finally... the blog post I've been meaning to write for the past few months...
It's been about 6 months since that fateful day back in May. 6 months since the day my life was both turned upside down and right side up in the same minute. 6 months since I was both filled with uncertainty and clinging to hope.
I originally decided that if I was ever procrastinating writing a blog post, that I would take that as a sign, and know that it wasn't meant to be.
However my procrastinating and God's pressing at me to sit down and let the words flow weren't quite in agreement with each other.
I've been home from bootcamp for quite some time now.
While I haven't been completely open about the entire experience as of yet, I feel that now would be the appropriate time.
Upon being told I was being forcefully "invited" to attend bootcamp, I was diagnosed with amplified musculoskeletal pain syndrome (AMPS).
While I put a smile on my face after the diagnosis, and while I was able to "be strong" about the whole thing, mostly, it was all for show. It was fake. I knew that the only way to actually enjoy my graduation from high school, was to pretend. So I did. I pretended and then I continued pretending.
I knew before I even left, that bootcamp probably wasn't the program for me. I knew that bootcamp probably wouldn't fix me.
But, I placed all of my trust in God. I decided that I would go in with the proper mindset. If God wanted me to be rid of the monster that had taken over my life, I would be rid of it. If God willed it, it would be done.
I took a chance. I took a shot. I placed all of the hope I could find in a program I didn't have a ton of hope in. Looking back, I've realized that it taught me that it is possible to have hope in any and all situations.
And so I went. I embarked on a new journey that in the back of my mind wasn't going to end well.
I stayed positive and chose to refrain from using the words "I can't".
And I did it. I ran. I jumped. I did squats. I planked. I did burpees. I did more squats. I biked. I worked on my aim. I relearned balance. I ran more.
Cardio became my new best friend. I got to the point where I would watch myself in the wall sized mirrors in awe. Never having seen myself as muscular, the legs I had achieved through hundreds of squats were something that impressed me.
Until I started seeing the bumps appear. It's one thing when you feel shin splints, and its an entire other thing when you can really truly visibly see them.
On that day, I realized that there was a chance I could leave bootcamp in worse shape than when I showed up.
I befriended Alex. I worked out alongside Taylor. I got to know my pt's. I started teasing my ot's.
I started doing ab work outs with Abbie. And by doing them with Abbie, I really mean holding on to her ankles as she pushed my feet/legs into the floor as hard as she could, and then listened to her semi-motivational shouting as I drew the alphabet in the air with my toes.
However, while there were no particularly enjoyable days in therapy, one day does stand out from all of the others.
Typically doing an hour of cardio in pt, meant doing more strength based training in ot. Typically doing burpees in pt, guaranteed that I wouldn't be doing them again until the next day. So many athletes have that moment of complete dread. That moment of fear. That moment where they feel something snap or pop. The moment when you know that something isn't in it's right place.
And somewhere in the middle of doing 80 burpees (YES EIGHTY), I had my moment.
Although because most of the kids in the program get fluke injuries during their time there, I was mostly just ignored.
Strained Tendons, destroyed cartilage? Does it really matter? Do we really know? Did we really actually care about it?
I passed out of my timed activities far faster than I should of. I could accomplish anything they asked me to do. They started struggling to really challenge me.
I fought through my shin splints. I ignored my knee injury. I pushed through it.
One day during my 3rd week, they talked about letting me out early. The following day, I was told I was being released from the program an entire week early. Eventually, my 25 day program became an 18 day program.
I rejoiced. I had successfully broken their program. While I wasn't super pumped to have proven them wrong, I was mostly just ready to get back home.
When I went to bootcamp, I never imagined that it could get worse. I figured I would come home in the same condition I had left in. But in reality, I had hoped to come home ready to play my guitar and start attacking the runs I had begun to miss so much.
I had a few good days in bootcamp. I spent a day hurdling. I spent a few days doing box jumps up onto a box that was almost half my height. I did things I never imagined I would be able to do.
Before embarking on my adventure I had jokingly told one of my friends "well it can't get any worse." And a few months ago when he told me I was a magnet for attracting unfortunate events, I didn't argue.
If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that things can ALWAYS get worse.
Two months ago I went through the absolute worst flare of my life. While I have had small time periods of a more intense form of pain. I have never been in such a high amount of pain for so many days.
So. The truth. The truth I didn't want to admit. The truth I didn't want all the well-meaning people in my life to actually hear.
Bootcamp. Bootcamp was a fail. Bootcamp did nothing to help me physically. Bootcamp made me worse.
"But are you sure that it didn't help at all?"
Mentally? I'm stronger.
Emotionally? I'm more consistent. I'm able to persevere.
Spiritually? I've been able to trust God more than I ever imagined.
But physically. Physically I'm not any better. I'm stronger, but not any better.
My life is being held together by varying shades of KT tape. Many days my knee is only staying in it's proper place because of hinges preventing it from giving out.
I'm going to have to start the process of finding a doctor who will listen all over again. A process that I've honestly pretty much given up on. But still, a process that I know is what needs to happen.
People can tell you that fibromyalgia isn't progressive. People can tell you that it's consistent.
But. It's not. For each and every person, it's different. My young age gave them hope that they could reverse it. My young age meant that I should have grown out of it. My young age should have given me better odds at fighting it.
My young age means that there's a lot of uncertainty. My young age means that I am not taking medication.
Each and every person with fibromyalgia is different. Each case is different. And most importantly each day is different.
My pain tolerance has only grown, and my pain has only gotten worse.
But that's life, and I've really truly honestly accepted it as my own life.
I truly believe that God has a reason. I'm honest and open about it because I know that God didn't place this burden in my life for me to hide behind it. We are called to let our light shine, and while this isn't the most attractive light, it's my light. It's my story. It's me.
There you have it. An answer many of you probably didn't want to hear. Thank you for all of the prayers. They were not in vain. No, God didn't answer them in the way so many of us desired, but I choose to believe that there is a greater purpose for that.
