Do Not Mix

Some things shouldn't be combined, ever. One of them is staying up late at a party, and fibromyalgia.

Yesterday there was a party at my house to celebrate the birthdays of my husband and my youngest son. The have the same birthday, in fact. Our marvelous weather was holding, and we sat outdoors singing, playing the guitar, listening to a couple who sing and play a computerized keyboard, eating too much, and watching the grandkids dash around the back yard. I had set up a big tent and was thinking about camping out with the four oldest grandkids, but for some obscure reason, I had the idea they would get tired about nine-thirty, maybe ten at the latest, and we could grab our pillows and slip into our sleeping bags for a night's rest. Where do I get this stuff?

At eleven-thirty, the grandkids were going full blower, even though a couple of them seemed to be on automatic. The party, too, was going full blower--everything, in fact, except me. We had ordered food, a waiter helped with everything from drinks to washing dishes, and a dash of excitement was added to the proceedings because earlier in the day my little grand-daughter, Sofía (4 years old), had swallowed a small disc-shaped battery and a tiny magnet. Let's face it, we will never know why. A trip to the hospital and some X-rays showed the two items safely stuck together and traveling through the intestinal tract, so a laxative was administered and orders for her only to ingest liquids. She was also ensconced in a diaper so nothing would get by unobserved.

Have you ever been to a get-together of over twenty people, each one periodically leaping up to the check the diaper of a small child? It began to seem like some kind of game show, as if the treasure-hunters who came up with the missing battery and magnet were going to win big. I told my son in no uncertain terms that once Sofía managed to poop, the subsequent mining for the missing items was his job, and his alone. His wife, an event planner who had a big wedding to honcho up last night, was out of range. That left only him. I've already done my time and now the torch passes to others.

The party forged on without me because I simply couldn't remain standing another minute. Not to be outdone, a different grandchild deciding to vomit. I declared the camping excursion cancelled and went to bed. Although I didn't have one single alcoholic drink, my body has also declared all events cancelled, but today my trainer Adrián told me only to walk briskly for 35 minutes. Ha! I think not.

On Wednesday I am going to Mexico City, and my main concern is how much conditioning I'm going to lose in the four days there. I can remember the addictive preocupation about the same theme in my former life as an aerobics fanatic. But running is worse--I feel so good after I go out, my state of mind is so upbeat, and I am so entertained while jogging, that a minor state of anticipatory mourning has set in. Yes, yes, it's ridiculous, but you out there who run will understand.