It dawns on me that since here on MOM's front porch and/or saggy-chaired living room sofa and love seat we've seen accounts of tons of surgeries and everything but Rap's x-rays, we've heard about gnu's tests and Amos's tooth travails, that I might drop in a note that isn't a broad-based announcement, but it answers questions I've had for months now and is the reason my garden is so late this year. (If it wasn't for the garden I wouldn't say anything.) PMR is the diagnosis I learned from early April, and it is a relief to have treatment after nearly a year of gradually increasing muscle pain. At least I know what to expect of the treatment; prior to this I didn't have a clue as to what was going on. I was assertive with my GP (whose tests were good, but showed nothing - the inflammation doesn't always show up), I did more research and asked to see a rheumatologist. After the "ah-ha" moment that something actually was wrong I knew what it was before I went in because I have a graduate degree and I work in a research library - I can Google Boolean keywords with the best of them. But I didn't tell the doctor what I thought it was, I made sure I described all of my symptoms precisely. And she confirmed my suspicions. Talk about the frog in the pot of hot water - it took me a long time to finally decide there was more than just aging happening.

I feel much better now.