PITCHMEN

I have been glued to the TV these past few days. Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Billy Mays.

Michael Jackson had to be one of the most tortured souls I've ever seen. If all those changes on the outside gave one even the slightest glimpse of what was happening on the inside, I can say he was almost frightening.

I had almost forgotten the almost fever pitch waiting for the video "Thriller." It blew everyone away and I don't know anyone who can't do some of the that dance. As time went on he became stranger and stranger. I don't know if he is really innocent of the crimes but he didn't do anything to keep himself out of the rumor mill concerning young children. I just think he was a very weird man.

Farrah Fawcett was a profile in courage. What a wonderful woman and what a fight she put up against cancer.

Strangely enough, I think I will miss Billy Mays the most. I'm really saddened by his death. I have to admit his booming voice almost yelling "Billy Mays, here for...." was almost annoying but it grabbed you. I was fascinated by the way he could sell anything. I watched Pitchmen and absorbed almost everything he had to say. He had the pitch. I think that part is easy. What made him a truly great salesman is that he not only knew how to sell but he also believed in what he sold.

I love sales. Getting the check gives me a high. Sales isn't just spewing forth information and hope they buy. Sales is convincing people that they can't live without what you have to sell. If you don't believe it, why in the world will they? The world truly lost the voice of an industry and I'm not sure how it will survive. I learned a great deal from him and will miss hearing that voice.

The Pitch.

It sells everything and to the one who really can get it down, the world awaits.

Godspeed Mr. Mays. You sold more than you knew.

OUCH AND DOUBLE OUCH

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What a bad day.

I don't know how many people react to the weather like I do, but I know this isn't all in my head. The thunderstorms finally hit but it's been two days of humidity that has increased my pain level from voodoo to OMG-make it stop!

It starts like a quiet tightening spring that's winding up to let go and rapidly building up to a body that feels like its been hit by two trucks and then they backed up and ran over me again. It's a barometric pressure free for all and I'm right in the middle.

I feel like I'm on a never ending cycle. No sleep equals more pain. Take medications for the pain and muscle relaxers so I can sleep and it works for a week or so. Then it doesn't work. Why my brain won't shut off is beyond me. I can't turn it off and just go to sleep. It doesn't matter that my bedroom is dark and that I've taken a hot bath or shower before getting in bed. It doesn't matter that everything is conducive to a great nights sleep. It just doesn't matter. Alpha wave intrusion is simply that my brain continues to work and it won't let me reach the deeper levels of sleep.

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As I look out my window, clouds are building again. This tells me that everything will be out of reach once again. My body just hurts and, of course, this puts my attitude in the toilet. I am truly afraid of taking enough medication to put me out of pain. I want enough to take the edge off and make it manageable because, god forbid, I really end up with this pain forever, I don't want to be so far into pain medications that nothing works for truly horrific pain.

So, having answered my own question once again, I take my little tiny bit and resign myself that humidity and thunderstorms are just something to get through as best as I can without whining and crying.

I cry for my old self. I'm crying out of frustration and I cry for what used to be. I'm crying because every bone in my body aches. I'm frustrated and annoyed that this near photographic mind isn't thinking clearly today and I can't remember where I put my keys so that I can make myself get out of my house just to do SOMETHING.


I'm not going to stress out about it. I'm going to drag this stiff, sore body around my house and methodically go to the logical places where my keys would be. I'm going to realize that this is what it is and right now I can't change it. I'm going to say to myself that it could be a lot worse because it could be a lot worse. I'm going to take a deep breath and think.

I FOUND MY KEYS.

WHAT A GREAT MEDIUM

I am constantly amazed how theraputic writing can be. I started out with a love of words but sometimes cannot find the right ones in conversation. Blogging turns out to a perfect communication tool with those around me and for me to articulate the battles of life, illness and love.

It helps me step back and take a look at my life from my own perspective, if that makes any sense at all. Above all, it helps me find some humor in a day where humor is hard to find.

Does anyone find this post odd considering the last one?

Coming off a sugar high tends to make one introspective.

NEVER ASK ME FOR DIETING ADVICE

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I used to be the person everyone loved to hate. I could eat.

