The Flare

Fibromyalgia is very controversial. Although it is finally being accepted by the medical community, there are still many doctors who don't believe in it. There are also many people close to the sufferers who don't believe in it because the victim doesn't look sick.

I found it amusing recently when a friend asked if I was going over to a local bar as we were exiting an event. I replied, "No, I haven't been feeling well."

He responded, "your color is good." I guess like a dog with a cold wet nose, if your color is good, you must be healthy.

I too have had my doubts about fibro. Sometimes I wonder if doctors lump everyone who has an ailment they can't diagnose into this category when they can't find anything else. When I feel good, I have trouble believing I suffer from fibro. It's such a nebulous syndrome. But, when I have a flare, I believe.

The Flare

After six days, I finally have an appetite. I am treading carefully though. I mistrust food. One wrong bite and the fire might return to my belly.

The flare crept up on me stealthily. I felt drained after my race on Wednesday night. A throbbing numbness radiated from my right wrist to my right shoulder. The pain made me slightly queasy. I chalked it up to hitting a gate and fatigue.

Thursday morning I dragged myself out of bed. My arm had quieted down, but my body was slow and cumbersome, my limbs heavy. I was determined to train that morning. A friend was setting slalom, and I hadn't trained slalom in a long time.

The snow was perfect. The sky was a bright, crisp, clear, Colorado blue. How could I feel bad on a day like this?  Afer a couple of runs I commented to a friend, "I forgot how much more energy slalom takes."

My body was being abused. Gates swatting my knuckles and repeatedly hitting the spot on my knee above my shin guard. I'd have some bruises today.

Then my tip hooked a gate. I spun slowly to the ground. One ski and I went down the hill. The other stayed up. I stopped my slide, but the ski sliding with me had its own plans and kept going.

Checking the course to make sure it was clear, I plodded up to the first ski and picked it up. Then, more sliding than walking, I worked my way down to the lower ski. Other skiers can slide gracefully down on their boot heels. Me, I lumbered.

I laid the skis parallel to the slope. I tried to step into the downhill ski, but it just wouldn't hold. I'd step down. It would topple sideways and skitter away. Exasperated, against common sense, I put the uphill ski on. The binding cleanly snapped closed.

Once again, I tried to be the graceful skier and rotate so my uphill ski was downhill. I couldn't seem to control my limbs. I started side slipping down the hill. Being right under the lift, I'm surprised the others training weren't heckling me.

I gave up trying to turn and continued my battle of stepping into my downhill ski. I was already tired and becoming frustrated. I stared at my bindings, but couldn't figure them out. Do you push up or down to get in? A hazy fog had settled on my brain. I ski almost daily in the winter, and I could not work my bindings. After many tries the fog cleared for a second. Down my brain said. I stepped in, and sheepishly skied to the lift.

By the end of two more training runs, my lower back ached. Skiing never bothers my back, but I was finding it difficult to straighten up. A band of fire stretched from hip to hip.

Slalom, I thought. I am tense because I haven't done slalom for so long. I switched to the giant slalom (GS) course. I'll loosen up on a couple of GS runs and call it a day.

The runs didn't aggravate my back, but it was still painful to straighten up. The base of my spine was burning, and the flames licked to each side equally.

I decided to call it a day and packed up to leave. I went to the racks to pick up both pairs of skis. They are heavy skis, but I've carried them many times. I hoisted the one pair to my shoulder. Balancing it, I lifted the second pair. Adding insult to injury, one ski in the pair slipped forward, and the binding punched me in the cheekbone, just below my eye. Grrrr....

I made it home and started thinking about lunch. Normally, I'm starving after skiing. But curiously, I had no appetite. My back hurt, and I was bereft of energy. I nuked a frozen meal and struggled to eat it.

The attack had surged. My brain was fogged, my back was burning, and all my limbs had become heavy and achy. I curled up with a heating pad and some Tylenol.

By bedtime the flare was full-blown. My period started and my entire gastrointestinal track joined the fray. My guts were on fire. Ingesting any food was akin to pouring acid straight down my gullet. My hips hurt, my elbows hurt. Every part of my body hurt.