CHRONIC TONIC posts on Thursdays at 9 EST, it is a place to share stories, advice, and information and to connect with others with chronic health conditions and those who care for them. Our diarists will report on research, alternative treatments, clinical trials, and health insurance issues through personal stories. You are invited to share in comments (and note if you'd like to be a future diarist). In addition to our weekly diaries, please join us for ongoing conversations at the Kossacks Networking site.
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Who You Callin' A Weed?
By Amary
oh, my yard's a weedy mess!
but what are weeds?
'cept for things
we've come to
believe are
of no
use
hey,
i've been called a weed
i've also had my body touched --
as if it were the most precious thing
in the world
This diary is about finding balance in my life. Balance between planting seeds and pulling weeds; cultivating beauty and noticing it growing wild. Between learning when to let the wind blow me hither and yon and when to hold fast and bloom where I'm planted ...
Early last spring I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic myofascial pain. I've had the symptoms for years, but never found a doctor who could seem to connect the dots. One doctor, years ago, during what I now recognize as a fibro flare, (which came up immediately after surgery for an ectopic pregnancy), indicated that she'd like it if I went away, as I was just "too complicated" for her.
Sadly, I internalized her hostility and turned it on myself. I began to think of myself as ... well... a kind of weed, in an otherwise nicely cultivated garden of politely blooming .... patients.
Big mistake on my part.
Even though I found other doctors I never again really let any of them know the full range of the difficulties I was having, (mostly I would just tell them I was tired and feeling down), and as a result I was diagnosed with chronic depression. I lived with that diagnosis for well over a decade...
...until this spring, when I collapsed -- literally. I had to stop working. Most days I could barely make it out of the house. I ached all over, couldn't think clearly and I was dizzy much of the time. I could do about 10 minutes of housework before I would have to lay down -- sometimes for the rest of the day. Luckily I have a very supportive partner and wonderful friends. One of these friends had just found a new physician and she told me she thought I should go see him. "I think you two would get along," is how she put it.
So I followed her advice. I called for an appointment and showed up at the doctor's office one day. The doctor seemed pretty surprised. (I know now that he wasn't taking any new patients). He kindly asked who had referred me. I told him my friend did. He laughed and said, "Oh, yah." I said, "Yes, she thinks we'd be a good fit, and she has amazing intuition." He responded, "Really? Well I guess I better see you then," and he sat down and talked with me for an hour. I still really have no idea how I managed to get in. I just phoned one day and asked his secretary to book me -- and she did.
After our first appointment my new doctor told me he wanted to see me every week for an hour until I was better.
BETTER?! Hilarious!
I thought he was crazy.
But I returned the following week and the week after that. I wrote down every ache and pain I was experiencing, along with a full psychosocial history, and gave it to him to read. I told him everything I could think of about my life that I though might help him figure out what was wrong with me. We spent the first three weeks talking through it all and I got blood tests and visited a physiotherapist who has amazing equipment to look at the inner ear. (My inner ear is fine).
I guess I should mention at this point that I live in Canada. While I have never had a problem finding a physician, it is pretty much unheard of to find one who will sit down and talk with you for an HOUR and then book you in an hour at a time thereafter (at no cost -- thank God! )-- until you're BETTER. This story is jaw dropping even to folks who live here :)
On with the story.
At the beginning of the fourth appointment this amazing angel of a doctor comes in with this book and says, "take a read through this and tell me if you recognize yourself."
I scanned a few pages and immediately began to weep. I took the book home and my partner and I read it together. Some days I could only read a few pages because it would hit home so hard. Yes! This is me. This is what I experience. This is it! My partner was just as astounded. Okay, I get it now. That's why you can't be in crowds. That's why yoga makes you feel like you're going to die! That's why you have to rest after a shower. That's why you're so cranky! Heh! We alternated between tears and uproarious laughter.
My appointments with my doctor changed after this diagnosis. He began dry needling my trigger points to relieve myofascial pain. One day when I was very sick he made a house call with his box of needles (and lots of bad jokes). He also referred me to a physiotherapist who has the amazing ability to tap into my energy system, blend with it, and just allow the wisdom of my body to lead us in the treatment for that day. I continue to see the physio every few weeks.
And, we also started to experiment with a cocktail of pharmaceuticals to help me: sleep; relax my too tight muscles; relieve my headaches; and lift me up from the doldrums. Wonderfully, the dizziness disappeared shortly after I started the needling and physio work!
And it all worked. I started to feel better. Ha! I did.
And while I began to heal, bit by bit every week, I started to explore Bach Flower remedies. I'd been treating myself with them ever since I made a trip to Europe a couple of years ago and realized that this was the first treatment that many people there turn to when they're ill. So, I signed up for an online course through the Bach Foundation and in the Fall I went to Denver for an advanced level training workshop. My journey with the flowers will be another diary down the road, but for now, I'll just say that they have restored my spirit.
People have started to tell me that I look like I'm blooming. I'm not kidding. It makes me smile, because back, more than a couple of decades ago, when my fibro was already starting to show up, a voice teacher told me during a class that she though my nervous system was somehow "short circuiting" during difficult work. But then she reassured me that I shouldn't worry because I was going to be a "late bloomer." I guess she was right. I turned fifty-one last week.
It's been about eight months since I collapsed. Since then I've seen the crocus and spring flowers come up through the snow. Clipped dead clematis vines and removed the mulch from barely live perennials. Sown seeds -- sweet pea and morning glory. Planted roses. Some days I couldn't bend too well so the garden sat -- waiting.
And then, one day they arrived -- those sunny yellow faces. Unmistakable. And I stood, and I said,
"Hey, who you callin' a weed?!"
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