Fibro Life Confession #2/ A letter to my meds

I love my new medicine organizer. You can totally just pop
out the tabs and take a day with you! It's so handy.
And yes. This is my organizer, and these are my meds.

I hate my meds.

Okay, maybe "hate" is a strong word... I don't hate my meds as much as I hate other aspects of my diseases. And most of the time I don't really think about them (besides the "Oh crap, gotta take my meds!" moments), except when it's Medication Adjustment Time (or, god forbid, Adding A New Medication) and the side effects hit. I hate the side effects.

It's funny, having so many meds to take now... but I feel like each one kind of has a personality. I know that sounds weird, but it's totally true.

Savella... I don't know if you're helping or not, but I know that I do NOT appreciate the nausea that you're hammering me with. You're almost as bad as Cymbalta. Okay, I'm sorry, I take it back. That was unkind of me. Nothing is as bad as Cymbalta. But still... can we quit with the nausea? Please?? Pain is one thing, but nausea... that's like my kryptonite.

And antibiotic? I appreciate how you're kicking that infection's butt. I really do. You're doing a great job of it, too. But do you have to make my guts all blurgity-gargley? Do you really have to throw them into such a tizzy? Because, you know, I already have gastrointestinal problems. That's why I'm taking the ranitidine and the senna tablets.

As for you, gabapentin... Are you really doing anything? Because it seems to me that you're just kind of a slacker. You show up, thinking that your cheery yellow shell will fool me into thinking you're working towards my health, but you don't do anything. At least, nothing noticeable. Ever. Why are you even here?

Plaquinil. Or should I say, hydrochloriquine? Regardless, you're the newcomer. We've yet to become acquainted, and you're still somewhat of an enigma to me. I trust that I shall come to either love you or dislike you, for I am rarely indifferent about the meds in my life.

Synthroid, you are the exception. I know you're there, doing your thing, but you've pretty much always been the quiet workhorse. I appreciate that. I know we got off to a bit of a rough start, but you've been there for me for a long time. I see this lasting a lifetime, so I'm glad we get along so well.

And you... whatever your name is... yes, you, the one who replaced hydrocortisol. You, the new steroid. You're VERY new, even more so than Plaquinil, but I'm already wary of you. I've heard horror stories about your family, the Steroids, and let me tell you this-- if you make me fat, or if you bring back the acne that I worked so hard to banish, I will never forgive you. Ever. I'm watching you...

Tramadol. Ahhh, Tramadol. My knight in shining armor, my hero of the realm, the love of my fibro life... You're my favorite. Even though I was depressed when you first showed up, and I still have frequent doubts about our relationship and how dependent I feel upon you (and what will people think?!), I know that I owe a great deal to you, and I am very grateful. You gave me my wedding day. It wouldn't have been possible without you, nor the honeymoon. I remember when we were forced to part ways for a few days-- no contact at all-- due to an error on the pharmacy's end. I was in physical agony, too sick to even get out of bed, or do anything more than try to restlessly sleep through the horrific symptoms. (Apparently, I was also in a bad flare.) I was never so happy to see you again! I feel like we're growing apart, though... You don't work as well as you did at first, and that troubles me. I'd hate to, you know, just kind of get used to you. As much as I love you, I do hope that we part ways for good in the future. The relatively near future. No offense.

Okay, now I feel officially crazy.

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