The location of the nine paired tender points that comprise the 1990 American College of Rheumatology criteria for fibromyalgia.

Being hit by that pulp truck was the best thing that ever happened to me — sort of. It was only a couple of years ago when I regained consciousness to find myself on the top of a mountain of snow facing in the opposite direction of my travel route, after having seen the logging truck coming at me with no where else to go. My injuries were to my ribs, primarily, which resulted in a prescription to Percoset®.

I generally tend to ignore pain and consider myself healed almost immediately after injuries or surgeries, so, I thought nothing of my ability to host a birthday dinner for my son immediately after my accident. I felt great! I never missed a beat – still tended to all my domestic duties and most of my husband’s, too. However, I hadn’t taken into consideration the help I was getting from the Percoset®. Popping-sounds in my rib area and increased pain levels as the meds wore off just before dosing-times, brought me back to the doctor, who decided that all my activities were causing me to re-break ribs that were trying to fuse. New plan: park my butt on the loveseat and watch every episode of 24… then, Lost, The Closer and CSI New York. I am not good at sitting still and have never been a fan of watching television. But, this new plan was working.

Long story short, I was feeling pain-free for the first time since sustaining a lower back injury in a shoe factory at age 18, twenty-five years earlier, and a whiplash injury 18 years before. The various aches and pains that I lived with daily had suddenly disappeared. I no longer felt like my body was made of lead and that someone out there was spending their days sticking pins into, and burning various parts of a little voodoo doll of me.

This extreme and virtually unmanageable pain, I came to learn was one of the many symptoms of Fibromyalgia, and not the deferred pain I was blaming on old injuries.

But, diagnosing it was a process, and my pain journey was not over… it was merely beginning. Not a huge proponent of taking a consistent regimen of pain medications, I – several times – attempted to have my doctor revisit the pain-management plan I was on. I went from addictive prescriptions to other options almost immediately. Then, to Tramadol® for the overall pain, muscle relaxants (to deal with muscle tension from doing heavy work which consistently lead to headaches due to my old neck injuries), Celebrex® to curtail the advancement of my arthritis and Amitriptyline® before bed as a sleep aid – and to combat the migraines. This really helped. However, the side effects and long term risks had me concerned.

Still, for the next two years, I would ride a roller-coaster of pain and disability, trying to avoid dumping so many pharmaceuticals into my system, and thinking that mind-over-matter and a stronger resolve to get past it was all I really needed. However, that proved unsuccessful. Unwilling to rest when my body needed it, take my prescription medications consistently or to follow-up if and when necessary with various doctors, made matters worse.

A number of variables brought me to the place where I was not leaving the house for days at a time because I could only get around with crutches. I had secured a stair lift, because there were days when navigating the stairs had become too lofty a goal. 
I was only 44. This was rewriting my future. Among other things, the unpredictability of the symptoms, and the need for pain medication, made me virtually unemployable.

The good news is that I am now experiencing what I can only describe as remission. Granted, that can change day to day if I don’t respect and apply the knowledge I have acquired about this condition and how to manage it.

In the following two parts of this three-part series on Fibromyalgia, I will address the signs, symptoms and statistics of this debilitating condition, as well as known triggers and treatment options. No one should live with the level of constant pain that makes them ponder their beliefs about assisted suicide in the wee hours, during acute Fibromyalgia attacks, and silently resolve to never own a gun.

As it turns out, there is light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m looking forward to showing you that it is not a train.