I have had one hell of a week. I have been to the doctor just about every day, yesterday twice. I have had my blood drawn three times and I’m waiting for all these results to help figure out what the heck is going on. I have found out I have iron deficient anemia. Now it’s on for the search for where the blood has gone… is going and where it’s coming from. I gotta say, I am happy that there is a valid, medically tested and confirmed reason for why I am so damn tired and having such a hard time focusing. I never go to the dr. for these things as they have become a way of life for me… this was just a very good reminder to check in every once in awhile. Coincidentally, Adrienne Dellwo, writer for about.com’s Fibro/CFS page posted up this article about anemia and FMS the day I found out. If you haven’t stopped by her site, you are definitely missing a crucial tool in your resource box.
Anemia & Fibromyalgia: How’s Your Iron Level?
It’s funny, the doctors and nurses are amazed at how I am still working and generally still somewhat functioning despite the level of pain and this new found anemia. It’s been kinda nice to hear, considering I have been feeling so lazy and dumb for the past couple months. I don’t mean that in a critical way, it’s just the easiest way to say how I’ve been feeling… and it’s true. In actuality, I haven’t really been completely depressed about this (wierd, right?), sadly I think I just accepted the reality of FMS. Maybe some of the realities of this illness should not be accepted so easily.
Figuring out when to call the doctor and when to carry on is so difficult. We are all so used to leaving the doctor’s office feeling like “that was a complete waste of time” (and I usually have a word that begins with F in that sentence even though I am trying not to use words that start with F…). I think we all start to give up on ever feeling good again. I had definitely given up on even thinking I would feel good about eating again. I always feel, for lack of a better term… yucky. I really want to eat something (because I LOVE food!) and then when I do… I feel like crap after. I was telling my husband, it’s like when Barbossa is telling Ms. Turner in his quarters what it feels like to never really live or die and he explains… “The more we gave ‘em away, the more we came to realize the drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust. We are cursed men, Miss Turner. Compelled by greed, we were, but now we are consumed by it…“, he goes on to say “For too long I’ve been parched of thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I’ve been starving to death and haven’t died. I feel nothing…“. I sometimes wonder if i was on that quest and I took some of those gold coins. Someone please tell me where I put those (as you must know I forgot). I’d like to put them back.
For fun, here are a couple sites to see Barbossa’s quote:
Well, I should get on to what the prompt was for today since I am participating in the Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge. (Please visit WEGO Health’s blog and the WEGO Facebook page to find other writers tackling the same topics—or sign up for the challenge yourself!)
Today’s Prompt: Health Madlib Poem. Go to : http://languageisavirus.com/cgi-bin/madlibs.pl and fill in the parts of speech and the site will generate a poem for you. Feel free to post the Madlib or edit it to make it better.
Well….. I did this. I followed the prompt, went to the website and I gotta say… not impressed. This isn’t the best use of my blog, but I’ve already used my two “get out of post” cards.
This is the poem as it was turned out by the madlib…. like I said… not impressed. I look forward to the next prompt.
mysterious dog’s mysterious dog
ccarefully i have never imagine, loudly beyond
any bed, your fibromyalgia have their funny:
in your most adventurous palm tree are things which endure me,
or which i cannot listen because they are too quietly
your clumsy look somewhere will unovercome me
though i have photograph myself as rainbow,
you pretend always doctor by doctor myself as park sleep
(understanding accidentally, absentmindedly) her beautiful flower
or if your toy be to whisper me, i and
my hammock will escape very painfully, courageously,
as when the banana of this bed gather
the beach irritably everywhere promiseing;
nothing which we are to reach in this kitchen talk
the car of your quirky mom: whose dad
walk me with the sister of its brother,
runing illness and depression with each danceing
(i do not dream what it is about you that wish
and write; only something in me believe
the grandma of your fibromyalgia is strong than all park)
grandpa, not even the caterpillar, has such amazing monkey
– sing & e.e. cummings