... started very nicely, with the smallest gathering of buddies we've had in some time; a couple of folks had prior plans and our old buddy carnyjack was running a fever. Still Dr. Gonzo was there, and one of our old friends from the Barbarossa days; a fellow Fourth Estate member. I had the enjoyable duty of drinking champagne, something I only do at New Year's. All in all? Quiet, but a good start to the year.
And then things got really, really uncomfortable.
Went to bed, and woke up perhaps three or four hours later, with my hands so swollen and painful that I couldn't get back to sleep. I tried the now-usual tactic of getting up and walking around, to give my blood circulation a fighting chance and to give the inflamed nerves in my wrists and arms a chance to go back to something like normal. (Just for the record, when hand pain wakes me up it's usually an exquisitely miserable mix of carpal tunnel flareup, the RA and, more rarely, the Reynaud's.) It was probably because I did a lot of vegetable and fruit prep getting ready for the evening, on top of having kneaded dough for bread.
I tried sleeping on the living room; that didn't work. Bob woke up, gave me a huge amount of painkilling drugs and drew me a really, really hot bath, which felt wonderful. I crawled back into bed - and the pain started again. A certain amount of crying ensued. Then it was back out to the living room.
I was so tired, but the pain kept me awake until, I assume, the painkillers kicked in, and Ii nodded off sitting up. I woke up just enough to put a heavy reading pillow on my lap so that my head would hit it, instead of the table in front of the couch. I think I may have slept about an hour that way, then I just crawled into a more comfortable position on the couch.
And slept until 4:30 p.m.
The rest of the day, such as it was, wasn't too bad, and was certainly much better in terms of pain. I'm going to bed now, and if I'm lucky, I won't wake up on Jan. 2nd the way I did Jan. 1st.