Tag Archives: Fibromyalgia

Morality and Medical Issues, Part 2

Tuesday’s post challenged the notion, debunked by gobs of science, that illness and disability somehow are the results of moral failing. After I posted, I went running–it’s my primary treatment for fibromyalgia and for guarding against a host of other ailments–but I couldn’t escape a nagging feeling about the post.

A few blocks into the run it hit me: I feel guilty about being sick.




I really do believe the God of my understanding isn’t doling out diseases and disabilities as punishment. I absolutely can’t get behind a god who zaps a beautiful baby/child/youth/adult/mother/father/sister/brother/friend/foe with ___ (insert name of a disease or a disability) because he or she or his or her kin didn’t read the bible enough/didn’t attend church enough/wasn’t pure enough/wasn’t repentant enough/ committed some litany of sins. I’d like to think God has better things to do than play whack-a-sinner, although whack-an-a*hole has a certain dark appeal, at least in the abstract. Continue reading Morality and Medical Issues, Part 2


A Touchy Subject: Intimacy

Here’s a touchy subject: intimacy. Intimacy as a person with one or more chronic diseases/conditions/illnesses is a challenge, at least it’s been for me. It requires hefty doses of humility and humor, both of which chronic pain can deplete even in the most positive person.

I have fibromyalgia and celiac disease, which means fits and flares of debilitating symptoms that contribute to a rolling landscape of pain. With celiac disease, the pain comes from being accidentally glutened. There’s the crampy pain, the inflammation pain, and the stabbing pain inside the intestinal tract that can frog-hop for several days. The accompanying GI disturbances–first, there’s no movement and then a few days later, there’s way too much movement in said intestines–are anything but sexy. I also get the DH rash and not just on my arms and legs. It pops up on the orbs with which I might moon someone if I was inclined toward such behavior. That rash creates an itch that must be scratched: not the kind of self-touch that excites one’s date, let’s just say. Continue reading A Touchy Subject: Intimacy