As abnormal as fibro makes me feel, believe it or not, I do still get to enjoy all the “normal” sicknesses that plague humanity. Such as a cold. This past week I had one of the worst I’ve ever had. Understandably, I felt horrible. Fibro already tends to leave me miserable, so add a very nasty fever-causing, sore throat, aching all over, cold-sweat, shivering, roasting cold worsened by already having fibro, and I didn’t know how I was going to get through it.
So overall, my discomfort was relatively understandable. And also very temporary (after the shot and antibiotics that have become standard procedure for me, that is). Because when you have a cold, you know one day very soon you’ll wake up and be all better. Oh for the temporariness of bad things: “It will get better,” and “This too shall pass”? Not in my case.
Living with fibromyalgia is like having a life sentence with no hope of release—all in response to a verdict of innocence. Or like being held under water and knowing that you don’t get to come up for air.
I am allergic to potatoes, a discovery made a couple decades into my life.
I miss them. I want some French fries really, really bad. I know I can never eat them again, yet I wish that I could eat them just once more—to have just one day that I could order them like a normal person, instead of having the boring replacement of a salad or cole slaw. But as much as I wish I could get away with just eating them once, I know the hope is ridiculous.
Similarly, but much more seriously, I know I won’t ever wake up one day and be cured of fibro. I don’t earnestly even wish for that. I just wish I could have one day without any pain, just one day’s break to hope for or look forward to.
Even though I hate colds, boy, do I love how you know they do go away eventually. But the knowledge that there will likely never be a moment in this fibro body where I actually feel no pain is, in most moments, more than I care to imagine but impossible to escape.