I am part of an internet group of dear friends who also have Fibromyalgia, a chronic pain disease. We generally talk about the effects of this leech, this parasitic illness and how it makes us feel and how it affects our lives. It is what brings us together; and we truly care about one another. Imagine, a group of people who you have never met yet you trust them, seek out their advice. These people really do know how your pain feels.
We could discuss things we used to do but cannot do now. For me, I would talk about gardening and how I used to have a big vegetable garden many years ago when bending down to my knees and getting up was no problem. I would reminisce about the bright green English peas that grew, the fiery red cherry tomatoes that bathed in the sunlight, two kinds of lettuce and thick, orange carrots. I could also talk about the three miles I used walk in under an hour with my work friends each day, outside, around a blue-green reservoir. Maybe I would confess I was a size eight for about two minutes and twenty years ago while I was struggling with infertility issues and the deep, emotional pain of that process. “If I couldn’t have children, I was going to be skinny” was my mantra as I made myself march outside.
The summer before I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, and my children were at camp, I would take the train to New York City and relish being surrounded by people from all over the world, hearing them speak, watching the beautiful, colorful outfits that so many people donned in shades of rose, green, yellow, blue, shades of white and grey. Perhaps I would see a Broadway show for half price, go to a museum, or back to the Village and try to recognize it after many years. Going in to the city was like having an international picnic without even leaving the gleaming Grand Central Station. I didn’t worry back then about getting to the city and how much walking I would have to do and whether I had to take a cab because I was so tired and drained that I couldn’t put one burning, aching, painful foot in front of the other.
Many blogs I read are about chronic pain and diseases, and I wonder at their brilliance. It’s a dilemna for me because while I do write about my chronic illness or two, I write about everything else in my life. Am I doing myself a disservice? It could be. I write about food, depression, fun, family, television, friends, travel, grief, cheesecake, chocolate etc. It’s a mix and mash-up of a blog, like a patchwork quilt with different patterns and colors. Do I need to define myself more clearly? I may have just answered my own question. I am all things, not just one.
I am a patient, a parent, a friend, wife, mother, teacher and student. I love many things: reading books with beautiful covers, writing, taking photographs of children or benches or boats. I love to watch red cardinals and yellow finches at my bird feeder and butterflies winking by me. I love to eat good food, I am sweet on sweets, I dislike alcohol; coffee, orange juice, chocolate milk or Diet Coke are my beverages of choice, I drink them all at different times.
I could choose to pick one subject to write about but, it would not be my true self, of that I am sure. I am all over the place with emotions and experiences, flying, sometimes crawling, like red, yellow, blue and black kites sailing in the gusty wind, all tangled together, or in peaceful harmony, sometimes independently flying free. I am a person, with many facets. I am as many pieces of my puzzle as I want. It’s my puzzle, I need to make the pieces fit, for me.
I would love to read your story about Dawn.
I’ll send you my address on facebook
or on my email address : my name (full name no spaces) @yahoo.com
Laurie, your writing has made me smile, reduced me to tears, cracked me and forced me to re-think my priorities. I copied some of your words once and read them everynight. You wrote of the death of your Friend who had cancer, and your words helped me more than you will ever know.
“Knowng someone is going to die, and then them actually
dying, are two very strong and different emotions. It’s
the feeling of in between, it’s too new to comprehend.”
Your words are under the glass top on my nightstand, and I truly do read it everynight. My Mother’s death was much the same as Dawn’s. I knew it would happen. When it did I didn’t know how to feel. You helped me.
I am sure you will continue to pull emotions out of me on a regular basis….no matter what you write about!
I will keep this e-mail, print it and will never throw it away. You don’t know how much it means to me. The full article on Dawn came out in our town’s magazine, if you are interested, I would be happy to send you a copy. please let me know.
Did I see a potential job for you on facebook about the editor? Go for it. I was an assistant editor of an academic journal, and it had its great moments.
You know what Laurie? I absolutely love your words. They remind me that I’m not this disease (as much as I have trouble not believing this) and I was so much more and that I am so much more.
Love to you!!!!
You know what Rosemary? I adore you!!!! Wish I could get paid for my words but as long as I have people like you, I’m fine. Poor but happy!!!