The Problem with Fibro and Fibro Meds

fibromyalgia weight gainI don’t understand my body.

On Friday night, I went to bed about 10:30 PM. I got up for a normal breakfast, caffeine included, but couldn’t keep my eyes open once I had finished eating. So I went back to bed and slept until 3:00 PM.

Yes, 3:00 Pee. Em. That shit ain’t right.

A couple of times Dan checked on me. “Em, you know you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

“I know but I can’t hold my eyelids up,” I replied. It was like I’d dosed myself with Benadryl, except I hadn’t done any such thing. Then I went to bed around midnight last night—a little later than usual, but not an absurd hour—and didn’t have any trouble falling asleep.

What the fuck, body? What do you want from me?!

In other fantastic news, I’ve already put on another 5 pounds since the doctor appointment from hell. That’s right, 5 pounds in 12 days. I know some people think that girls can’t do math (stink eye to the doctor for condescendingly suggesting I see a counselor or dietitian), but I assure you I can.

My basal metabolic rate is currently somewhere around 1670 calories per day. I’d have to eat 500 bonus calories every day to put on one pound a week. I’d have to eat about 1,250 bonus calories EVERY DAY to put on 2.5 pounds in a week. Plus, I’d have to stay in bed every day and do nothing.

Getting on my FitDesk means I’d have to eat the daily BMR allotment of 1,670 calories, the 1,250 daily bonus calories, and then eat back everything I burned while I pedaled. Same goes for any and all other calories I burn working, cooking, walking, cleaning, or whatever all week long. Now, I’m not terribly active due to pain, stiffness, and fear of falling when muscles randomly give out. But still! That means averaging 3,000+ calories a day, minimum.

Having the pounds sneak up on you over the years? That’s easy to do. I take full responsibility for my expanding wasitline up through the end of October 2014. Putting on weight like this? It takes effort. Or perhaps help from—oh, I don’t know—an underachieving thyroid or a new prescription.

I’ve done some web searching for a new primary doctor, and so far no one’s jumping out at me. I will call for assistance selecting a new physician tomorrow, but I’m not exactly optimistic. What if the next one doesn’t work out? What if I have to start all over again with a third doctor?

I miss the days when all I needed a doctor for was an antibiotic script for a sinus infection. “My sinuses are killing me. My snot’s green. Kthxbai.”


I’m a Weight Watcher

weight watchers chartThe image on the right is a graph of my weight as tracked in Weight Watchers. It makes me very sad to look at it.

At the far left, you see my starting weight in May 2013. I did well, losing about 15 pounds at a relatively steady pace until the last time I logged my weight in 2013—the week my dog died. Two weeks prior to that, my father-in-law passed away. I was already feeling pretty low.

That straight, smooth, steep climb visually represents how I gave up on my health-related goals and indulged my sadness. I’d never really thought of myself as an emotional eater, but then I’d never experienced a period of such intense sadness before. I guess now I know. Because in 9 months I’ve gained 20 lbs.

I’m fucking stunned.

I re-opened my Weight Watchers account, charged up my Fitbit, then went for a walk in the park this morning—despite the fatigue I’m presently suffering due to a vitamin D deficiency. Something has got to change.