As we grow up, we are told to eat and drink healthy, exercise, and get a decent seven to nine hours of sleep every night. If we do this, we are told we will live a happy and healthy life, which can ultimately make us feel indestructible from anything life throws at us. If we are riding a bike and fall off, we are told to get back up again and keep trying again. If we bleed, we cover the wound up with medication and a bandaid, and we are told that it will heal eventually. However, what happens if we cannot cover up a wound because it is invisible to the eye of everyone around you? Or what happens if we get back up only to fall again when fighting becomes a mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion? The day I realized that my pain I had been fighting to fix was more than just back pain from years of being an athlete, was the day that defined what the rest of my life would endure.

I had just finished an eight hour shift at the pretzel store, in which I had to do more bending and lifting than typical work days. I usually know my limits, but that day I was feeling better than I had in two weeks. For once, I was not feeling the overbearing pain that would randomly begin from my lower back, and spike to the rest of my body. This small victory of just experiencing the typical back pain, made me feel as if I could try to motivate myself to do more than the bare minimum. Just like when you have a stomach bug, and after a few hours you begin to feel better and decide to eat something. If you tell yourself you are better, before you have actually given yourself time to heal, you will get sick again. It had been three years since I felt the surge of pain first strike me, and after that it had slowly progressed. I assumed it was an athletic injury due to dancing for over twelve years, and as a result my primary doctor sent me to a chiropractor. It wasn’t until two years of meeting with her that we both realized there were no improvements and we wondered if I would be able to feel pain free ever again. Every week that we met, she recommended that I should take work easy and to listen to my body when it has had enough. Although, on this particular day I didn’t want to sit back anymore and let this unknown illness be in control of my life, I had enough.

I made the rash decision to push myself to work harder by moving heavy boxes, bending down to clean, and putting heavier products away, all in which enticed my illness to creep back slowly. Each time I lifted a box or product, both of my arms and shoulders would get stiffer and more difficult to bend. They felt as if they were progressively locking into one place with a sensation of tiny pins and needles. As I repetitively bent down to sweep or handle product, my legs began to feel weaker and my back began to aggressively tingle. When every part of my body told me that something was wrong, I refused to listen. I thought to myself, “How can I possibly explain to anyone I am working with, that I am experiencing random surges of pain? Maybe if I can get through this one shift and fight the sensations I am feeling, my body will reward me with a pleasant recovery.” Unfortunately…my body had other plans in mind. 

When I was finally able to get into my car to drive home, my body unleashed the pain that my adrenaline was combating and misleading me to believe that it was manageable. I instantly fell into a crippled and paralyzed sitting position, one in which I could only move my eyes. For the first time, my lower back pain shot up to my neck, shoulders, hands, and feet. My fingers and toes went numb and experienced random bursts of tingly sensations, that rushed through my body to create what felt like, fiery heat waves inside my skin. As my physical health deteriorated, I sat in my car sobbing until my eyes became red and began to burn from constantly rubbing the tears off my face with my jacket. I had seventeen minutes to get home safely and fight the suffering my body had succumbed itself to. The only question I had left to answer was, “could I survive those seventeen minutes of unbearable movement?“

With each movement I made, I had to achieve within a cautiously slow pace. Driving procedures such as, putting my car into reverse or drive, pressing on the brake or accelerator pedal, and turning to switch lanes, all required delicate and precise movement. If I turned my neck or moved other parts of my body too abruptly, it felt as if my insides would stretch and snap back with an overwhelming force of throbbing pain. If I had to quickly release and press my foot from one pedal to the other, the nerves in my toes and feet would exhale charges of shocking pain. As I grew more and more accustomed to what my body could or could not handle, I kept my head pressed firmly against the head rest and my body fell into a position that was bearable. I drove fast, ignoring any speed limit sign that insisted I should slow down. As I finally approached my street, I felt close to the finish line, and I knew I needed to win the race before the pain could speed up more and surpass me. 

When I speedily pulled into my driveway I sat in the car for an hour, and stared through the windshield as if I had been placed into a trance. My body was under attack, I could not move, all I could do was wail because the pain had completely overcome me at last. My mother heard me pleading for help and ran as fast as she could, only to find me lifeless. We sat in the car until I had the courage to make any subtle movements. She picked me up, and carried me into the house because all the strength I had left, I put into driving home safely. She gently ripped off my work clothes, and carefully placed me into a warm bath, as if I was a little girl again needing my mother to make everything better. She cried and held my weakening hand, telling me how she wished she could switch places with me. Even though, I could never wish this unknown disease onto anyone.

As I laid in my bath, and felt the water cover the invisible scars from the battle that my body fought against itself, I knew I would not get better. I reflected on my fight to overcome it, and how I had to continue the fight by finding the right doctor to discover what was wrong with me. I had been utterly afraid for years and pushed my pain aside, hoping that it would go away on it’s own. Then I realized, how can we possibly get better if we do not do everything we can to figure out what the cause is to begin with? What I did not know back then, was that I would go through multiple doctors, physical therapists, chiropractors, and specialists. That eventually would lead me to a diagnosis that has no cure, fibromyalgia. Given this diagnosis I gave myself two choices, I could either let the pain rule over my life, or I could live my life while trying different treatment options and have faith that one day someone will find a cure. Although most days are worse than others, I chose… life.