One of my favorite things was noodles with butter and my favorite time to eat it was midnight. I never gave calories a second thought.

My best friend, God Bless her, had to watch every calorie. I watched her for years eat nothing but salad and spearmint lifesavers. She was tall with thick, gorgeous hair and high cheekbones and I was short with chipmunk cheeks. We were two sides of the same coin. She was Candice Bergen and I was Goldie Hawn.

WHY SHE DIDN'T SHOOT ME YEARS AGO IS BEYOND ME.

I'VE NEVER MET A CHOCOLATE CAKE OR CHEESECAKE THAT I DIDN'T LIKE.

I never realized how hard it is to lose weight. Now I can't even look at food without it ending up on my thighs. Jude can tell you all kinds of tips for dieting. Me? Don't even think about asking me for diet advice. I think that chocolate cake or cheesecake lose calories if you break it up into pieces.

So in honor of all of us who sometimes need a little chocoholic heaven, here is the "I Don't Know Cake."

NEVER, EVER............. ASK ME FOR DIETING ADVICE.

The I Don't Know Cake originated from one of my mother's recipes. She would write things down without measurements so I was left to figure out what went into what and how much. This was one of those recipes.

2 cups of sifted flour (we usually never sift the flour)

2 cups of sugar

2 sticks of butter (salted or unsalted....who cares?)

3 tablespoons Cocoa

1 cup diet coke (the original called for Coke but hey, we're dieting!)

1/2 cup milk

2 beaten eggs

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. vanilla (or more if you want)

1 1/2 cups miniature marshmallows

Sound good so far????

In a mixing bowl blend the flour and sugar. In a saucepan melt the butter and then add in the cocoa and diet coke. Mix well and bring to boil. Pour into the flour mixture and blend well. Add the milk, eggs, soda and vanilla. Then carefully add in the miniature marshmallows.

Now she underlined carefully add the marshmallows. We wouldn't want anything to hurt those babies would we?

Pour into a 9x13 baking dish and bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Oh Boy.........now the icing.

Make double because it's yummy................

1 stick of butter

3 tablespoons cocoa (is there a theme here?)

6 tablespoons diet coke (like this will really make a difference in the calorie count)

1 box powdered sugar ( or a little more)

Melt the butter then add the cocoa and diet coke. Pour into the powdered sugar and mix well.

Pour this over the still warm cake.

4 or 5 pieces of this make a nice snack.

It's BUZZ time!!!!

BACK TO THE FIBRO

I think the supplements are helping. What isn't working right now are the muscle relaxers. Just when I thought I might be getting some sleep, I find out the brain has a will of its own and is refusing to shut down again. I'm not sure whether it's the supplements or the fact that I was really sleeping for the first time in years. I'm just annoyed that it is over so soon.

I've have lasted longer on the supplements than I thought I would. Fish oil first thing in the morning is really nasty. I do manage to slug down the handfull that I take in the morning and then wash it down with a nice hot cup of caffiene. There are things that I can give up and then there are things that I can't. Caffiene is one of them. I don't care whether it's in coffee or diet coke form. It just better be there when I wake up.

Then there is this never-ending-always-frustrating brain fog. I'm trying memory puzzles to see if I can help dissipate this in any way. When this sucker rolls in, it really rolls in! It's like a looking through dirty glasses. The only way I can describe it is almost other worldly, like I'm watching myself from a distance. I find myself searching for the right word or wondering what I was looking up just a second ago. I have a sneaking suspicion that sticky notes are going to become my best friend. I just hope I remember where I put them.

I've tried so hard to find the person inside. I know she's in there somewhere. Is it the Fibromyalgia or depression that has me hiding from the world? I can go out but the only thing I want to do is go home. I have a few good days and then I don't recognize myself again. Damn. I hate this thing. I hate the fact that I'm limited. I hate the fact that I'm almost afraid to drive because of this stupid fog. I want to get angry enough that I push myself out of this black hole. I don't like the way I look, I don't like the way I feel, I don't like what I weigh, I don't like the pain.............I don't seem to like much right now.

I take that back.

I like my bed.

REAL ACTUAL SLEEP...WHO KNEW?

I'm taking all these vitamins and supplements. Do I feel better? Am I supposed to notice something right away? Do I have to do this for very long?

