Ambiguous

Ambiguous: (adjective)

1.Open to more than one interpretation

Being defined as ambiguous is uncomfortable for the control freak in me. If there’s anything I would rather not be, it is ambiguous. I’ve always loved distinctly clear lines. Maybe that explains my passion for staying within the lines of my coloring book drawings and staying between the yard line hash marks on the football field that delineated our marching band’s perimeters. For whatever reason, defined spaces have always given me comfort and peace. I bounced from one wall of my life to another like a game of This Is Your Life (bumper car version). My life made sense. I had mastered reading myself and knowing just how far to push my boundaries.

There were very few “ifs” in my life. If I committed to doing something, you could count on me. If I told you I would be somewhere, I would be there. I was dependable and predictable. To some, this may seem like a life in need of some excitement. To me, it defined my peace. In the midst of what will from now on be called “PFM: PreFibromyalgia-before I had Fibromyalgia”, I was thriving and motivated by my self-perceived control and the sameness of my life. I’m old enough to recognize the Stepford Wife inference here. Anyone else willing to admit that they do as well? Either way, life was good because I felt in control. I could read my body like a romance novel; cover to cover in one sitting.

During November 2016 I became ambiguous. Little did I know that this would be my new normal. Whether others believed my diagnosis to be fact or fictions I knew what I felt and how my life had suddenly changed. I heard myself making tentative commitments, followed by disclaimers and qualifiers. “I plan to be there IF I’m feeling up to it on that day.” “I’ll do my best to be there.” “Do you have a backup just in case I cannot make it?” Being a FM warrior is a recipe for isolation, even when we try our hardest to remain connected. We make plans that we’re so hopeful to keep. We wake on the day immediately assessing our symptoms to decide whether our plans will carry on or be cordially declined. This decision has been known to be made as late as upon arrival to an event. Yes, I’ve pushed myself to get dressed for an event that I then promptly had to decline and leave due to the exhaustion of the previously mentioned preparation. People see the put together look, never imagining the work and often pain behind it. They can’t understand why we excuse ourselves from crowds, seem to zone out in especially noisy environments or even why we leave events early. Only a person with a chronic illness can appreciate the many thoughts racing in our heads. While others make small talk, we’re negotiating with our bodies for just a few minutes respite from these very concerns.

So, ambiguity, I begrudgingly accept you, but I do not welcome you. You keep me guessing as to how each day, and sometimes each hour may go. You stir up feelings of guilt and disappointment. You foster frustration and sadness for the life that I once had. The life that I visibly appear to still have. You plant concern, questions, and confusion in the hearts and minds of my friends and family. They try to understand and believe me, as they stand on the outside of my life staring as into a storefront window that is a huge vending machine that doesn’t work properly. It’s a whole different world inside the Ambiguous Store Machine. They put their money (love and support) in and push the button of my life. They never know what they’ll get in return. Some days are Snickers bar days. Others are more like the petrified gummy bears that have been in slot C3 all year; hard, flavorless and non-refundable.

We all deal with changes and surprises in life. How we deal with them determines what we gain from the experiences. I know, without a doubt that my faith in God gets me through all of the changes in my life. He knows what I can handle. He knows what lessons I need to learn. He knows me, inside and out. He didn’t allow Fibromyalgia to change my life for no reason. My hope and trust is in Him. He hands me ambiguity. I give Him more trust. He throws a curve ball. I adjust my swing. On days that I strike out, I know I can still trust Him to walk with me to the dugout and coach me up for my next at bat.

I am not a fan of ambiguity and probably never will be honestly. It has, however, taught me many lessons about myself and other people. My compassion, empathy and understanding have grown exponentially. We never know what people are going through. I’ve learned to show them more grace, than PFM. There’s always someone in a worse situation than you or me.

Everything about ambiguity is a question. I prefer to own it by restating it as my own question: “Whatcha got for me today Fibro? Bring it on! I’m ready for ya!”