I’ve been on my Lyrica for quite a few months now with pretty good results. So I was hopeful. I was hopeful that we had a dose right off the bat that was going to work. I was hopeful that my days of sobbing and crying wishing for death because of a fibro flare were behind me. I was hopeful that maybe when I saw Dr. T later this month he would give me the OK to begin physical therapy, something he won’t permit me to do until we have my pain under control for a while with medications. My hopes have been dashed.

For the past few weeks now I’ve been having a few minor flares here and there. Nothing major by any stretch of the imagination. Certainly nothing I needed extra medications to manage. I just needed to take things a little slower on those days. No big deal. Then there was this past week. I have felt as if I’ve been run over by a train of teamsters, beaten to a pulp by the best boxers known to mankind, set a flame and left a flame for no other reason than to watch me burn and finally my very badly abused and battered shell is taken and repeatedly crammed into a a very small space (like a coffee mug, or a play dough container, ice cream container etc).

I’ve been taking my medications but I don’t think it’s helping at this point. I think the ever colder temperatures and the added stress of Mr. Emmett John’s hearing tests and possible hearing loss is just shoving me over the edge; past a point where the Lyrica at my current dose can help me.

Hopefully, Dr. T’s office will call me back from the message I left yesterday and let me know what they think and want to try. Because I can’t take many more days of collapsing onto the floor in tears and sobs while I ugly cry because I’m in so much pain.

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