I was visiting my parents over Christmas break in college when my mom asked me a question that would end up changing my life.
"Do you think you have fibromyalgia?"
Her tone was casual, but it stopped me in my tracks. Yes, I was tired a lot. Yes, I had to use medicine like Tramadol to control my pain more than the average person. But chronic illness? That was something I'd never considered. I told her I thought my symptoms were just the result of stress and an inherited bad back. But over the next semester I'd think back to her question many times.
It was the spring semester of 2011 and I was interning at a production company on the Universal lot. Normally I enjoyed the walk from the parking garage to my office, but recently I'd been experiencing knee pain and numbness in my toes by the time I got there. At first I told myself it was just my shoes or the cooler weather, but eventually I couldn't deny something was wrong.
I made appointments with several doctors, but aside from a high pulse and low blood pressure, they couldn't find anything wrong. I started researching fibromyalgia and found that I did have many of the symptoms, except that my pain seemed to be more in my joints than my muscles. Still, I joined a support group on Facebook to learn more and stay motivated. But reading post after post about pain and applying for disability was too much for me. This wasn't the future I envisioned for myself. So I left and convinced myself that whatever was wrong wasn't chronic and would soon pass.
One evening at my internship I began having pain in the area around my right kidney. The production company had been incredibly accommodating, giving me a closer parking space and letting me use a golf cart for errands, so I felt I owed it to them to work through the pain. Besides, there was only a couple weeks left and I wanted to learn as much as I could in the time I left. I made it through the rest of the day, but the drive home was almost unbearable. At home I took one of the hydrocodone my doctor gave me for emergencies and went to bed, but the pain only got worse. I knew there was no way I could drive with this much pain, so I called a cab. At the emergency room I told them what had happened and waited to be called. It was an unusually busy night and no rooms works be available for a while, but seeing how miserable I was they gave me a bed to lie on in the hallway while I waited for the doctor. Finally, she arrived and I told her I suspected I had a kidney stone, something I'd experienced twice before. "What do they usually give you for that?" She asked. I told her morphine. She looked almost offended and handed me a Tylenol. I took it, but reminded her the prescription pain medicine I'd taken at home hadn't helped. She looked annoyed and left. When she eventually returned she wheeled my bed into an empty room and told me she'd be doing a pelvic exam to see if an STI was causing my pain. I explained that I was clean and had never been sexually active. She told me she would just wanted to look at the outside and I agreed. I lay back and was already feeling uncomfortable when I felt a sudden pain. I screamed and sat up. She had started an internal exam after telling me she wouldn't and I was furious. She only sighed in annoyance. She agreed as if the whole thing was my fault, but eventually agreed to a CT scan to Creek for a kidney stone. When the scan showed a small stone in my right kidney she seemed shocked, as if it were impossible for me to know what was wrong wth my own body.
It was morning before I finally got a different doctor and some pain control. Having been awake for over 24 hours I immediately fell asleep. When I woke up I was told that they needed to release me, but that my mom had gotten a flight and was on her way. I was given a prescription for oxycodone, some cranberry juice, and instructed to go home and rest. I don't remember much except that the medicine made me feel sick and when I woke up my mom was there.
The next week was spent seeing different doctors, who couldn't seem to agree on whether or not the small stone was the problem. Meanwhile, I was depressed and bored out of my mind. I would lie in bed and pain my nails over and over again. Finally, my mom told me she'd found a doctor where she lived who thought he could help by doing a scope and breaking up anything in my kidney or ureter. I finished up my work for my internship, packed a few bags, and flew to my parents' house in Milwaukee.
I had the scope done, but to everyone's surprise, that didn't find anything. The rest of the summer was spent testing theories and trying different medications. Things would seem to get better for a while, then all of a sudden get worse. By the end of summer it was apparent I wouldn't be able to return home or go back to school.
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