It seems as though whenever the barometric pressure hits a certain number, my body is programmed to become inflamed from head to toe.
For those of you unfamiliar with RA, that means the little Pac Man inside me multiplies by a factor of 10,000 and begins eating whatever is in sight. Joints swell and ache, sleep is a distant memory, and I keep looking for a rock big enough to dive under and hibernate until it passes.
It isn't what I'd call a good time.
Today is the day I need to get packed and ready to travel to a friend's home for the weekend. We've been planning a get-together with other friends for the past few months, and I'm excited to go. However, Pac Man and his cronies have decided to do everything in their power to keep me from the excursion.
I, however, have a plan.
I have pain meds to take, and I have the possibility of getting an anti-inflammatory shot today or tomorrow. That should hold the monsters at bay until the barometer decides to cooperate once again, or until I need to be in search of the rock once more.
In the meantime, I would like to have a nice, sharp cheddar to go with my whine, if you please!
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