As we all know there are many symptoms to FMS, one of the lovely little extras I have is called Syncope or in regular English - passing out. Apparently my body will only take so much and then it shuts down. Well, I have passed out with the best of them, at dinner, outside, in front of my 75 year old mother in-law ( I was almost responsible for her death due to shock! HA HA) But I think the prize episode was when I had been in rough shape for about three months. My girlfriend picked me up to take me to the doctors as the Neurologist didn't think I should be driving until they could get a grip on my consciousness (prudent idea!). As we arrived home I was pretty well done in, all I had to do was make the house. Well I didn't. You must first picture that it's winter and the snow banks on either side of my driveway were about 4 feet high. I stood up, closed the door and preceded into la-la-land. I fell back into the hard snow bank and slid like a toboggan down the bank and right under the car, only to be stopped from disappearing by my rather large boobs! My girlfriend nearly has a fit. She went running to my door banging for my son to come out. Of course she is in quite an excited stated trying to tell him that I am under the car. He was listening to tunes with his girlfriend, and was not comprehending, so out they all run to look under the car. Here I am skirt up over my head entirely under the car except for head, shoulders and part boobs,(nothing embarrassing happens when you are alone). What a dilemma! They can't move the car as I am between the front and back wheels. They can't slid me out gently because my boobs are wedged. Thank goodness I was out like a light. Finally my son, (17 years old, 6'3" tall, With 19" biceps and a 50" chest) decides the only option left is to try to get between me and the snow bank get under my arms and reef! Well it worked, now here I am over my sons shoulder as he steps back and my girlfriend yells DON"T MOVE your standing on her pills! She can't get between him and the snow bank to get the pills and he has his hands rather full. She gets down on all fours and wiggles her way through the snow and finally reaches the pills. With pills and mother in hand, they took me in and put me to bed and have never let me forget it since.

When I was 13 I was sent for yet another lower and upper G.I. due to the ongoing "mystery" problems I had been having for several years. These tests were of course due to irratable bowel problems I had been having and this certainly wasn't the first time I had been given these tests. I went in my room to prepare for my pink rump injection. The doctor hurried in wearing pink and orange checkered golf pants and a lovely purple sweater, (sort of an Ed McMahon of the early 70's). He was in a hurry to hit the links and just his luck had a new nurse helping him who admitted this was her first time assisting in this sort of test. She proceeded to give me the enema when there was a "slip-up" and the pink barium shot mostly on the table, floor, and most of my leg. He began to yell and scream at her calling her a Bi**ch and other foul remarks. He said that if she screwed up again or got any barium on his outfit he would make sure she would never work again. In the meantime I wasn't all to thrilled with his rush attitude or the continual pokes she kept giving me. Finally all went as planned and he flopped me around in a hurried rush trying to get the x-rays completed. Obviously I wasn't doing what he wanted and he proceeded to give me the same verbal treatment the poor young nurse was recieving. Needless to say I was red in the face for more reasons then one. He rushed out to call his buddies at the course to tell them to hold up on the tee time, because he was dealing with two "blankedy blanks" in the office. He really shouldn't have done this in earshot of me. He returned and man-handled me around with my full abdomen for one final x-ray. He yelled at the nurse to clean the **%!! mess up and tell me how to get rid of my barium. Since I was on my side and he was directly behind me I decided to let him have it. He no longer had plaid pants, but his pants matched much better with the sweater he was wearing. The nurse and myself had a hearty laugh at the good doctors expense. I just hope he got to the cleaners before that stuff hardened! Maybe after that he was a little more considerate to his patients and staff, but I doubt it.

I have always been able to speak fluent Fibromyalgian. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for my English. My English vocabulary is liberally laced with such Fibromyalgian words as "thingie," "whatzit," "diddlybob," and "um" (the latter repeated several times rapidly in succession, accompanied by vigorous hand movements, until the party to whom I am speaking either gets what I am saying or gives up in disgust). Anyway, a while back, I was talking with my husband, and our two grown daughters were there, too. I had forgotten most of my English and was speaking mainly in Fibro with some pidgin English thrown in. My husband without batting an eye responds back in perfect English (I forget what we were talking about). Our daughters were incredulous and asked their father, "How did you understand what Mom was saying?" My husband replied,"Well, it's easier for me to learn her language than it is to make her speak mine." Is my husband an angel, or what??!!

