Living with Fibromyalgia

“She’s exaggerating,” the brunette flight attendant at the front of the plane half-whispered as I maneuvered legs simultaneously wobbly like Jell-O and stiff as an oak tree.

The pained look on my pale face and unsteadiness of my body when I boarded the plane alarmed the blonde attendant…

In the past year, in a quest to better “hear” to my body, I’ve worked at truly “listening” to it. I’ve been paying it closer attention and, in the process, I’ve noticed more signals and noticed them sooner.

I’ve learned a lot more about my crappy roommate, fibromyalgia, in the process…

When I was a teenager, fibro was like a ghost in my house. It was a mysterious, unnamed entity haunting the halls of me. I didn’t know what it was or what it could do, and I was very scared. After that it turned into a squatter. It was a trespasser I couldn’t get rid of. Sometimes I thought it had gone away, but then I’d open a door and there it was…