Closure...?

I finally have my diagnosis! This is good, right? Now I can make a plan, move forward and everything will be hunky-dory. 

False. 

For the most part, everything stayed the same. Jeremy still had to help me out of bed in the morning, I still had to take “ice pack breaks” at work, and I was still surviving off of caffeine highs from energy drinks around the clock. The only thing different was the added cocktail of prescription meds throughout the day while my co-workers stood by and joked about me being a pill-popper. 

I’m a pill-popper. Awesome. 

From my managers' views, I should be getting better. Sickness goes just like this: 

1. Get sick. 
2. Go to doctor. 
3. Get medicine. 
4. Get better. 
5. Viola! No more problems. 

Right. And I’m freaking Tinkerbell. 

I tried sitting down with a few of my managers to explain how Fibromyalgia works and that some days I’ll look and act normal, and other days, (most days), I’m going to hurt and need help. I tried to explain how my doctor and I are still adjusting my medications to find the right combination to give me the up-most relief I can obtain. I tried to explain to them that I was doing the best I could, that I still liked my job and I still wanted to work there. 

Yes, I was accused of not caring about my job. MY JOB!!!! The one consistent thing I’ve had since I was fourteen-years-old, and the one thing that guaranteed I would have a place to live and a car to drive. Seriously?!!?

But alas, if I didn’t have a smile on my face and a pole stuck up my you-know-what like a stick-puppet, I clearly didn’t care. Honestly, this was the first time in my life I was starting to put my health and wellness (pardon the official wordage) ahead of everything else. So why on earth was it making things worse?!

My “considerate” GM said, “You need to take care of yourself. But you need to be here, too. We have a business to run and customers to serve. So if that means you need to wake up a few hours earlier to have time to stretch and get rid of the stiffness, then that’s what you need to do.” 

I'm going to pause for a moment to let my fellow chronic peeps get their cursing fit out of the way.



<PAUSE>




Now, for those of you at home who are still learning about how this whole chronic illness thing works, I’ll lay it out for you: 


 chron•ic [kron-ik] adjective 

1. constant; habitual; inveterate: a chronic liar. 
2. continuing a long time or recurring frequently: a chronic state of civil war. 
3. having long had a disease, habit, weakness, or the like: a chronic invalid. 
4. (of a disease) having long duration ( opposed to acute). 


There. That’s better. 

Needless to say, my management didn’t get it, and they weren’t willing to TRY like I was TRYING to help them understand. The stiffness doesn’t go away. The pain doesn’t just go away. Waking up earlier makes it worse because sleep is one of the only things that help me feel better. I can’t just “walk it off” like some athlete with a charlie horse. This pain is here to stay and it really has no consideration for the customers I have to serve. Now, I understand there is a business to run. I didn't spend the last four-and-a-half years of my life whistling Yankee Doodle and staring off into space. However, there are also policies and procedures for people who have health issues that aren't necessarily planned. (Are any health issues really "planned"?) I asked to work shorter shifts until I was able to get my diagnosis. The response I received from local HR was, "Maybe this isn't the job for you." 

SERIOUSLY!?!?! Is THAT why you put me in the position I was in? Yes, please, make me a leader in your building and responsible for financial results. I'll work 40-50hr weeks and come in on my days off to help YOU. But when I need help, "this isn't the job for me." 

/end rant

The day of my diagnosis, my rheumatologist told me I needed to find a new job. I laughed at her then. I wasn't laughing anymore. Instead, I was devastated. This company, that I’d put almost five years of my life into, was now seemingly betraying me. It was now clear that I HAD to find a new job. By this point though, it wasn’t my choice or on my own time. Shortly after my “just walk it off” conversation, I found out my supervisor position was being eliminated soon due to the massive Corporate Restructure the company was going through. Thanks to the awesome economy, I soon would not matter anymore. Here Jeremy and I are, about to be married in less than three months, and I’m going to be unemployed for the first time in ten years. I had the option to re-apply for other positions, but based on how I was currently being treated I knew this was my time to walk away with my pride (and anger) still intact. Conveniently enough, my vacation was coming up the week after I got the news of my elimination. I was supposed to be going home to have a relaxing and fun week planning my wedding with mom. I don't know that it was necessarily relaxing, but I did manage to have a fun week and get most of the wedding planning done.  I never went back to work, even though I was guaranteed a job for another three weeks. Instead, I elected to drained my vacation, sick time, and personal time to keep an income. Once I returned to New Orleans, I slept a lot, and I drank even more. I’d call it your good old fashioned pity party with a side of self-destruction. 

Yeah, I know. Go me.  

My next rheumatology appointment was approximately a month after I was laid off. I still was not improving pain-wise. We changed a few more of my medications, including my anti-depressant. For the next two weeks, all I can say is, I don’t know how on earth Jeremy lived. Seriously, it was bad. My mood swings were off the charts! One minute I’d be freaking out about something so small, the next I’d be crying because I was so sorry for being crazy, shortly followed by zombie mode where I'd just stare off into space. If I was interrupted from staring off into space, the cycle would repeat. I'm going to say that with the grace of God and patience of Buddha, Jeremy managed to keep his cool and never once came back at me crazy like I was coming at him. Needless to say, all of the craziness was shortly followed by another adjustment to my medication, and another…well, you get the idea. Finally we got it leveled out and I stopped re-enacting scenes from "Psycho Fiancée Part III."

In between the sleeping, drinking, and watching lots of Ellen Degenerous, I was managing to put in ten to fifteen job applications per day. I wasn’t eating much. (Gotta fit into that wedding dress!) I didn’t hear back from a single application I put in. Apparently, my previous company didn’t hold as much weight on a resume as I thought it did. What was left of my ego/self-confidence was officially crushed. 

Had the last four-and-a-half years of my life been a total waste?





They say when you’re diagnosed with a life changing illness, you go through the same, or similar, five stages of loss or grief: 

1. Denial and Isolation 
2. Anger 
3. Bargaining (if only we had…) 
4. Depression 
5. Acceptance 

I can definitely see the similarities. Technically it is the death of the life I once knew. By this time I was smack dab in the middle of Step 1 and well on my way to Step 2, my forte. Somehow, I imagined the “closure” portion being much more......closure-like?