I hate taking pills every day.

So far the only difference is that I'm sleeping. Somewhat.

Well, that isn't fair. Now that I know I can take the Flexeril with the pain medication and not overdose I find that I do sleep 1000% better. Sometimes I don't even remember hitting the pillow. That's a very good thing. I can remember years of waking up 4 and 5 times a night and a good nights sleep was a vague memory.

You tend to take sleep for granted. I know I did. You don't know what you've lost until you've lost it. That's so true in many areas but for now I'll just use that phrase for sleep. Falling into a deep sleep is a wonderful thing. I didn't realize how turning off the brain can help your physical well being. What it does for your emotional well being is another thing.

For the first time in ages I don't feel the need to bite everyones head off when they've done nothing wrong. I feel like I can look in the mirror and not see deep circles that concealer won't quite hide. Most of all, I feel quiet. I feel at peace. Can sleep really do all that?

Alpha, Beta, Delta, Theta. All the lovely levels of sleep and I might just hit them all.

IMAGINE

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I never thought I'd like sleeping next to anyone again. It's been a very long time. It's much easier having my own pillows and being able to move whenever and however I want. I have my own corner of the bed and I enjoy it that way.

I found that it feels nice having someone there. It's been a long time. I can't remember what it was like having someone to depend on. It's scary and its alluring all at the same time. I used to love stretching out and feeling feet. It's amazing that the person sleeping next to me isn't used to it any more than I am.

Sometimes the thing we want the most sends us down the rockiest roads imaginable. It's been nineteen years. Nineteen years of wonder, tears, anger, joy and acceptance. How I got started on one road is beyond me but I knew it the minute it found it and that meant that I was going to take this path and never look back. Even though the voice inside said, "don't do it."  I found that you should always listen to that voice inside you. Always.

I really never wanted to be so immersed in love. That kind of love always fails you and makes you cry. It makes you do a lot of things that you'd never do but above all else it spoils you. It spoils you for the normalcy of anything else and makes normal look so unappetizing. It puts blinders on you so that you can't see anything else and makes you believe that anything else will never be good enough. Can you believe that?

You long for something stable yet stability is just out of reach. You long for normal but normalcy is just out of reach. You reach for joy but joyfulness is just out of reach. What is it that keeps everything you long for just out of reach.

Why would I ever think this was meant to be?

LETS GET A HOBBY

I was told I need a hobby. Hobbies are good for therapy and they keep your hands busy. They're calming and can relieve stress.

I love hobbies and I have tried many of them.

Just don't ask how many of them I still have.

Lets see.........I think I'll start out with knitting. Good place to start. My cousin, who got me in and out of more trouble than I can think of, called me.

"Hey, Rose, I'm starting a knitting class...want to go?"

Being the amiable person that I am I replied, "Sure."

OK, most people go to the class and purchase needles and yarn. No big deal, right? I got the bag, I got circular needles, I got two types of knitting needles and I bought angora yarn. I didn't want to knit a plain old sweater. I was going to knit a masterpiece. Mel and I decided we could start making sweaters and then selling them. Hey, I was ALL in for that one.

When I got home I showed my husband everything and told him how excited I was to start the class. He looked at me with a slightly raised and arched eyebrow and said,

"I'll give you $500.00 if you finish that sweater."

Well, I knew I had that 500 in the bag. I told him, " no problem." Let me ask you, do you think I EVER got that 500?

Let's move on to stained glass. I have to say one thing about my ex-husband. He may have been a lot of things but he was patient with me. When I told him I wanted to take a stained glass class he just looked at me and said okay and then walked away shaking his head. As I look back he was probably wondering how much this little adventure was going to cost him. If you read about the knitting you know the outcome. I still have some of the knives that I bought for that class. The glorious window remains a vision.

Probably my crowning glory is the garden. Now I love plants and flowers. I loved walking out in our back yard and smelling all the beautiful flowers and seeing the lush greenery. It was gorgeous. I can do the planting and the admiring. Maintenance, however, is a different story.

