For Better or for Fibro….

It’s Valentine’s day once again.  This gives me a good excuse to get all mushy and gooey about my husband for a minute.  I’m far from the most romantic person in the world, so this doesn’t happen very often!

Not too long ago I was talking with another fibromyalgia sufferer.  She told me “You’ll just have to get to the point of realizing that nobody really cares about your fibro.”   

Okay, yes, there are times where this is true.   I’m sure the mail man could care less about my fibromyalgia.  He’s more preoccupied by making sure my dog doesn’t try to eat his hand as it comes through the mail slot.  And I’m sure that the driver I just honked at for going 10 miles an hour under the speed limit, making me late for work, doesn’t care that I’m running late because I woke up stiff that morning and couldn’t get going.  I’m sure I could think of a million examples of the people who don’t care, but I started really feel sad for her. Maybe for her, that’s true.  After she said that I felt very lucky for the people in my life.

I know my family cares. Even hours away they show me as much support as possible.  I have close friends who show me support, and my physical therapist/Zumba/Pilates instructor definitely cares!

And then there is my husband.  Poor sucker had no idea all this was coming when he married me five years ago.  For better or for worse has definitely held true throughout our marriage.  He has been very patient with me throughout all my fibro struggles.  He understands why there are sometimes I just don’t want a hug, offers to massage (lightly) whatever is hurting, he knows that if I don’t get in at least one Pilates or Zumba workout a week I’m going to be one grumpy wife, and he understands sometimes I just need to cry about it for a while (which is exactly what happened yesterday until my Chihuahua decided it was my husband making me cry and he bit him on the ear.  Ferocious, isn’t he?)….

One of my biggest struggles was admitting I needed his help.  I’ve always been independent.  I felt pride in doing things on my own.  If I could handle working 8 hours, getting all the laundry done, the dinner made, get in a workout, and clean up the house all in the same day I would, and I did.  When the fibro first started to really flare I couldn’t even figure out how to clean, or how to make dinner.  There were too many steps and my mind would race, so instead of doing everything I could, I started to do nothing at all because I didn’t even know where to start.  Memory loss and confusion were a big part of my first few flares.  I would completely forget if I had even seen my husband some days, or if we even talked to each other.  Unfortunately, on some days we did talk about very important things and I didn’t remember any of them.  I finally had to admit I needed his help, so I gritted teeth, swallowed my pride and asked.  It broke the ice a little bit.  The tension we were feeling from working through the first few months of fibro passed and we knew we had to move on.  There are good days and bad days, there always will be.  I know he’ll be there for both.

 He said he would take it all away from me if he could, but to be honest, I don’t think I could take care of him as good as he’s taking care of me.

We’re going through this together and I’m very lucky he’s there for me to support me. 

                                                       Happy Valentines Day!

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