Whatever doesn't kill me ...

So much to write about. I knew what I was going to write yesterday, but now that I sit down to do it, I can't think. I guess I'll start with my cat.

Radar is a very special kitty. I'm convinced he's the reincarnation of Mr. Bones, a cat I had when I was growing up. We were both 17 when he died of lymphoma. He's only six, but he's lived with me in at least four different places in three states, and traveled with me from the West Coast back to Ohio. I had gone to the shelter in Seattle with the intention of adopting a completely different cat, but when I saw him peeking out from a cubbyhole, with his ridiculously large ears and big, round eyes, I fell in love.

Now, Radar is dying of the same, relatively-rare cancer that Mr. Bones did, but it's progressing much faster. He still shows no behavioral signs of illness, but the tumnors are large, and every time I pet him I'm painfully aware that there isn't much more time. I won't let him suffer, but I have been worried, because Radar hates the vet. He hates leaving the house at all. I was dreading taking him in to have him euthanized, because his last moments would be terrifying for him. Luckily, I have found a local vet who does house calls. When the time comes, Radar will be in his own home, surrounded by his human and feline family. We'll do it in my room, so that I can say goodbye from there. Then, they will take his body away to be cremated, and I will get the ashes back. Knowing how it will happen has brought me comfort. It will be hard to say goodbye, but this way, he will know love until the very end.

On to another subject. I was sick for three weeks with a combination of a viral upper respiratory infection and a bacterial sinus infection. During that time, Matt took care of me without any hesitation, and I felt very loved. He did everything from running out to get my prescriptions to cooking to snuggling with me and watching movies on my computer when I couldn't leave my bed. So when he got sick with the same thing (minus the sinus infection, thank the gods), I was worried I wouldn't be able to take care of him as well as he had taken care of me. Because of my disability, I often feel a deficit in terms of how much Matt does for me around the house versus how much I do for him, and just because he got sick and I got better didn't negate the chronic pain I deal with.

But, once again, I proved to myself that, when properly motivated, I can do what needs to be done. I cooked dinner three nights in a row and did all the dishes. I did Matt's laundry for him (we normally each do our own.) I made him tea and made sure he didn't overextend himself. He's feeling better now, but I seem to still have access to that reserve of energy that allowed me to step up and be Superwife for a few days. Hail, Frigga! Hail, Sigyn! I credit Them for helping me find my strength. It's never about gods "giving" you strength, really. It's about Them helping you to access the strength you already have within you. I feel accomplished, even if I know that, eventually, I'll be the one needing taken care of again. The crash already started, with a fibro flare-up that began on Friday. It's not so bad today, but I did sleep until almost 2 pm. I think that, other than putting the pork roast in the crock pot, I'm going to take it easy tomorrow.

On the subject of my pain, yesterday, I woke up feeling totally disgusting, and I got frustrated and posted a rant on my Facebook page. I'm going to expand on that here. Whst I wrote:

"**If you don't want to read a whiny rant about my pain, just scroll on down.**
I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia at 14. I started developing arthritis in my late teens/early 20s. I have collapsed disks in both my lumbar and cervical spine. I have issues with the joints in my jaw, bad knees, bad toes and bad wrists. I am in pain every day from some combination of muscle spasms, arthritis, IBS and migraines.

I have PTSD and Bipolar 2, along with the associated anxiety disorder, which includes panic attacks that make me feel as if my soul is being sucked from my body. I have nightmares almost every night. (Last night, I dreamt my skin was being eaten away by maggots that spit acid.)

What angers me most is that I have fought in no war. I have never played sports. I have never injured myself in any grand or noble adventure. Am I cursed? Is it all in my head? Is it some kind of punishment? I ask myself these questions every day.

I wish for some doctor or spiritual counselor to find the root of all this, the "why" behind my suffering, because I wish there was some clear path to make myself better. I struggle every day to do just that.

I find strength and inspiration in my spirituality and in those who truly love me. If it weren't for those things, along with my curiosity as to "what happens next?", I would have given up long ago.

I get very frustrated. I want to curl up and sleep forever. But after reading Samantha's update earlier today, I can see the pain is a gift. I can empathize with her pain and the pain of those like her. I can more deeply appreciate her sacrifice, because I know what it is like to hurt.

I wish no good people ever had to hurt."

I got many heart-felt positive responses to this, of course, because my friends are awesome. Samantha, whom I mentioned, is a Desert Storm veteran, whose physical and mental diagnoses are almost identical to mine. I met her through a Heathen group on Facebook, and she is one of my biggest sources of spiritual strength and validation. She's truly a remarkable woman. I call her my warrior sister. I dearly wish she lived closer, because I think we could help each other a lot. It might sound arrogant to say that I can feel the pain of such a warrior, who has seen more horrors in her life than I could imagine, but she doesn't see it that way. She sees me as an ally who can empathize with her pain and suffering. Though I might not have seen combat, she respects that I have fought my own battles, and won. We draw strength from each other. This is the kind of friendship I need in my life. And though it is true that I wish no good people had to hurt, I also acknowledge that good people are good because they have been hurt. People like us tend to believe in the motto, "Whatever doesn't kill me better run."

So I guess that's it for right now. I have more things I need to write about, but I'll do it later. Thanks for reading.