Thursday, July 12, 2012


It's been a month of living extreme heat.
Just when I thought it couldn't get worse,
the monsoon season set in.

It has been a few weeks where the temperature index ranges somewhere between OMG and WTF. Yes, it has been that hot. I wanted a fountain diet coke and the thermometer in the car read 119.  People with Fibromyalgia have an intolerance to either heat or cold. Mine just happens to be heat and I live in the middle of the desert.

Go figure. 

Chronic pain is really a reality all unto itself. Even the simplest of tasks tend not to be simple anymore. Any decisions that are to be made tend to be made from the chronic pain vantage point. We can't make any concrete plans because they may have to be changed due to the levels of pain that we might be experiencing on any given day. 

When the body and the brain talk to each other neurotransmitters are used to communicate. Every little transmitter is balanced by another so we don't look so good on that front. Just another lovely little item that is out of balance with our lovely little syndrome. For instance, when you touch a trigger or tender point on a healthy person they might not have much of a response. Now try that on someone who has Fibromyalgia. I can just see anyone who has it either nodding or smiling because they know just what is going to happen.

Anyway, back to the humidity. I've realized that I have a talent. Did you know that I can feel every little minute rise in barometric pressure? With every little move up the pain steadily gets worse. Plus, the noise from the fourth of July really got to me. 

Surely, I jest.

Well, let's look at the sudden rise in temperature. We went from about 101 degrees to 117. That in itself is enough to cause one hell of a flare. 

Strike One.

Once we got through with that there is a rise in barometric pressure due to the storm front moving in. 

Strike Two.

So the wind is picking up, the humidity is rising and there could be, "a stray thunderstorm" tomorrow and through the weekend.

Strike Three.

So, as I go down for the count I want to introduce a new symptom.

I call it the Eighteen Wheeler Manifestation.

In other words,

Hit again by the proverbial Mack Truck.

I've been hit so much lately I don't even bother to look for the license plate number.


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