Of course, renovations are stressful. Not only is there a lot of money on the line, but there are so many decisions and a great deal of varying levels of skilled labor to deal with. Then, there’s the time demands, the loss of any semblance of a routine, and (in this case) the loss of a bedroom and closet access. It’s enough to tax even the most patient, together, organized person who has plans and subplans and time up the wazoo. However, despite the fact that I am extremely patient when dealing with the disabled (or merely stupid) and I have everything so organized it’s gone ridiculously smoothly even when we’ve hit bumps in the road, I also have fibromyalgia.

FM’s something I’m not good at advocating about; I am more likely to just try to tough things out whenever possible, especially when the only other option is verbally laying into someone repeatedly. Unfortunately, my husband avoids confrontation whenever possible, sees the renovation as My Project and therefore something he just puts up with, does not always see how my FM is being inflamed by what is happening, and has not always been of the “here, let me say or do something so you are as un- uncomfortable as possible” frame of mind. He’s more of the tough-it-out, you-brought-this-on-yourself, if-you-need-to-embarrass-me-by-using-a-cane-you-shouldn’t-go-out mentality. And I can’t have my mommy call his mommy. In fact, I didn’t have the subcontractor’s (I’m sorry, “project manager”) cell number until Wednesday, when he called me at 9:45 to say he was running a little late and would be here by 10:30-11, which wound up being 11:45.

But tonight, as he went home yet again saying “all I have left is…” (which was what he said Tuesday morning, claiming he’d be done by the end of the day), I just lost it and took my carefully organized box of “last details” to innumerate them all with him and made it clear that I expected him to be here during the day. That was as harsh as I got. He left. I’ll see him bright and early (”earlier than the usual time”… so, maybe not long after 9?) tomorrow and make it clear that he needs to physically stay here until the job’s complete because I need to be able to have plenty of time to clean the bedroom while it’s still light out. I’ve also sent an email to his boss to let him know that that’s the expectation.

The issue is really how the stress interacts with my fibromyalgia. I am hypervigilant during the hours they are expected to arrive/return as well as during the time they are here. I wake at 8 and rush to get dressed and ready. I’m lucky if they’re here by 9:30. They often leave for supplies, men, etc. (a lot of etcetera), as well as meals. But after 4 they work until somewhere between 6 and 11pm, with only 1 or 2 trips out. However, that gives me 12 hours of vigilance (unless I collapse into a brief nap that usually just leaves me feeling nauseous). Add to that the fact that I’m not in my own bed and there are no quiet corners to hide in, and I might as well be working for all the pain I’m in. Plus, I don’t feel comfortable leaving the house except for an emergency (out of a vital Rx or a very necessary doctor’s appt) and as we get closer to the end, they need immediate input (and reminders that what he named isn’t close to all that needs to be done, even if it all fits into a small box) often enough that I’m kept on my toes. Also, as the subcontractor/PM said that he’s not coming back once he’s done unless there’s a case of gross negligence, I check up on the project often enough that I caught the mistake of the backwards shower door (so the special water-beads-up coating was on the outside of the shower) today.

If my husband could have played the bad guy or even just hadn’t had a tough-it-out/we-knew-what-we-were-getting-into approach, I might have said something to minimize the effect this is all having on my body. But, then again, I could have mentioned that the longer days (a direct result of their less-than-determined daytime work) was having a negative impact on my pain index, or even that having the distraction of his calm company playing a game or going out for an hour would help, especially given how little I saw him this weekend… But, instead, couple’s therapy Monday night and the Sabres’ playoff game Wednesday night each magnified my stress and pain exponentially, and Peter’s refusal to commiserate with me or even listen to me bitch has really driven me crazy. But, again, I could have said something. Even exploding about it is better for me than holding it in.

But then, even 13.5 years later, I’m still the girl who went down below 95lbs and up to a near-toxic level of medication because I wouldn’t let my weakness discommode anyone by complaining about the lack of effects or the overabundance of side-effects (such as panic attacks, school phobia, and a marked increase in my depression and suicidal thoughts). I just said that yes, I do want to get better and will do my best to try to tolerate a higher dosage.

Tomorrow morning, though, I have a facial I’d rescheduled from Wednesday evening that I refuse to cancel (even if it makes my face look worse, I should heal in a week’s time), and Saturday is my body-glow-and-wrap. These should be relaxing, moisturizing, slough off dead skin, and include at least some scalp massage. And, once we’ve left for Cali, I can relax during the day on Thursday and Friday of our vacation next week (family stress starting Friday night, despite my awareness that it is all in my own head, will negate the relaxation factor of any breaks I take the remainder of the time).

Ahhhhhhhh… I feel better now that I’ve gotten this all down/out. I know I can’t control people and I really don’t want to be a bitch or OCD, but I also have feelings I need to get out and if I dump them on Peter, he feels responsible in some way or somehow I’m not doing the mature adult thing of sucking it up and dealing with the consequences of my choice to renovate the bathroom. Maybe now, I’ll be able to fall asleep

By the way, the bathroom does look gorgeous and luxurious, despite its tiny size.