I bought bags AND BAGS of soil. I wanted beautiful little rows of tomatoes, onions and corn planted. Yes, corn in the Las Vegas valley. I wanted green peppers and rows of potatoes. With each row planted I would proudly tell my husband how much money we were going to save. God Bless Him, every time I mentioned it he just looked at me and walked away shaking his head.

We could have gone to Europe on what I spent on that fictitious garden. Do you think the veggies ever made it to the table? I'll bet you answered correctly.

My latest was beading. My girlfriend asked me to join her. I knew what was going to happen and I still went with her. I told her what was going to happen, and I STILL went with her. Yep, it did happen again. I am the proud owner of a beading bag and tons of beads and a bracelet that looks like a three year old did it.

After all this, I've come to the conclusion that hobbies are not my forte. I've also concluded that I am the idea man. I can visualize it, I can put it together. I'll direct the picture but someone else needs to do the physical work and maintenance. In the event I still want to attempt something creative, I should stick to solitary pursuits that don't involve ANYTHING artsy-craftsy. I tried scrapbooks and the pictures are still in one place but I have a TON of paper and materials to make the largest scrapbook in history. QVC has to love me. I just don't seem to learn.

After all of this another girlfriend calls me and asks if I want to go to a beading class with her. I tell her the story but she still wants me to go.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

Maybe I should try biofeedback.

FIBROMYALGIA ISN'T CHEAP

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If you think Fibromyalgia has a great cost to your life:

Wait until you get the bill.

I walked in to get my blood work done, all 24 vials of it and my intravenous drips with all kinds of concoctions for energy and muscle pain and walked out feeling lighter. Physically and financially. I was impressed that there was a glutathione injection into the bag for my immune system.

Glutathione is produced in the liver and is a major antioxidant and anti-viral. It helps your body remove heavy metal toxins from your body. It declines as we age and because of the low levels in the average diet. Basically, it enhances the immune system so it functions at an optimal level. A great deal of research is going on but in patients with Chronic Fatigue and/or Fibromyalgia the glutathione has been deficient. It's an experimental protocol but there has been some glimmer of hope that it will help.

After getting all 24 vials of blood, I asked how long it would take to get the results. The thyroid test that is done takes 3 weeks to get back. I don't think after this blood work there will be much that I don't know about my body.

Then I was led to a room with some wonderful easy chairs and I got hooked up to an IV drip. One bag was for the muscle pain and the other was for the immune system. It takes about 3 hours to get the two bags into you. I sat and put my feet up and just rested.

By the time I left I was trashed. Lightheaded, dizzy, sleepy and just wanting to be home and in bed.

Oh, I forgot. I can get this lovely concoction twice a week.

The cost?

$400 a pop. You do the math.

Like I said.

Fibromyalgia isn't cheap.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT BREASTS?

What do model train sets and breasts have in common?

They're both meant for children but it's the fathers who end up playing with them.

What is it about breasts?

OK , I have two and if I say so myself, they're not bad. As a Seinfeld episode says, "they're real and they're magnificent."

I look down, they're there. As I've gotten older, I have to be careful how I roll on my side. I don't want the ladies getting caught. Anyone who's over 50 will know EXACTLY what I mean. I like the look of cleavage and I admit, I like them large myself. I'm OK with my body and my boobs. I mean, they're not so large that I need a reduction but they match my hips.

My first episode with comments was when I was young. I got teased because I was in a bra earlier than the other girls. I went right through the trai

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ning bra into a C cup. Even then it didn't bother me because I figured everyone would get there eventually and they were just jealous. Other things bothered me and hurt my self esteem. Boob jokes didn't. Snapping my bra was a fake annoyance.

As I got older I grew to tolerate the boob jokes. Really. It was no big deal to me. Boys grew up slower than girls and I thought they were really juvenile especially when all they wanted to do was touch them. So onward and upward.

My mother must have been a smart woman. I never appreciated her until she was gone. I thought she was kind of a goofball. I didn't realize then how much environment affects our personality. I inherited all kinds of quirks. Back to the boobs. She made me get a sleep bra. For those who don't know what it is, it's exactly what the name implies. It's a bra to sleep in. It is supposed to keep your breasts supported and keep them, as she liked to say, perky. Back then, I thought she was crazy. Now I wish I'd slept in it constantly. I mean they're not down to my legs but they could use a little lift.

