Back Spasm Hell

I feel like a prisoner to my body today. I woke up around 1:30 this morning to terrible lower back spasms. I could barely get out of bed and had to shuffle painfully to the bathroom.

I’d had a slightly sore back yesterday, but fibromyalgia keeps me sore most days, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. I did a very light workout at the gym—no injury or noticeable aggravation there—but a few hours later, when I should’ve been sleeping peacefully, my back felt like someone held it in a vice grip.

Work was pretty miserable today, although my back loosened up a little bit from walking around. Ironically, I worked with students on proper body mechanics and safe patient transfer techniques. It was quite a feat, considering I couldn’t put my shoes on this morning. Fibromyalgia has definitely forced me to be good at verbally explaining things without being able to physically demonstrate. Some days, my body just won’t cooperate with my words.

I napped this afternoon—a rarity for me—on my back with my knees on a pillow and a heating pad under my lower back. I was breaking all kinds of technical rules, like don’t ever put a heating pad under your body and use ice, not heat, on new injuries, but I didn’t care. My heating pad was microwavable and never got very hot, and I’m not comfortable lying on my stomach because of my stupid ongoing neck problems. Heat just seemed like it would be more soothing than ice, and it was. I’ve been able to walk around semi-human-like, which is a big improvement over this morning’s walking posture.

In keeping with my natural/vegan/organic plan to fight fibromyalgia, I ate a raw veggie sandwich for lunch and am currently snacking on popcorn sprinkled with nutritional yeast. Apple cider vinegar and ice water are mixed in my coffee cup. I don’t believe that proper nutrition can cure everything, but I definitely don’t believe that poor nutrition cures anything.

I’d planned to run today, and am working hard to keep my attitude as positive as possible as I gingerly walk around the house. My knee is finally much improved, my neck is taking a break from its usual painful routine, but now my back is out. Some days, fibromyalgia really sucks.

Running from Pain

Ever tried on pants that were several sizes too small, stretching the seams to the max? This morning, the muscles across my upper back felt like overburdened seams, straining and ripping. I was angry, depressed, cynical, and miserable. I begged my girlfriend to tell me everything would be fine. She couldn’t. So I went for a run.

I made it 61 minutes and 42 seconds in the Florida summer heat. An absolute fury built inside me while I ran. My upper back and neck felt like a feather being pulled apart down the middle, and I could’ve sworn someone stabbed me in the collarbone and left the knife there. The worse the pain, the stronger the fury.

I lucked out today. It’s hard to say that athletes with fibromyalgia luck out with much, but the fury cooking inside me allowed me to wrench loose some of the locked facet joints and muscles spasms. I swung my left arm at an odd angle while I ran, and by the half-hour mark, the tearing sensation gave way to crepitus and popping. And then release, physical and emotional.

Not all days bring such luck. I’ve run many miles where I couldn’t even turn my head to look for cars because muscle spasms locked me in a straight-ahead stare. Sometimes my hips and knees feel like they’re on fire when my bodyweight lands for a footfall. But not today.

I hate fibromyalgia. It may kill me one day, but I’m going to fight every second not only for my life, but for my lifestyle as an athlete.

Fibromyalgia and Sleep

Sleeping is vital to life. It promotes recovery, which is something athletes need especially after hard training days. For athletes with fibromyalgia, sleeping can be less of a restful experience and more of a nightmare.

I experienced the nightmare for almost three years before starting Lyrica. Various medications and supplements would help a little, but for the most part, each night was a painful battle to sleep as little as two hours. Physical pain and anxiety are a deadly, sleep-robbing cocktail.

I tried everything within reason, and a few things outside of reason. Natural cures. Iridology. Acupuncture. Valium. Fancy pillows, cheap pillows, cervical pillows, no pillow. We paid a fortune for a memory foam mattress. The mattress put me into the 4-hours-per-night range, but nighttime still brought extreme anxiety. It’s really crappy when all you want to do is go to sleep, but your body won’t let it happen.

Lyrica allows me to sleep, and is especially effective if I’ve had a very long, hard workout during the day. I still have to plan every single aspect of a night’s rest, from pillow position to clothing (tags or screen prints irritate my overly sensitive skin and even cause muscle spasms) to the should-I-or-shouldn’t-I-take-ibuprofen-question. I can’t travel much, and I desperately need to be on a memory foam mattress. My cervical pillow goes with me everywhere if I have a chance in hell of sleeping.

There’s nothing quite like the deep depression and hopelessness that comes from not sleeping. Fibromyalgia has taken me to depths I never thought I could reach. Sleeping again has made those depths much more bearable.

Athletes need sleep. We blissfully destroy our bodies with strenuous repetitive motions, maxed-out weights, and ambitious endurance training. If we don’t sleep, we die. As an athlete with fibromyalgia, I was dying. Now, I’m sleeping—even if it is a ridiculously planned and choreographed event. It’s entirely life-changing to say “goodnight” as an actual pre-sleep ritual. Goodnight.