So I see that my mom called me at 9:03AM. That is specifically because she believes you may call someone between the hours of 9AM and 8PM if you have ‘an ounce of sense’. I look at the clock, it is 10:31AM. I have gloriously slept through the night and have awoken at 10:31AM. (Of course, I did not get into bed until after two in the morning but that is beside the point.) I need to return her call.

My mom wanted to be a teacher but her parents never had enough money for her to even consider going to college, she married my dad when she was 18 and had her first child 8 months later. She said her “daddy” would’ve shot my Dad had he known she was pregnant when they married. Those were the days… and a tale for another time.

I respect my mom. She worked alongside my dad in every business venture they went into, they were very successful. I always said she wasn’t great at the day-to-day parenting but she was an awesome ‘crisis’ Mom. God save anyone who went after her cubs, they’d be dealing with Mama Bear. It would not end well for them! She birthed six children, one stillborn, and adopted a seventh when he was 9 years old from South Korea. She loved her children fiercely, never missed a birthday cake, or a Christmas with Santa gifts. She still mothers’ us but age has not been kind. She has had a  few mild strokes and a heart attack. Her speech and balance are affected and diabetes she has lived with for too many years is breaking down the rest of her body.

I returned her call, my heart pounding as I was still in bed and knew that just wouldn’t fly with my mom who was always up with the sun. I also didn’t know what to talk about, fearing this call would be like the last when she informed me in her broken speech pattern that all of this fibromyalgia nonsense needs to be stopped. It was “too much”. Too much about the book I wrote, too much about the blog I wrote, too much about the group I admin, I was simply “too much”.

“It just isn’t healthy, isn’t there something else you can talk about?”

My husband, thank God, talked some sense into me saying this is not your mom, this is ‘someone’ or ‘someones’ talking in her ear… she is proud of your accomplishments and you know this. And I do. But I know my mom wants all of her children to be treated equally and be in the ‘spotlight’ so to speak, equally. Hence, my ‘time’ was done.

So I did return her call, we talked about the weather, Halloween decorations, getting ready for fall, flannel shirts and my dad having a hard time getting used to his new hearing aids. No more talk about the ‘fibromyalgia nonsense’. And the call was ended with “I love you.”

In conclusion, even though my feelings were hurt and still a bit raw to this day… she did have a point, I was fibro 24/7 and it was me. I am not fibromyalgia, I am a 50-year-old lady who still gets nervous when her mom catches her sleeping past 8AM! Seriously though, we cannot BE our disease, we are an individual first. I am not fibromyalgia. I have other interests and other things in my life that need tending. So I have put fibromyalgia on a shelf in a box. I will take out that box when I need to tend to it, still daily, but on my timetable. Then, there are days the box falls off the shelf, spilling its contents all over and I am forced to deal with it all damn day, but I’m more than IT. I am more than a disease…you are more than a disease.


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