar to a potter’s wheel, with a narrow concentric circular groove cut in every inch (2.5 cm) or so. That surface is unpainted metal, smooth, but not shiny. I don’t know if other people picture the instrument of torture they are suffering, but the image of those discs immediately comes into my mind when the vice starts to grip. My mind’s eye is a very busy little bee! Funnily enough, I was reading an article online yesterday about someone who is the very opposite of me when it comes to having a virtual image – she has Aphantasia. In other words, she isn’t able to picture things in her head. I found the piece fascinating – well worth reading, which is why I have included a link to it.



Morocco. February 2012

Occasionally, one can learn (OK, ‘hear’ rather than actually ‘learn’!) something from even the most mindless source. That was what happened to me a couple of days ago. It was something about oxy-acetyline torches and it was quite interesting – to me, anyway. Sadly, I can’t remember exactly what it was but I do remember being amazed at the extremely high temperatures that can be reached.

“Hmm,” you say, “what on earth has that to do with Fibromyalgia?”. Allow me to enlighten you, although, may I say how surprised I am that you haven’t yet worked out the link? It seems pretty straightforward to me!

Allow me to give you a hint…

Bossy Feet!

Have you worked it out, yet?

Do you give up?

OK, I’ll tell you.

For the past few days, my feet have been feeling as though the skin is being burnt to a frazzle by an oxy-acetyline torch, causing it to peel off in huge pieces. The pain in my feet has been very much more severe than previously. It would be easy to say that it was unbearable but, of course, I have borne it. It has certainly been unpleasant. Actually, it wouldn’t be an overstatement to say it has been downright nasty.

It was a shock to me that the pain in my feet was so bad, and so different from what I had experienced previously. I don’t know why I was so surprised but I suppose it was because I had become used to how it felt when I was suffering Fibro Feet and it hadn’t occurred to me that those sensations might change! Pretty dumb, huh?

Hmph! Shame it wasn’t ‘numb’ rather than ‘dumb’, then they wouldn’t have felt so darned sore!


I Must Go Shopping!

Lettie is feeling a little chilly

Hello there. This will have to be a quick post as I am in a hurry to go shopping. I think John Lewis would be a good place to go but I may need to call in at a supermarket, too.

What do I need to buy so urgently, you ask. Well, our cutlery is looking a little the worse for wear so it would be as well to refresh that drawer. I think I shall buy a set with more place settings as we seem to use them all in no time at all. The situation is particularly bad with the spoons. It seems as though even first thing in the morning there are few usable spoons around. Not only that, but everything seems to need more spoons than usual. Just sitting in the chair, thinking about standing up, often feels as though it is using several of that day’s spoons. I think this is probably the worst patch of fatigue I have had since I was first diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. It would be easy to think “it’s not fair” but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes things slightly worse. Mentally, I cope better if I keep away from the “Why me?” thoughts. I don’t know whether that would be the same for others but I suspect it may well be.

So, what about the supermarket? I need to dash (!) in there for some window cleaner. Everything is looking foggy so I think the windows must need cleaning. [Yes, I know, it’s corny but I just felt like being silly – on purpose, for a change!]

Actually, at the moment the Fibro Fog doesn’t seem particularly funny. Things have moved on from thinking one thing and saying another. This morning I was sorting out my medication and filling my weekly pill boxes. Things seemed to be going fairly well until I had filled the final box. I noticed that there was a half-full blister pack sticking out of a box. I had deliberately placed the pack that way after using it for the penultimate box as I knew I would be emptying it for the final box. However, once I had filled that box, I noticed that that pack was still half-full! I had put a different (and wrong) type of tablet in each day’s compartment of that box. I had no idea which type of medication I had wrongly used, although, luckily, I recognised which pill it was in each section and was able to remove it. It was a scary moment. Have I reached a point where I cannot be trusted to deal with my own medication? I really don’t want that to be the case… Really, really, really.

That mistake has given me a fright. However, I am not going to panic. I am going to allow myself to calm down and to mull things over. I need to recognise the best way to deal with this. I hope I manage to do so.


I Can’t Think Of A Title!

My first view of the Three Sisters, near Katoomba in the Blue Mountains*, New South Wales

I wrote on here recently about trust and confidence when living with Fibromyalgia. It is a subject which often kicks about in my mind.

I think that, upon meeting me for the first time, most people think that I have oodles of self-confidence. I am aware that I often come across to others as brash and in-your-face. However, that is not confidence. In fact, it is the exact opposite. When I am in a new situation I either go very quiet and melt into the wall, or I take a deep breath, grasp my own lapels (metaphorically speaking) and charge in to the situation, me and my outspoken-ness. Don’t worry, I’m not intending to get all philosophical or psychological about that side of me.

