I spent this week popping toothpicks in my eye-lids (to keep them open, that is) and soaking my feet in a hot tub of water every night -- all because of running 100 miles per hour attending the American College of Rheumatology's annual scientific meeting.

Or, as we know it, the Super Bowl of arthritis:  tens of thousands of rheumatologists from around the world descend on a city for a week (Philly this year) to share their experiences, exchange best practices, and envy the chic fashion style of the European physicians.  They're hot.

We're gathering lots of information about what's new and exciting, taking in the data at press conferences, and saying hi to old friends (doctors, nurses, and more) we have met and known throughout the years.

I find myself in sheer amazement at the size of this conference -- left pondering how many rheumatologists there are in the world.  Every corner, too!  From Kenya to Japan to Iceland to Milwaukee (yes, Milwaukee), there is a specialist who has dedicated his or her life to helping people like us feel better.

I've had early mornings and late nights these past several days -- fueled mainly by the energy I get from meeting everyone who is so excited about the world of rheumatology.

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January has had some very good karma. I have been very lucky to experience the feeling of it firsthand, and it has made me a little better off. It seems to be seeping into the pores, or at least I hope that it does, to rejuvenate my system (and yours) to keep us healthy and optimistic. Good goes round (our mind and body).

It all started two weeks ago, when, on an otherwise ordinary day (the precise time these things always happen) word spread like wildfire that a plane touched down in the Hudson River. Luckily, I wasn't flying through North Carolina that day (though a frequent place to transit through to some of the Gulf Coast's coolest cities). But it did give me pause to reflect ...

How ironic that our dirty, disgusting, smelly, mafia-sin-infested Hudson River was turned into the graceful arms outstretched to save all of those people.

The chances of this miracle happening were so slim, it defied all odds -- some credit due of course to Cap'n Sully. The people who made it out weren't the only lucky ones. We as a city and a people were lucky to have avoided that tragedy in our lives, no matter where we lived.

I fly a lot. When cramped in the aroma therapy row of a plane (last row), these things cross your mind from time to time.

And then this past week -- spent in Washington, D.C. -- was a chance to experience the collective voltage of over 2 million people celebrating the end of an era and the beginning of another, and coming together to witness history.

No matter your view or background, it was undeniable that the "current" flowing through the city was contagious and overwhelmingly positive -- a flavor of positive energy I have never tasted before.

The last few weeks have juiced me up enough to make any knee pain and any remorse about having a long term chronic illness feel like it has little consequence.

I hope the good karma makes everyone feel this good. It's a free drug and hopefully there's plenty more in store for all of us.

Some people go to bed at night and dream of the open seas, green meadows, batting the winning run of the World Series, or driving a silver Porsche at top speed through their hometown.  Others -- dare I borrow the cliché -- are visited nightly by the man or woman of their dreams.  So to speak.

My dreams have been disturbing lately, especially because they're in such stark contrast to my thoughts and hopes during my waking hours.  Despite any vulnerability at a Freudian interpretation, I'll share my dreams -- because I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has experienced this before:

Last night, and a few nights ago, I had a vivid dream about who I was and how I felt in the future.  Sometime off in the distant future, I hope, because I sat still.  Unable to move -- stiff in every joint and frozen solid.  It was a window into my arthritis in 40 (?) years.

The feeling was unmistakable:  my condition had progressed past the point of no return.  My limitations were drastic and my world was passing me by.  I was helpless and it was very frightening.

I woke up this morning panicked and relieved at the same time.  I rarely remember dreams, but this one prompted me to get out of bed, put on my shorts and go to the gym.  There I'll do every sort of exercise possible while focusing steadily on driving a Porsche, with my dream girl next to me, to the pier of my boat.

It's all in my head.

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