Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself, Its infinite realms contain Its past, enlightened to perceive New periods of pain. To learn the transport by the pain, As blind men learn the sun; To die of thirst, suspecting That brooks in meadows run... Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain, More fair, because impossible That any gain... If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in

I lived in Venice for a number of years. The canals regularly overflow, and submerge the city, the pavements, the shops, the ground floor of the houses. During the flooding, one cannot walk around, cannot go to work (or with extreme difficulty) or do anything meaningful at all. You just stay put and wait. Tourists find it annoying or even quaint and amusing. Venetians find it... a matter-of course. It's just part of what insurances term Acts of God. Nothing you can do or say will change the

From the book " Hypermobility, Fibromyalgia and Chronic Pain" "Pain is an intimate companion, it curls deeply and silently, familiar yet unwelcome. Pain sometimes whispers, calling one away from family and friends, but often shouts, blocking out all else that was once important. Like a spoiled child, it will not be ignored, drawing you in, you turn away all else, until it alone has your attention." That's a good description of pain for you. But what about suffering?  How do they differ? Ag

Sometimes, very few times, maybe one day in a thousand in my fibromyalgic life, I wake up with just enough energy to live. Out of frustration, out of boredom, an ancestral voice calls me to action. So, yesterday I decided that, at least for that day, I wanted to live. I wanted to get out of bed, and do some work, feel my muscles flexing again, feel the sweat on my brows, feel my body aching for something that isn't just pain. I wanted to live an average, normal, active, productive, useful da

My quarterly check-up with the rheumathologist. Usual questions, same answers. I can sense the embarrassment of the doctor; he has run out of ammunition. <We have tried this...uhm... have you tried that by any chance?...yes doctor, no joy. Ah, well, and what about...? Yes I have tried it doctor, it didn't work> I come out of the surgery with a new list of pain-killers to be tried; my liver is writhing in painful expectation. This trial and error exercise is testing my nerves; they just don

At times we, fibromyalgics, feels as we are left alone, that nobody really cares, or listens, or understands. Maybe it is peculiar to all those who suffer from any chronic disease, but maybe we feel it more intensely, for the simple reason that we do not have a blood test result, or a bandaged arm, or a shadow on an  X-ray to show how bad we really are. So I wrote this little poem to express how I feel about it. What about us?What about us? who have no more names for our pains 'stinging ne

Life, Zoè for the Greeks, is a formidable force. It seems empowered by a higher being, not of this world. Life is resilient, and can outlive its purpose; it just stubbornly refuses to let go. A flower hiding in the crevices of a rock, a fish in a murky pond, a fox scavenging in a city centre. If life is menaced, it doesn't fight the enemy, but retreats to a more manageable position and hides in wait. When fibromyalgia hits you, it starts gnawing your living energy, your stamina, your will.

Experts tell us that women are more likely to be affected by fibromyalgia with a ratio of 5:1. This fact explains the many articles on fibromyalgia written by and for women. Fact is that among my acquaintances, I know many men with the fibro, some have it in a very serious way and I am a part of this unhappy lot. In fact, it seems to me that when men are affected, their fibromyalgia cases are more pervasive and more difficult to cure. Why is it so? First: delayed diagnosis. Men tend to pro

LA ILUSIÓN DE LA REALIDAD  Chronic city, Jonathan Lethem, 2009 (Mondadori, 2011) Acabo de leer Chronic city de Jonathan Lethem y todavía estoy conmocionada. Lethem desparrama por las páginas de esta obra una prosa densa, exuberante, plagada de metáforasmelancólicas que cuajan en el entorno distópico de un Manhattan apocalítico, para plantear y cuestionar a través de sus personajes toda la incertidumbre, los excesos, el escepticismo y la desorientación cultural del hombre contemporáneo. Se tr