Note: This piece was originally written in 2006. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few months after writing it.
I am grinding my teeth.
I know instinctively that I shouldn’t; it makes my jaw hurt and can often lead to a loathsome headache, but right now I have no other outlet.
I sit hunched over in an uncomfortable plastic chair. I’m dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt that could use a washing, scanning the room like a hungry, angry buzzard on the lookout for a freshly dead creature upon which to feast. I am just that grizzled, as I have been for the three months I’ve been waiting for this appointment.
I started experiencing overwhelming fatigue and joint pain five months prior out of nowhere, and when I reached two months of feeling like I’d been hit by an SUV from the time I woke up in the morning until I went to bed every night, I went to my GP and asked if she could figure out what was wrong. Since a 20-year old presenting with unexplained pain and fatigue was out of her wheelhouse clinically, I was referred to a neurologist. Of course, he had a three-month waiting list.