What happened?

A Day in the Life With FMF: When the Sun Turns on You

It started out like one of those rare, perfect days. The kind that makes you forget you live with a chronic illness. The sky was clear, the warmth of the sun felt like a hug, and I was surrounded by my boys and my husband, just enjoying the afternoon by the pool. The water was refreshing, the laughter was easy, and for a few hours, life felt beautifully normal.

Afterwards, I took a long, soothing shower and started making dinner, still feeling content—until it began. A whisper in my body, almost like a warning. A slight ache here, a twinge of discomfort there. I brushed it off at first, hoping it was nothing. But a few hours later, that familiar, creeping feeling took hold.

My head started to pound. My body ached in a way that felt too deep to be fixed with rest. I checked my temperature—99.5°F. Not high, but I knew what was coming. FMF doesn’t tap politely on your shoulder; it barrels through you like a freight train.

By nightfall, the fever had climbed to 102°F. The aches had turned sharp. I reached for the Advil—again—knowing it might not do much. I’ve taken it more times than I can count, trying to soften the blow of a flare. But when the fever comes on with fire, like it did that night, nothing really touches it.

The sun—the same sun that made me feel alive and happy just hours earlier—was likely the trigger. For some of us with FMF, too much heat or exposure can set off a flare. That’s what’s so hard about this condition: you can feel fine, even wonderful, and then within hours, your body turns against you.

This is what it’s like to live with familial Mediterranean fever. Plans are always tentative. Even your best days can end in pain. And the worst part? People don’t always understand.

When someone looks at me—again—and says, “Are you sick again? You should see a doctor,” I want to scream. Not because I’m angry at them (okay, maybe a little), but because I’ve seen doctors. I’ve lived in doctor’s offices. This isn’t just a cold or the flu. This is my life, my body’s rhythm, unpredictable and exhausting. And no, I don’t need to be reminded to take care of myself—I’m doing that every day, just by pushing through.

I have so many stories like this one. Days that start beautifully and end in fever, pain, and frustration. But I tell them not for pity—I tell them so others know they’re not alone. So maybe the next time someone hears “I have FMF,” they’ll understand that it’s more than just a fever. It’s a fight we never signed up for, but one we face with strength, even when we feel anything but strong.