Another thing that I am known for and which is a more accurate insight into my character, is my honesty. By honesty, I mean that if someone requests my opinion, I tend to be honest, rather than saying what the other person is hoping to hear. Obviously, if someone simply needs a bit of a confidence boost, I will give an appropriate. However, I really don’t understand why people ask for someone’s honest opinion when, actually, what they want is for you to puff up their ego with as many lies as you can muster. There are occasions when someone benefits from the honest opinion of another, as I hope the following anecdote shows.

Little Sis and I were shopping in Exeter and were in the Ladies’ department of a well-known department store. There was a lady who was trying on an outfit to wear as Mother of the Bride. The shop assistant who was ‘helping’ her was telling her how lovely the outfit looked and the lady’s husband obviously would have said a purple banana suit was exactly right if it meant he could escape more quickly. Little Sis and I saw this tableau and both agreed that the outfit was, most definitely, not right. The lady, herself, was very hesitant and clearly not convinced about the outfit so I quietly whispered in her ear, apologising for interfering, saying that the outfit wasn’t the right one. She looked relieved and thanked me for my comment.  Later in the day we bumped into the same couple again. The lady’s face was wreathed in smiles as she told us that, since seeing her earlier in the day, she had found and bought the perfect outfit to wear to her daughter’s wedding. We were really pleased for her.

This week someone, whom I know gives honest opinions, was very complimentary about something I had done. Those words meant a huge amount to me, the more so because they were completely unexpected and uncanvassed. My confidence in my own abilities has taken a battering recently because of (i) the silly mistakes I’ve made which appear to be due to Fibro Fog and (ii) having to pull out of various activities, which gave those comments added significance for me. By and large, I do prefer people to be honest about my work and/or achievements. That’s not to say that I take them lying down! I don’t promise to change something just because it has been suggested to me – I never have been any good at doing as I was told! However, if I have asked for an opinion, for example, on how an item of clothing looks on me, I would prefer to be given an honest response which I can then take into consideration when deciding on my next step. Like everyone else, I make mistakes, but how can I learn from them if I’m not aware that I’ve made them?


*For those of you who don’t know, the Blue Mountains get their name from the highly flammable blue mist which comes off the eucalyptus trees. For those of you who already knew that, don’t read this paragraph!

Some Enchanted Evening

Only one pair is mine.

When I was a child I loved the film musical “South Pacific”. Actually, I still quite like it, and, also, Calamity Jane:

“Oh, the Deadwood stage is a-coming on over the hill, deedle-e-di-di diddle-iddly di dee. Twenty three miiii-iiiiillllllessss we’ve covered today, Oh! Whip crackaway, whip crackaway, whip crackaway”.

I liked the songs in South Pacific, as well – most of them, anyway. Having said that, I really didn’t like the corny accent of the male singer of Some Enchanted Evening. Although Rossano Brazzi played the character in the film version, the actual singing was apparently done by Giorgio Tozzi! No matter. Whichever one it was put on a strange accent.

What has all this to do with Fibromyalgia, I hear you ask. Oh, can’t you see the link between the two? Cue a perfect segue… No, can’t think of a perfect one so I’ll just continue with what I was planning to talk about in this post and hope that I remember to make it clear at the end.

I’m pretty sure that every Fibro sufferer (or Fibro warrior, if you prefer) experiences their Fibro differently from everybody else. There is such a range of symptoms, causes and degrees that that must be the case, mustn’t it? I find that some of my symptoms can be triggered by specific things, others seem to appear from nowhere and, yet more, decide to form their own habit. This post is about a symptom that has carved out its own special niche – not that it only uses that niche! Oh no, it still jumps out of the woodwork when it fancies making even more of a nuisance of itself. It’s a very naughty symptom and I would smack its bottom, if I could.

Most evenings, after dinner, I sit relaxing in front of the one-eyed monster, playing with some knitting or sewing. I have noticed that this symptom is very sociable and certainly not very happy when it can’t be near me so, each evening during my relaxathon, out it pops – full of the joys of spring and ready to wreak havoc. (Did I tell you it’s very naughty? I’m sure you can see what I mean!)

So, who is this pesky individual? None other than…  The one, the only… Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together to welcome, with its exclusive one-symptom show… The world famous… The symptom everyone is talking about… The master, or mistress, of your destiny… the irritating discomfort of…


Fibro Feet! (*tumultuous cheers and applause echo around the auditorium.)

Yes, just as I am settling down for the evening, the Fibro Feet start Going For Gold. Their knives have been honed to perfection and they have smashed the technique. In fact, Fibro Feet can do their job with their eyes shut. (I have a theory that they remove their eyes and send them on a scouting mission to find another unsuspecting victim as their aim is so accurate!) The feelings I experience include: like walking shards of glass, having someone stabbing them with a narrow blade, soreness, burning and painful itchiness. I haven’t noticed any particular routine regarding the sensations, it’s just the habit of coming to visit when I am sitting in the evenings. It doesn’t happen every evening but it happens more often than not and it does make appearances during the day, rather than being only nocturnal. It’s a very versatile opponent. It’s a shame it’s so effective.


Some Enchanted Evening(s), it doesn’t take centre stage.