It turns out moving house and starting a new job in the lead up to Christmas is pretty time consuming, but I’ve had “write blog post” on my to-do list for almost two weeks so tonight, with Masterchef in the background, I’m getting back on it.
When I sit and think about where I’m at with aches, pains, food and life, I have one overriding thought. And that is that I’ve been doing quite a lot lately which can only mean one thing; I’m waiting for the flare.
As all fibromyalgia sufferers will know only too well, the feeling you get when you suddenly realise your pain is getting progressively worse and you’re approaching a flare-up can be pretty scary. For me it’s not scary because of the experience itself – I’ve got pretty used to that now – but the fear comes from not knowing how long it’s going to last, how bad it’s going to get, how many things I’m going to have to cancel and how many days I’ll need off work. Unfortunately though, I’ve now discovered a new fear; the fear of the flare up before it even gets here. It’s the feeling of knowing I’ve pushed myself, knowing I’ve been too busy or too stressed and wondering how long I’ve got left before the flare hits.
Now I’ll be honest, I don’t think my approach to these situations is one to recommend. When I fear a flare-up is on its way I never think, “right, slow down, prevent the flare.” Instead I think, “quick, you haven’t got long left, get as much done before you crash!”
The fact it’s been weeks since I sat down to write a proper blog post tells me I’ve been doing too much. I started this blog as a way of making sure I rested in an evening, but instead I’ve been too busy working, and when I’m not working I’m enjoying the bright lights of the big city.
As soon as I started my new job, I realised very quickly I’d gone back to my old ways; wake up, work, eat, sleep, with very little room for living. Predictably, if I do go into London to see friends and family after work, I’ve struggled even more the following day. So now, six weeks after arriving in London, I know it’s coming. I can feel it. My knees are so sore I can’t change gear when I’m driving, I’m walking with a limp, my bag feels so heavy I can only assume I’m carrying bricks, my hands are numb and my bones hurt.
So, as well as this seeming like a bit of a moan, it’s also my way of admitting I’ve fallen off the wagon. (I seem to do that quite a lot, don’t I?) I am getting back on it and I will be back to blogging very soon, resting and finding fibro-friendly things to do and recommending tasty food to make. I’m on it. Really, I am.