When I looked at magazines of women in the work force boobs were never addressed. Suits had blouses buttoned up to their neck so I never thought the work place would be a place where I had to address the boob issue. Boy, was I naive.

Although I wasn't really the working type, I do have a great work ethic. I have a great life ethic. Work hard, play hard and rest hard. Lately I've had the rest hard down pat. I was fortunate. I didn't have to work when I was growing up but I did want to do something so I decided since I loved photography I'd be a camera girl in the Aladdin Hotel showroom.

The job didn't last long. One night actually. We had cute little uniforms that were designed to make men look at everything but the camera. He must have thought that if they look at the boobs long enough they'll buy anything. Hey, you don't mess with what works or in other words, don't re-invent the wheel.

The uniform was short and I looked pretty good. As I sashayed through the casino with my camera perched on one arm, I passed by the bar. A guy turned around and eyed me up and down and said, "great tits but no ass." I hit him with the camera and walked into my bosses office, put the camera down and quit. He said I'd have to get used to the comments. I didn't stay.

I could tolerate junior high and high school boys snickering and making jokes. I figured that is what they were designed to do. I can handle pointed stares. Hey, men aren't dead and they are big. OK, I can handle that too.

What I can't handle is men, of an age that are supposed to know better, CONSTANTLY, making comments. Whether watching TV, out for dinner or anywhere looking at women's breasts and commenting on their size. I don't get it. I can almost see the drool running down to their chin. I mean, I don't look at men and then look down at their crotch and evaluate what I see and then make comments about it. What is it?

Do they subconsciously have a mommy fixation? Were they of the non-breast-fed generation and they want to return for what they missed? What is it? There was an email that went around that said men that ogle breasts actually add years to their lifespan and that ogling breasts for 10 minutes equaled a 30 minute workout. OH RIGHT. It did turn out to be a hoax but I'll bet men clung to that one and hung on for dear life.

I read an article that asked the question. Does size matter? He compared it to the question posed to females and penis size. Does it matter? Again, he said hell yes. Well, it may matter but we don't ogle it in public. Get a room full of testosterone and they become a cult of boob worshippers and neanderthal in one fell swoop.

What do they really want?

The same thing they did when they were little boys.

Nipples.

Accessibility.

Men see a breast and it's immediate turn on mode. It's as good as having the remote control in their hands. OK; better, but if they could point that remote control at your shirt and click to show boobs, they'd be in heaven. Honest to God, nirvana.

Is it that breasts remind them of the days when mommy held them and protected them from the big bad world? Are they the way the subconscious searches for fertile woman to ensure the procreation of the species?

Remember baseball. The guys would do high fives for getting to second base. They were revered and held in high esteem. The girl was a slut, but the guy was A GOD! It's the original home entertainment center!

I think it must be advertising that keeps boobs at the center of the universe. Madison Avenue has the power to make people buy all sorts of ridiculous things; the Chia pet, aqua globes, Topsy-Turvey tomato grower and the buy of all times..........the pet rock. Is it any wonder that breasts have become a multi-billion dollar industry?

Actually, I think the problem started with women.

It's our fault.

We give birth and take this baby boy who's screaming bloody murder having been taken from the warmth of the womb and what do we do?

We stick a nipple in his mouth to shut him up.

Case closed.

OH PLEASE

DAY TWO:

I TOOK A TON OF SUPPLEMENTS.

I MIXED ALL THE POWDERS AND DRANK IT FIRST THING.

I'VE TAKEN SO MUCH CRAP I GAINED TWO POUNDS AND I DIDN'T EAT ANYTHING?????


WTF???

I BETTER NOT START GAINING OTHERWISE THIS WILL GO OUT THE WINDOW.

DID I SAY I WAS EMBRACING THIS?

SCRATCH THAT.

ARE THEY JUST STUPID PART TWO

Everything has to be a fight. Everything is an argument. Where is it in the male DNA that if there is any cross conversation that automatically means you're arguing? I mean, really, should it be just bowing and acknowledging the all infinite being? Well, that's not me.

There are times you just don't want to be talked down to and lectured. Well, that's all the time but you can deal with personalities differently at different times. Being lectured just sets me off. Can opinions just be offered rather than shoved down peoples throats?