Well Fibro Fog has attacked me in many peculiar situations but the last time was as recent as last weekend. It was the night of my son's Junior Senior Prom. Early in the evening the school hosts a pre-prom extravaganza for the parents. At this time all prom goers and their dates are dramatically presented to their parents. It is always a very elegant and elaborate event. At the conclusion many parents meet up with their son or daughter to take pictures before they are off to the "main event", the prom. As I approached my son he was in the midst of a group of his friends and parents were taking pictures of just "the guys". My cracker jack vision spotted my son's date (now pay attention this is the key to my story) standing at the side of the group observing the male bonding ritual. I yelled across the hall to my son, "Come on over so I can get a picture of you and Erin." At that the girl says, "Oh don't call him over here, he hates me." What do you mean he hates you, I think to myself. This will never do. So I prod him some more. Meanwhile she is shushing me and telling me that my cute loveable son hates her. Finally he strolls over, they stand next to each other, and I take their picture. But deep down I am angry at my son for treating his date in this manner. I follow him down the hall and alas I catch up to him just in time to see him crawl into a limo with his date on his arm. The lightbulb goes on. Erin wasn't his date, just a familiar face I had seen somewhere before. His date, and the girl he had been seeing for six months, was Heather. Talk about egg on my face. I'm not sure I can ever face Heather again.

I got sick shortly after moving to a new town. I was kind of depressed and lonely so my husband says, "Why don't you join the Welcome Wagon Club?" Well this sounded like a good idea to me. I started attending the meetings and decided which interest groups I wanted to join. I love to cook and decided that the gourmet club would be just up my alley. This is a couples event and was usually held on a Sat. night. The first one rolled around and that months hostess calls me and tells me her theme and asks me what I wanted to bring. (I think I said appetizer, but it might have been dessert.) We talked a while and discovered some common interests and she told me about the group. I thought it sounded great and was very excited. I went to the library to find cookbooks that had recipes of the theme. (can't remember that either) I checked out the books and took them home and poured over them with a determined diligence. I wanted to find just the right food to take, one that would initiate us into the group with acceptance. I finally found just the right recipes. The night of the big event finally arrived. Shortly after 8:00 the phone rings. It is the hostess. We begin to chat until finally she says, "We're all wondering where you are. You were supposed to be here an hour ago." Now this is truly how I answered, "Be where for what?" I honestly didn't have a clue. I'm vegging out in my pajamas and robe, a total mess, no food prepared, and just watching television. Once I finally realize where I was supposed to be I had to offer my apologies and explain that I had forgotten and was sorry but there was no way we could make it. Well I wanted to make a first impression, I guess we did but it sure wasn't the kind of impression I intended to make.

When my daughter was about three years old, I brought her to gymnastics once a week. After gymnastics, we parents would find our kids, get their shoes on, etc. Well, one day in very crowded and noisy side room at the gym, I had found my little girl and I was carrying her, when, in a loud voice, I asked the entire room of parents: "has anyone seen Lauren?" Everyone just stared at me as if I had lost my mind! One woman said, "um, she's in your arms?" I felt like a complete an utter idiot. How can a mother FORGET that she is holding her child? Classic fibro fog!

Sometimes Fibro Fog sets in like a heavy fog over a lake--it happened to me. One morning I needed gas on my way to work. I stopped, got out of the car, and lo and behold I could not remember how to pump gas. Standing there like an idiot, I read all the directions (which didn't match the actual process), went inside and said it wouldn't work. The attendant said I just needed to lift the handle. Boy, I was embarrassed.

Arrived at work and sitting there in my car I have had for 10 years I couldn't remember how to open the door. Thank goodness I was alone. Finally got inside. Decided I needed some water, went in the direction of the ice machine, stopped at a pay phone and tried to get ice. What a day. I stayed very low key the rest of day in hopes that no one would notice my strange behavior. Ahh, the life of a Fibro--everyday is a new day!!!

At this time I had been diagnosed with FM for three years. I had made it to the state championships for tennis in high school. I was on the usual medicine cocktails many of us are on, but still managed to fight through for one last chance at calling my athletic career quits. We took a charter bus, not a school bus, to Michigan State University for the finals. I was the only representative from my school and the only person I knew on the charter was my coach. I happened to be in a horrible "fog" that day, but managed to place third in the state. My coach told me to meet him at the awards stand to get my trophy and have my picture taken for the local paper. I got lost and never made it to get my trophy, but managed to find my way to the bus. I was pooped and hurting. I was the first on the bus and fell immediately to sleep. I woke up to the sound of the bus driver on the P.A.. Thank God I was home and could go directly to bed. I got off the bus and waited for My coach. I looked around and things weren't to familiar. I got on the wrong bus. Instead of being home I was 5 hours away in Grand Rapids. I walked to a motel hoping I could get a room and call my parents to come and get me. I couldn't get a room since I wasn't 18. I called my parents and waited 5 hours in the lobby until my Father arrived. "What the hell are you doing here?", he said. I just smiled and said, "I got third place!". The write-up in the paper made it sound like I was the silent hero who just left on my own without getting my due. I felt like such an ass. I quit my athletic career along with some medicine I was taking. Ten years later I still have to lie to everyone about what happened. I still get the "look" from them.

