There it was. The frustrating response that my sisters, my mother, my aunts and my mother's mother before them had received time and time again; the one simple statement that took years of endless pain and transformed it into nothing but an illusion. It was only then that I truly understood what it meant to live life with fibromyalgia.
Had I not been cautioned by those who preceded me in hearing this diagnosis, I would have been much more outraged. Despite the warning, I still found that it hurt to actually hear someone cleanly dismiss the entire disorder like that. Not because I felt irritated (though I did), but because it meant little hope for a pain-free future. If medical professionals refuse to recognize the reality of fibromyalgia, there is little chance of a true treatment ever being explored, let alone found.
The family inheritance I'd rather forego
As children, my sisters and I would sit and listen to these stories from grandmother, mother, and aunts. We were a captive audience to the tale of a seemingly far away journey. But soon, my sisters received their diagnoses and began to chime in, offering their own management tips. It wasn't until college that my symptoms really picked up, finally allowing me into the club. I quickly realized that this was one conversation I would have gladly sat out on.