The very weird thing is the comment that I think my kids are perfect. Now, that's a laugh. Far from it. Perfect? I can hardly write it. Nothing could be farther from the truth, but when things start to deteriorate into an arguing match, let's pull out something that will bring an automatic response.

I won't take being continually hammered and be expected to shut up and take it. Keep the mouth shut and just listen. All that would do is serve to perpetuate the behavior.

I guess I won't win the Miss Congeniality award this year.

THE FIRST DAY

I started the regimen today. I've always loved, loved, loved breakfast. By that, I mean FOOD. Smoothies, while being very good for you, doesn't make me feel like I've eaten anything. If I have that then I want something more breakfasty.....like toast or an omelet or................BOTH!!! But I have decided that I'm going to start this regiment and embrace it and really make it a part of my lifestyle. Geez, lifestyle. What lifestyle?

That's what I'm hoping for. A lifestyle.

It's tough to down a ton of supplements and powders first thing in the morning. Fish oil is nasty. I don't care if it's in pill form or liquid. Yuck. The omega 3's are very good. I need so much nutrition. I have probably abused this body by the yo-yo dieting, starvation, binge eating, crap eating.

I do believe that we deplete our bodies. A little thing like water and dehydration can wreak all sorts of havoc in our system, so a lack of B vitamins or especially D can do serious damage. This won't hurt me in any way and it will probably help.

The good thing is that I won't eat a ton. Who wants to when you've taken all the pills that I've just taken. Oh, and I forgot the powders. I've got a couple of those to mix with water or anything else I choose.

            Geez, if I could only mix it with ice cream.

STARTING FROM SCRATCH

It's lovely to hear that you're in sucky shape. It wasn't entirely unexpected but I did learn a few things.The good news is that they might be able to fix me. The bad news is that I'll have to take supplements ( a ton of them ) and I've never been real big on that one.

Apparently, I also have no reflexes in my right leg. That one just blew me away. I've been fine walking on it but it evidently has something to do with the most recent car accident. This is the accident where I was hit while at a complete stop by a man in a truck going over 25 miles per hour. I was lucky. If he had hit me an inch or two toward either side, it could have had a horrible outcome.

One of the first orders of business is sleep. I need to. I have something called alpha wave intrusion. This is a marker of Fibromyalgia. Very simply your brain never goes to sleep. I wasn't taking the muscle relaxers along with the pain medication. I was always afraid I'd overdose. She put that silly misconception to rest. The amount that I take will not be harmful; quite the contrary, it will be very beneficial. As you can see, I'm not really a pill person even though I need to take them. I've been afraid of becoming dependent yet I'm very dependent on medication that will manage the pain I'm in.

Besides the pain, I think the worst thing about Fibromyalgia is that I am a shell of my former self. As each day goes by a little piece of me gets lost in the fog. Beginning Monday, I'll be receiving IVs and having extensive blood work to see if we can get to the bottom of all this.

I've spent the last hour trying to figure out what I need to take and when. I had to go buy an industrial sized pill box to fit all the vitamins and supplements that I'm taking. Of course, I'll lose weight. By the time I take all the crap I have to take who in the heck will want to eat anything? Of course, there's always the ice cream that falls in that lovely medicinal category.

I have a wonderful doctor. She's a straight shooter and spends a great amount of time getting to know you and figuring out what should be normal for you. I'll be hooked up to IVs to get nutrition to my cells on Monday and getting a pint of blood taken to go with the huge number of tests so that my thyroid, hormones and complete blood panel get examined. Even though I know Monday will be a very exhausting day, I still hold out the hope that this will do something to bring back the missing pieces of me.

I really do miss myself.

INDIANA JONES

It's late.

The TV is on and I'm hoping I start to get tired.

My mind is on overdrive and I'm excited for tomorrow.

Isn't it amazing what we can get excited about? I'm excited to go to a doctor. I'm not crazy. I'm finally going somewhere where they won't think I'm crazy. I got a glimpse of what people really go through in this journey yesterday. I went to pain management and mentioned to him that I was finally getting in to the fibromyalgia clinic. He stepped back.......and looked at me with an almost disapproving look on his face and said, "You can find anything if you look hard enough." With that, the conversation ended and he told me to go on vacation.