One day my husband and I were going to WalMart and there was quite a bit of traffic. The car in front of us pulled into the left turn lane almost cutting the car in front of them off. When the first car pulled over, the car in front of us honked their horn. I said to my husband, "Can you believe that car barked?" Needless to say we both burst out laughing at what came out of my mouth.

Another time, my daughter and I were going shopping one day, we were trying to get ready to go and after I got dressed I got side-tracked in the kitchen while she was getting her children ready. All I had left was to put my socks and shoes on which wouldn't take very long. I finished in the kitchen about the same time she was ready to go. I went to my chair where I keep my shoes and couldn't find my socks. I went in the dining room and the kitchen. Couldn't find them. I knew I brought them up from my bedroom. Where in the world had I put them? I had searched for a good ten minutes when my daughter asked me what I was looking for. "My socks", I told her. She burst out laughing and was pointing at me. "What are you laughing about?" I asked her, turning around to look in the dining room. She couldn't stop laughing. As I turned to look again, I spotted something white on my shoulder, lo and behold, I had put my socks on my shoulder coming out of the bedroom so I wouldn't lay them down somewhere and forget where!

This isn't an fm story, but it is a hoot!

We have new neighbors who recently arrived from Scotland. The other day Rudy appoached another neighbor and asked who would be dumping large buckets of dirt all over their new yard, and why?! When Gary went with Rudy to investigate, it turned out he has "moles"! Rudy had never heard of a mole before. Welcome to Seattle!

I have a habit of when I'm in a hurry with my kitchen clean-up, if I can't get it all done in time before company comes, I stick a dirty pan or pot in the oven to hide it for clean-up later. The other day I thought I smelled a dead mouse, even though we never have mice in our house. I had to find that mouse. My husband and I moved the refrigerator, the stove, and anything else that wasn't attached. No mouse. Imagine my horror when I went to us a seldom-used baking pan and lifted off the lid, to find a couple bleached bones with about an inch or two of black fuzz growing around them. I vaguely remembered putting that pan there because I was expecting company in a few minutes and hadn't had time to clean it yet. I guess that's one clean-up trick I'll have to give up because of fibrofog. It just doesn't work for me anymore.

Preparing for company always throws me into a tizzy. Even though I try to stay calm and list my priorities and plan well, last minute things have a way of catching up with me. Last December, about two weeks before Christmas Day, I was getting ready for my family to come for Christmas dinner, about eighteen people. My husband came home from Christmas shopping and laid out his purchases for me to see: a shirt for our son, a beautiful red and black sweater jacket for his mother, and a speaker for our daughter's car radio. When the items were still on the table a couple of hours later, I reminded hubby to move them so I could set the table for our dinner. A couple of days before Christmas, my husband asks, "Where is Janelle's Christmas gift, the radio speaker for her car?" "Probably where you put it, dear, " I replied smuggly. He's always blaming me for misplacing things and then finding them exactly where he put them. I hadn't a clue where the speaker had gotten off to. "Are you sure you didn't wrap it and put it under the tree without a name tag?" I asked. We seldom name our gifts to keep everyone curious and guessing, depending later on our ability to recognize which gift belongs to who by the wrapping paper. "I didn't wrap it," he declared. "Now tell me where you hid it!" "Honey, I have no idea where it is. I'm sure I didn't do anything with it." And I was sure too. To make a long story short, we didn't find the gift by Christmas Eve. Hubby had to go out and buy a replacement gift, but told Janelle that somewhere in the house there was a speaker for her car radio. Imagine my chagrin a couple of weeks later when, cleaning out a cabinet drawer in our office near our dining area, I found the gift. It was right where I had stuck it in the back of the drawer to get it out of my way so I could set the table of our dinner guests that evening in December.Guess who was smug after that, and who-all won't let you-know-who forget this one.

I was talking to my daughter on the phone one day and was doing some picking up at the same time. I noticed that the portable phone was not on its base, and not wanting the battery to run down I began to look for it everywhere. Well, I finally found it...at my ear. It didn't even occur to me that I must be using the portable phone cause I could wander around everywhere.

