I'm in the middle of the worst fibro flare I've had since the one that ran from September, 2011 to April, 2012. From one to the next, I forget just how severe the pain is. I didn't take anything but aspirin today because I was trying to get to Great Vespers and choir practice tonight, but I didn't make it. I was hurting way too bad, and I want to give myself every chance to be able to go to church in the morning. Past history is not encouraging.
Fibro flares are miserable things. But it's so much worse now because you're not here. I have complete responsibility for working and making money, cooking, shopping, finances, cleaning the house, and letting Jethro in and out (and today it was every 15 minutes - I have no idea what got into the dog, but I'm thankful that cats use litterboxes), running errands, going to the post office and bank, and all the zillion things that everybody does every day. I will learn how to do it on my on. Most fibromites do, since over 75% of spouses leave within a year of diagnosis. So tonight I posted an appeal for advice/tips/lifesavers on the Fibro board on Facebook.
God is still in charge, and what He brings, He takes care of. Pain makes everything look worse. I'll take something when I finish talking to you and no longer have to be coherent. The animals won't care. They'll cuddle up with me to sleep and I'll know that they love me. And I know that you love me too, even more than the animals do. And I know that a lot of people love me - I'm finallly learning that.
When I was diagnosed, I knew all about the divorce rate. But it never crossed my mind that you'd leave. And every time you had a medical disaster, you never wondered if I would leave. We were one flesh - leaving wasn't even possible. Once I convinced you back in college that I knew what I was getting into (since you'd had cancer once already) and still wanted to marry you, you never doubted my fidelity. All kinds of other people expressed amazement that our marriage had weathered so many and varied medical disasters. But that was irrelevant to us. We just saw them coming and said, like the dophin and the pot of geraniums in Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, "Here we go again," and "Something's coming; I hope it's friendly." The only real disaster would have been not being together. I'm thankful you never had to deal with being without me. There seems to be a lot more support for widows than widowers, and let's face it, there're just so many more of us.
I'm rambling, and this is without pain medicine. Sorry about it. I love you so, so, so much, and I'm grateful to you for how good you always were to me. And I miss you more than I can ever say.