I fall into a hole the size of the Grand Canyon, wondering where am I going to get the strength to survive another day of FMS Pain. My mind begins to loose memory of what I just did a minute ago, causing Fibro Fog. Now, the Spine Monster has returned with friends, figuring that he need not be alone, when he can take over my body with an Army. The hands start to look like a boxer that just finished fighting, and my head begins to feel like someone just hit me in the back of the neck with a wooden baseball bat. All the strength and motivation I had earlier is lost.
Depression sits in, and the self-assessments start.
Everytime I have gone in, he never seems to give me the right answer I want to hear. So there I sit in the doctor's office, praying that this time I won't look and sound like an idiot, that I will make sense, and explain exactly what I am feeling, sounding like a broken record. I begin the journey again, of course, trying to say the right medical terms, and explain just where the pain is, so that he will finally get it. He too is at the end of his rope with this demon FMS, which is mysterious, invisible and non- repairable. Test after test MRI's CatScans, Bloodwork, with the same results.