The Barest, The Realest & The Hardest: The Kids


Hi Team Jennifer’s Docs:

I hope it’s okay to reach out this evening.

{Well that was hours ago and none of you responded, f*ckity f*ck f*ck f*ck!}.

I “overdid it” one day (so this is the punishment I get for enjoying my family?!), then had a terrible fibro flare over the weekend and per your reccs took very high doses of pain meds for 3 days, Robaxin (1,500mg 3x/day) and close to the max of 3,600 div/3x day Neurontin.

Today is the last day then I taper back down with not great advice on how to do so, come to think of it. I think I feel better, but ????. I’m scared of the tapering. I’m so f*cking irritable. Sleep has been worse than the usual difficult fibro fatigue-insomnia tango. I’ve been waking hours earlier than the cat and the kids!

Is there a medicine that would dope me up for a day or two or three or ten of good rest and/or a facility—that’s gentle and kind—to check into to help me get back on track? My emotions are everywhere, but/and/or I’m in no way suicidal. I check in with Husband daily to get his take; he’s not freaking but he knows I need sleep. I’m mainly exhausted and inconsistently manic plus awfully, terribly sad to have missed so much of my kids’ holiday break and Husband’s time off.

What comes next? Cause in this moment it feels like an extremely sad and very common #invisibleillness f*ck up (except for my visible zombie eyes when not covered up with more and more and more and more makeup!). To quote Hamilton’s pitiful, hilarious Jonathan Groff, er, I mean King George, “What comes next?/You’ve been freed/Do you know how hard it is to lead?/You’re on your own/Awesome. Wow/Do you have a clue what happens now?”

I’m really fucking good leader. I’ve been dealing with the unknown for three years now. January 4, 2016 is when this hell began. Happy Anniversary, me. Well done. I’m worried about my health and most importantly my girls. WTF. Happy 3-year anniversary of pain to me. “Wow.” Pity King George. And today, pity us four + feline. I don’t usually, but today, well, I’m glad I didn’t have a clue three years ago what would be happening now. The girls are wonderfully well, but…my greatest fears are coming true. I’m not dying of breast cancer as teenage me watched my mom do, but they’re watching me (bravely) face a currently incurable, intractable, invisible(ish) disorder brought on by necessary surgery with an injury during it. I need ice cream, cake, and sleep. Ha. Per usual, the least healthiest are the easiest to find.

Instead I’ll watch the so-so “The Resident” cause I celeb crush on Matt Czuchry and have already seen every episode of the mostly seminal “House.” I will figure this out but with a lot of suffering on all our parts–Husband and kids included though cat likes me best when prone–but I sure as fuck would like some guidance

Your Patient in Pajamas With Greasy-as-Fuck Hair (I’s got little energy to wash/deknot it.) Waiting. Wow.


{Follow up, I heard from my psychiatrist this morning; and with a dr.-approved plan tip had a some good nap today until my tantrumming 6-ager woke me up; remain sleepy and have hopes of a good night’s sleep tonight. Or better. Or at least some. We #fibrowarriors know best not to a. get hopes up too much b. over do it, even though we do it every day cause we’re human! I might even deknot my hair tomorrow… 🙂 }


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