Just found these

Fantastic bike saddles.

In Flight

My son took this photo of a gull at Treasure Island.

A diagnosis

Diagnosis: Rheumatoid arthritis

Notes on a search to regain personal health.

"The blood work indicates we may have a problem here."

On a follow up visit to my physician about a year ago, after having endured several protracted bouts of "walking pneumonia", this was the message which set the stage for a complex, fascinating and at times unbelievable research project to restore my rapidly failing body and mind. At this point, though pneumonia appeared to be in abeyance, my presenting symptoms included strange swellings and hot spots in the fingers and wrists, stiffness and pain in the legs and balls of the feet, loss of strength in the arms, a devastatingly chronic depression and malaise, unexplained loss of weight and a slight rise in body temperature in the evenings. Classic symptoms, which at the time, were unrecognizable to me. "Okay--what do we do to cure it?" "Well, you see--there is no cure--but there are a number of treatment options to consider--I'll send you to a rheumatologist. He'll probably put you on methotrexate. In the meantime here is medication to help with the discomfort".

As I drove home, I couldn't quite get my head around the diagnosis--was this physical pain and weakness, lack of ability to concentrate and chronic depression to be "it" from now on? If so,I wasn't so sure I wanted to stick around for any of it! Particularly since I had always been active--bicycling 50 or 60 miles on Saturday or Sunday, working out three times a week at the gym, playing piano. The stages descended in quick succession--reaction on receiving life threatening news--initial denial (can't be true!)--anger (why me?)--bargaining (how to deal with this?)--acceptance (OK, somehow there's got to be a livable solution).

For several weeks I existed deeply depressed, not really wanting to cope with what lay ahead. Despite the pain medication, the symptoms got worse--sleep at night was restless and fragmented--stiff, swollen, weak and essentially useless fingers--almost impossible to tie shoe laces or manage buttons on shirts and trousers--normal morning routines dragging out interminably. Concerned on several occasions I might pass out in the shower. Didn't want to ask for help--stiff upper lip and all that, don't you know! Several more weeks elapsed in this state (time perception is hazy )--obviously, something had to be done.

At this point I had become severely debilitated, mentally and physically and really did not want to interact with anyone; consequently, I was probably overly sensitive as I entered the rheumatologist's office for the first time and became immediately aware of a bare and unwelcoming waiting room and on announcing myself, a decidedly impersonal reception at the front desk. Not "good vibes!" The nurse did smile as she ushered me onto the scale, sat me down, took the vital signs and directed me into the exam room. The usual wall decoration--charts and diplomas, the skeleton hanging from the steel rod--"god, I'm a frog about to be thrown on a laboratory table for dissection". In a rush, the rheumatologist entered, briefly introduced himself and immediately sat down in front of the computer located by my chair. Following a cursory examination of my hands, arms and feet, observations and answers to questions were typed in. "OK", he said, "we need to get a blood work up and a set of x-rays. We'll start with methotrexate and down the line we'll probably switch to something else. There is no cure, but there are some new treatments out there being developed". "Well", I said, "I can't afford any of the 'wonder drugs' that cost $1000 a week". I had done a bit of preliminary research following my general practitioner's initial diagnosis--at that point, I knew the prospects for effective medication were dim. Off to an adjacent office to undergo the usual needles and vials of blood--then to the x-ray lab for shots of the affected body parts. And finally to the car, clutching the script for the methotrexate and an appropriate Cox-2 inhibitor.

First post

As normal, this is a post to test this blog. It is not a long post, but it will serve its purpose. The above image is one of my sons, Tim Elverston. I bought him these field glasses.