It hit me – almost literally – like a thunderbolt.
More direct evidence that sudden changes in atmospheric pressure can have a profound effect on inflammatory and autoimmune conditions, such as arthritis.
If you’re interested in why you sometimes experience pain, completely out of the blue, even when you feel like you’re doing everything right, read on.
Before we get into it, some background.
I have ankylosing spondylitis (a form of rheumatoid arthritis). I regularly track a myriad of environmental factors in my spreadsheet and diary to see if they have any impact on my pain levels.
I predominantly look at diet, exercise, climate, stress levels, and too many granular metrics in between to list here.
These things fascinate and excite me.
There are so many elements of our day-to-day lives over which we have at least some degree of control. Elements that could have profound effects on our health and well-being.
A core element of the Gut Heroes project is learning about the current research and data on these topics. Another is my own personal tracking of these factors to see if I can establish any first-hand evidence.
Weather, climate and environment is my current investigation.
The Great Karoo Experiment, involves spending a prolonged period of time (3 months) in a part of the world that should, according to the theory at least, ease my autoimmune symptoms.
The criteria are dry, hot, settled weather. Specifically, that means high atmospheric pressure (i.e., not too much rain or wind and infrequent storms).
It should be the Goldilocks zone for all forms of rheumatoid arthritis and, I suspect, for many other inflammatory or autoimmune conditions.
So far, both the research – and the reality – had delivered the goods.
I was feeling great.
Three weeks into the experiment, and we had barely seen a cloud in the sky. There was a gentle wind that sometimes came in the late afternoon, but it was polite and refreshing.
This place where we were staying, an area called the Great Karoo in South Africa, has a settled climate. Too settled at times. We spoke to one local who told us she remembers – not too long ago – when they had a three-year drought.
In other words, rain and stormy weather here were the exception rather than the rule. Quite in contrast to my native England, where calm, sunny days are the exception.
(We typically leave the house carrying multiple layers, capes, and waterproofs, in the expectation that we may have to fly or swim home.)
And I had started to feel good.
After a slight blip at the start of our holiday, when I was being a little bit less militant about my diet and alcohol intake, things were going well.
I was settling into the meat and bones of the experiment. It was a really nice, sustained period of properly following my diet, getting into a healthy routine, and being in an environment that I hoped would mirror the perfect weather conditions.
I was pain-free, I moved easily, and I had a clear head and great mood.
And then something happened.
At about midday on Sunday, we started noticing clouds gathering in the sky.
This was unusual (remember, we had barely seen a cloud in weeks).
By late afternoon, the wind started to whip up with a more powerful edge. It was still hot, but something felt different.
At 7 pm, we left the house to view the sunset from a raised area overlooking the surrounding mountains.
There were so many clouds in the sky at this point we started to wonder whether we would see anything at all.
I started Googling whether cloudy weather meant good or bad but stopped myself halfway through. Part of this experiment is being more mindful and not constantly online. I put my phone back in my pocket.
The wind was now what I can only describe as ridiculous.
It was a 30-minute walk to the lookout point, and we now found ourselves zigzagging a little at times to stay upright.
We made it to the spot and sat on a public bench to watch what turned out to be an incredibly beautiful sunset. Dusty browns, borderline angry reds, and shimmering gaps in the clouds.
We watched the whole thing while getting wind-battered on the bench.
And then the thunder and lightning started.
We enjoyed a majestic electrical fireworks display over the mountains.
Physically, I still felt okay at this point. I just noticed a slight twinge in my upper body.
As the light started to fade, we decided to walk back.
The sky was now going a very strange dark reddish-purple. Water started falling from the sky. The thunderclaps continued. It was, all things considered, a storm.
Half an hour later, we were inside our little cottage.
Almost immediately on entry, I felt a strong, sharp pain in my upper body. Specifically, on the left-hand side of my ribs at the back.
It was really quite astonishing. Proper, full-blown ankylosing spondylitis pain in my ribs, screaming like a klaxon.
The correlation, to my mind, was indisputable.
My brain tracked back to diary entries and spreadsheet observations in the past where I had recorded feeling completely fine one second and battling sharp autoimmune disease pain the next.
The arrival of autoimmune symptoms in these cases seemed to arrive out of nowhere, just like the weather.
Blue skies and then suddenly lashing rain or hail.
Interestingly, on those occasions, I would often experience pain just before the storm’s arrival. I would be confused as to its cause, and then almost immediately, the biblical weather would unfurl.
That is what I believe happened here with absolute clarity. For the Great Karoo, an area that can go years without any rainfall, this was a dramatic shift in atmospheric pressure.
The back left-hand side of my rib cage was inflamed. Breathing in deeply hurt.
I also started coughing. One of the most amazing things so far about this experiment in the Great Karoo was that I had experienced a complete cessation of my sinus symptoms. No more runny nose. No more coughing.
This occurred less than 48 hours after I arrived.
The coughing and sinus issues are annoying, although not painful, side symptoms back home.
Sometimes, when I went out for a long walk in London, particularly in the winter, I would spend almost the entire time wiping my nose. The frequency of my coughing was somewhat disturbing as well.
Out here in the dry and calm climate, I had experienced none of this.
But now, as the storm raged, I was coughing away, and my rib was jabbing me with sharp pain.
It wasn’t pleasant, but I was delighted because this was yet more data to back up the thesis.
That night, I slept badly. It’s hard to get comfortable when your ribs are on fire, and you’re coughing. The storm was unrelenting and noisy too, so it was a long path to slumber.
However, when I woke at 5:45 am (I’m a late riser normally, but out here the sky is SO bright you wake with the sun), the skies were calm.
I got out of bed, unsure of what my joints had in store for me. I was a bit stiff, but no pain.
The ribs were back to normal.
The sunrise was beautiful. The local dogs and cat were waiting on the porch, like a “welcome back to normality” party.
The storm had passed, and so had the pain.
So if you are faithfully using diet to manage your autoimmune disease, chronic pain or health condition, or you are thinking of doing so (and I highly recommend you do) it’s worth bearing in mind.
Sometimes, unusual weather patterns and environmental bolts from the blue can take us by surprise and impact our pain levels.
But remember, like everything else, it will pass – and everything will feel just that little bit more beautiful in the aftermath.
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