A day of fibro fog

Some days can only be explained by fibro fog.

I woke up at 4:45 am with the surreal alertness that often accompanies a cluster headache attack. Surveying my head for any signs of the beast, I chalked it up to the fact that Botox was wearing off. I breathed a sigh of relief that my next round of injections was scheduled for later that morning and got dressed for the day.

At 6:45 I prepared to drive my husband to the bus stop so I could use our SUV to drive to my Botox appointment in a few hours. I got behind the wheel, but my brain would not engage. I was making silly mistakes. The problem was so obvious, my husband expressed concern about my ability to safely navigate the short trip home. I assured him that my problem was in trying to engage in conversation and drive at the same time. While that was true, it normally isn’t that much of a problem.

I started feeling sleepy just moments after I walked in the door. Knowing the risk of being late for my appointment, I set an alarm on my phone, then took the time to prepare myself for the visit. Sure enough, I dozed off. If I hadn’t the foresight to set an alarm, I might have missed the appointment.  As I left the house, I noticed that my head still felt achy, like it does just before a cluster headache attack takes off. Once again grateful for the appointment, I relaxed comfortably in the knowledge that soon 31 injections of onabotulism toxin A would paralyze the muscles in my forehead, neck, and shoulders, blocking cluster heachaches and all but a handful of migraine attacks. In moments I would be protected for another 12 weeks.

I returned home, ate some lunch, and tried to finish off a few blog posts. My concentration felt out of focus. Before long my head began to ache in earnest. It was a garden-variety tension headache, which was surprising in its normalcy. I rarely get them. By 1:30 I knew I need to take a nap before meeting my husband at the bus stop after work.

I rested until 4:15, then prepared to make the short trip a second time for the day. This is when the fibro fog really set in. I gathered what I thought was everything I would need and made my way downstairs to the front door. Foraging through my purse, I could not find my keys. Wandering up and down the stairs, I kept walking away from things I needed. There was one trip for keys, another for my cane, plus multiple trips for reasons known only to my subconscious. I would walk into a room, have no idea why I was there, turn around to leave, only to return moments later remembering the reason for my first visit.

It took me 25 minutes to leave the house for a 5 minute trip to the bus stop. It’s not like I needed to pack for a week-long trip. I wasn’t even going shopping! I needed keys, my driver’s license, sunglasses, and my cane.

Now that’s some serious fibro fog.