Archive for May 23rd, 2007
Man, but it’s cold here!
I’ve read that it’s healthier to drink your water (or whatever) at room temperature. Easier for the body to handle. I always drink my water at room temp because I prefer it that way. But this morning the water that was next to my bed tasted much more chilled than fridge water. Which makes a person wonder about this ‘room temperature’ thing.
I’m really warming to the idea of taking my Fingolimod pill every morning. Because I suspect that it is starting to work for me. I always felt sorry for people who had to take medication every day. “Oh, so-and-so is fine now, but she’ll have to take a pill every day for the rest of her life!” Poor so-and-so. But I don’t feel that way anymore. It is a wonderful thing to find a medication that can treat your particular ailment. And really, swallowing a pill is not such hard work. Sure beats taking an injection every second day. I’ve noticed no side-effects whatsoever from the Fingolimod. Always assuming that I’m not on the placebo. (But please do remember that my pulse rate plummented following the initial dose which is a textbook side-effect. Although if they hadn’t been monitoring it at the time, I would have been none the wiser.) My point is that I’m really happy to be on these trials. I think this drug is going to be huge in MS treatment when it goes on the market.
My cold is nearly history. Not quite, but nearly. Only sneezed about 4 times today, definite improvement.
Today’s joke: (I thought it was hilarious)
Misproununciation?President Clinton walks into a restaurant and is seated at one of the finest tables. A particularly voluptuous waitress wearing a short skirt and legs that won’t quit comes to his table. “What would you like, Mr. President?” Clinton looks at the menu and then scans her beautiful frame top to bottom, and answers, “A quickie.” The waitress stomps off in total disgust. After she regains her composure she returns and asks again: “What would you like, Mr. President?” Again Clinton thoroughly checks her out and again answers: “A quickie, please.” This time her anger takesover, she reaches over and slaps him across the face with a resounding “SMACK!” and storms away. A Secret Service agent, sitting at the next table, leans over and whispers, “Um, Mr. President, I think it’s pronounced ‘QUICHE’.