Introduction to Spoon Theory
So Xanga decides that it's essentially dying and it's time to go over to the Dark Side and become a pay-only blogging service. Wonderful. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. So that's why we're here.
If you're not conversant in Spoon Theory, now is the time to learn. Oma introduced me to it several months back, but whatever mood I was in at the time, I didn't read it. Now that I have? It makes a lot of sense.
One of the fibromyalgia groups on Facebook is holding an awareness campaign where we post pictures of us holding spoons. This afternoon, I got some spoons together and labeled them with tape flags, but since Dad wasn't home and we only had packaging tape, I had to lay them out on paper towel so that you can read them.
My pop calls this nasty little beastie "FORA" (Fibromyalgia, Osteo/Rheumatoid arthritis). FORA is pretty wicked. Even when he's having a good day, he still has to deal with arthritis. And that's not fun. So Dad gets three spoons: one for each of his major issues.
This was shared from another fibro site. Stacy, a mod for the page I follow, said that most days, she's 20-30. Oh. My. Goddess. I tell you what…I just wanted to huggle and snuggle her right up! The poor gal!
I like this chart, even though it's kind of off-kilter for my dad. He rests twice a day because he gets tired easily, but he no longer works full time because he's retired. So it sounds like he's bad, that he's in the 50 range; but to me, he has his own 80-90 scale. To me, my dad's 90 is, "I'm feeling good. I can pull up to eight hours at the funeral home, but I'll suffer the next day because I have fibro, for frack's sake!"
I decided to participate in spoon theory too.
Here's a close-up, since you can't read the flag against my shirt:
I chose a spatula, since depression is an issue of the mind and emotions, rather than the body.
Plus, there's the fact that I couldn't find the wooden spoon I was after, so I chose the spatula I always bake with. ^_^
Before I went on medication, I, too, had my own spoons. One significant example I can think of is when I dropped out of processing for the Army in 2005…I was so miserable that I only had enough spoons to get up, go through my daily routine and then crash on my bed. I didn't want to go to work that day; I just stayed on my bed and cried.
The change I went through after I started meds is a story for another time, after I move in all my archived posts. But it was such a big difference that I went from walking around with plastic spoons to actual silverware…and I didn't know what I was missing before then.