I had a fibromyalgia "test" done. I put the word test in those slightly annoying quotation marks because there is no definitive test for fibromyalgia, more like a series of symptoms that point to it being fibromyalgia when the things that can be tested for turn out negative. The Nurse presses on 18 points of your body, you tell her which ones send a shooting or sharp pain when she applies pressure. I had 10 of the 18 points which is on the lower scale or inconclusive. The nurse suggested more blood tests, they will be looking for Lupus and other autoimmune diseases and re-checking my iron and hemocrit levels. She also booked me an ultrasound to check for fibroids or other uterine growths. I go in tomorrow to get the results.
So this is the real part of my journal: I get anxiety before any medical appointments, I usually cry after them just as a release after all the anxiety I was feeling. This time, after having my trigger points pushed, I was in a lot of pain, especially because blood was taken from right beside one of them (which is the first time in a long time I felt like puking when my blood was taken, I certainly couldn't pretend that I didn't know that there was a needle stuck in my arm). It felt like my arm had been burned to the right of the insertion point, then so much muscle pain, I couldn't bend it all the way, or really even use it. It hurt to walk. I kinda felt beat-up and weepy (my poor NP, kept apologizing as she did the test). Scott was there. He held my hand during the counselling session, he held the trash can up when I thought I was going to puke when my blood was taken, he opened doors for me, helped me climb in and out of the van, he took me to Waboras and didn't laugh at me when I was having a hard time using my chop sticks. He held out his arm for me to take as support while we went up and down steps. He listened, and did not advise. He didn't balk at me wanting to take a walk downtown at 11:00pm (though he would have to drive us downtown). He was amazing. Months ago, when my symptoms first started getting bad, I remember asking him if he still wanted to be with me, that it would be hard work, that taking care of someone in pain is draining. He said he loved me, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and yes he would take care of me. It was shortly after that when he began washing my hair so I wouldn't have to see it falling out in clumps.
Funny how we perceive certain situations as negative. I quit my job because it had become stressful,which was stressful in and of itself. Some conflicts arose that quickly washed out those in my life who due to their own life circumstances would not or could not be supportive during this stressful time. People came out of the woodwork to offer me support and love and Scott and I grew closer then ever. We had always been very independent in certain ways, never quite wanting to admit to ourselves that we needed each other in any way that wasn't romantic. Our relationship has matured and trust has been built. The baggage of our unfaithful past partners has been taken to the end of the driveway. Sometimes the shit hitting the fan is just a great way to make the ground more fertile for future growth.