I always knew that FMS turned me into a bubble head but one day about 2 years ago I set out to prove it. I had a full dishwasher and needed to run it. I keep both my dishwasher soap and my dishwashing soap under the kitchen sink. I reached down and picked up the dishwashing soap (I always use Dawn) and filled the dishwasher cup full. Put the soap away, started the dishwasher, and went to lie down. Well you can guess what happened. A dishwasher soap dispenser holds a lot of soap and I had filled it to the top. My daughter comes home from school and notices soap bubbles oozing out of the dishwasher. She runs in and awakens me and tries to explain. It just wasn't registering what she was talking about. Finally in desperation she ran back to the kitchen and opens the door of the dishwasher to stop it. I kind of stumble to the kitchen and realize what she was trying to tell me. She's running for towels, I'm running for a mop, and this in turn excites the dog. He starts running after us chasing us (we have a ceramic tile floor and it's very slippery when wet) the poor dog starts sliding and can't get stopped. He slides into the wall and goes "kerplop" He doesn't even try to get up, he just lays there apparently deciding it wasn't safe to get involved in our keystone cops adventure. Anyway we got it cleaned up and when my husband came home he said it was reaally lucky that the dishwasher wasn't broken. I try to avoid those types of occurances but I still put the cereal in the refrigerator and other crazy things.

Today I was in the supermarket doing the (dreaded) weekly food shopping. When I got to the checkout line, the "bagger" who was an elderly gentlemen asked me "paper or plastic?. I drew a blank, couldn't remember which was which, and pointed to the brown paper bags. He said "that's called paper". I immediately turned a lovely shade of red and just smiled at him. (How embarrassing !!!!)

One day last summer, during a heat wave, our local supermarket held a sale on frozen turkey breasts. I thought it would be a good idea to buy some to save for cooler weather. I bought two 10lb. frozen turkey breasts and felt very proud of myself. The next afternoon, a light bulb went on in my foggy brain. I ran out to the garage and opened the trunk of my car. You guessed it. I had completely forgotten that I had put the two turkeys in the trunk! They were completely thawed, but luckily, still somewhat cold. I spent the rest of the cooking turkey instead of trying to cool off. We had friends and family over for dinner and they were surprised at the menu. I had to explain to them that I bought two turkeys and I was the third!!

One time I bought a lottery ticket while going through the checkout at the supermarket. I scratched it off while the boy sacked up my groceries. I won $70! I had to go to the manager's office and fill out some papers to get my money. I was so excited, I couldn't wait to give my husband the good news. I drove into the garage and he came out to help carry in the bags. I said, "I won $70!" He looked in the back of the car and said, "Where are the groceries?" I got this very dumb look on my face, and replied, "I guess they're still in the cart, parked outside the manager's office at the store." I had to call the store and tell them what I did. They had discovered the cart, and put it in the cooler to hold for me. I drove the 25 miles back to the store, and when I walked in, the checker called out to everyone, "There's the lady who forgot her groceries!" I felt like the punchline of a joke. Everyone got a big kick out of the lady who was so excited about winning that she forgot her groceries.

I don't THINK this is a fibro funny...but it IS funny...

People, always think twice before making statements in front of young children. They may take everything you say and think it CAN BE DONE. When I was but a tiny little being, I was watching my second oldest brother sleeping. He is about 4 years older than I. I must have been under 5 years of age. He laid there so peacefully. I watched. I wondered. I thought------- IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER. I tried it. You ask what did I try. Well, I will tell you. I proceded to take a peice of very tiny wire and insert it into his ear---I wanted to see it come out the other ear, IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER. Thankfully, he woke up and prevented me from making him hearing impaired, which I am very gratefull for. I wouldn't want that responsibility. To THIS DAY the family of brothers say "HEY, REMEMBER WHEN OUR LITTLE SISTER BELIEVED YOU COULD GO IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER".

There are times when going to the bank, can be painful in more than one way. I had waited in line, quite patiently I had thought. When I finally arrived at the teller, I chatted a bit. After my business was concluded, I had a stab of pain that told me plain and simple, "this muscle is under seige, double or drop"! I folded. With my head now resting on the teller's ledge and my hand held over my ribs, I was momentarily frozen in time. If I moved, I would drop to the floor. The teller, in quick response said, "I've had spasms before too. Just rest your head there for a moment, keep talking and pretend you are looking for something." She stayed there, in spite of the lineup and we had a further "nice" chat. "Tip of the Hat" to the Battlefords Credit Union.

  The Wall