Getting it Off My Chest

As I write this, you are sitting with my daughter, playing and trying to laugh, maybe teaching her to count, and doing all the things that I want you to be doing. You're doing it with a serious physical disability and I truly admire what you are able to accomplish every day. The problem that I have today is this: your mouth is swollen to the point that you can't close it. You've got your tongue off to one side so that you don't accidentally bite down - on your soft, pliant tongue - and cause more swelling in your mouth. You have two teeth that desperately need to be extracted, but you won't go to your doctor's appointment tomorrow. I know that a lot of it is fear. I know that a lot of it is that you are irrational from the amount of pain that you're in. I know that your Fibromyalgia causes you severe pain. Trust me. I'm the one who is calling your doctor every month, buttering up the receptionist and generally kissing ass to make sure that you get the little pain medication that we've been able to get for you. I'm the one who spent hours upon hours online, searching FM forums, desperately emailing every single person who mentioned that they were getting help for their pain, and pleading with them to tell me the name of their doctor. No, I'm not living the same hell that you are living. I've got my own personalized version.

I don't have many childhood memories. As a result, I can't remember a time when you weren't in pain like this. I've clearly blocked the first few years of your diagnosis - those were the worst. I think as a result I've managed to block most of my childhood, too. It's something I'm working on, but I don't know that I want to remember.

Click here to continue reading...

iMommy: the Next Step for the iGeneration is a guest blogger on Bridges.