OK, it's true. Put me on a beach and this Type A personality melts away into oblivion. I can be content doing absolutely nothing but reading and watching the waves. I feel no compulsion to put things into order or to constantly be on the move. I'm content to just sit and watch or to walk with my feet in the sand at waters edge. There's something to be said for a life where you wouldn't know stress if it jumped up and bit you but I haven't hit the lottery yet so it's not happening.

I came home and felt very lucky that I've been with a neurologist that didn't think this was all in my head. She put me on the right path with concern and support. I'd never seen the this-is-all-in-your-head-and-this-is-not-a-real-disease look before. I truly understand what my compadres must have felt as they maneuver through the maze of physicians that think this is a bunch of hooey. Compassion goes a long way.

So hear I am watching movies, waiting for tomorrow and I hurt and, of course, can't sleep. What did we ever do before DVD's and VCR's?

I have, what I like to call, my sleepy time movies. They are movies that I've seen hundreds of times and I never get sick of them. I can hear the first notes of Jaws and I'm already starting to nod off. I'm partial to disaster movies. I find it endearing to think that the coast can get wiped out by a giant tsunami or that a volcano can suddenly appear in the La Brea tar pits. We used to have movies on the TV's in the model homes. God forbid, Dante's Peak would have been one of the movies. People could have walked in and I'd be asleep at my desk. I guess as long as I wasn't drooling or snoring, it might have been ok. Tonight, though, it's a little adventure. I'm an Indiana Jones fan. I absolutely love these movies. They're light hearted and adventure filled and you know exactly how they'll end. They don't require a lot of thought and they are entertaining.

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As I'm watching this movie I realize I can finally put words to the pain I sometimes feel. Remember the kidnapped and brainwashed prince? He tries to defeat Indiana by a voodoo doll. There it is. It stopped Indy in his tracks. Can this be a new medical term?

What is your pain level?

Voodoo.

It makes perfect sense to me. Legend has it that the eskimo's have hundreds of words for snow or the Hawaiians have hundreds of words for wave. We have adjectives but nothing that can describe that sensation that reaches up and slaps you just to get your attention. I will christen it my voodoo doll pain. It's also kind of sly. Just when you think you've got a part of your body pinned down it will migrate to another.

So tomorrow when I see if I've finally found a place to manage this pain, I can not look off into space to find a word to describe the pain I sometimes feel.

When I'm asked if it is cramping, aching, burning, tingling or sharp pain, I can now not have to stare off into space searching for the right word. When asked about the pain I can now confidently tell her exactly what kind of pain I have. Voodoo doll pain, ma'am. Voodoo.

BETTER THAN A BAROMETER

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I used to love the humid, slightly cool, almost rainy days of summer. You could feel the breeze and know the rain would soon follow somewhere in the valley.

These days, I'm better than a barometer. I don't need the news and I don't need the weather. Just ask me. I'll tell you if the humidity is over 18% and I'll tell you if it's going to rain. The joints start to hurt and I feel like the flu is coming on. I'm always right.

I don't know why the change in weather changes our bodies reactions to pain. Maybe it's because we're mostly water. The figures range from 20-55%. I can tell you, I've never been 20% and there are days I would deny to the death that the number is 55%. Water is vital to our health and being mostly water, should we be surprised that we are affected by atmospheric conditions? Physicians and scientists are still divided on the concept. Just ask me. I'm not divided on the concept at all and neither are the people that know me.

The funny thing is that now no one asks why I'm in pain anymore.

I'm more like the Shell answer man. "Hey mom, you hurt today..... should I go to the car wash"?

Just ask me........I'll let you know if you'll be getting that rain check.

PUFFY CLOUDS

Imagine looking up. You're seeing a cloud filled sky. They are the kind of clouds that look ominous and full of rain. But wait, a patch opens up and as you look up you see the rays of the sun. As you lift your face to the heavens and bask in the sudden warmth, you feel a drop of rain hit your face. Crap.

All in all it was turning out to be a better day until I was told that I would have a morning filled with phone calls and demands and all of a sudden that proverbial drop hit my face. Double Crap.