The Diagnosis

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The bloods all came back clean, so for all intents I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia.

I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.  It hasn’t begun to sink in, I think.  It’s just a word.  Life goes on as it always does.

Fibromyalgia is more than a word.  It’s a name for what has been plaguing me for years.  It’s a set of symptoms that can be linked back to a thing with a name, a thing that exists, a thing that’s not just in my head.

There’s a certain amount of relief in that.

There’s also the realisation that this is a thing and it’s not just in my head.  This is a thing.  It exists, it’s real, and it means I can’t just harden the fuck up and plow on through, or stop being lazy.  It exists, and it has an impact on my body and on my life, and I must now change my life to take that into consideration.  I can’t keep on going as I have done.

I’m also realising just how little support there is in the public health system for people experiencing chronic pain.  Where I live there is nothing.  Which is mildly problematic, but optimistically speaking I only have another 2 or so years here, and then we can move.  I’m already eyeballing areas that have public health chronic pain clinics, which are fortunately in areas we are interested in moving to.

For now I guess it’s just truck on as usual and deal with the doom and gloom when it all catches up with me.  But at least I have an answer now.  It’s not all in my head.

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