the thermostat is broken.

Fact: when I am all done up in makeup and a wig, the technicians prick me harder while they draw blood, as opposed to when I look like a chemo patient. Note to self: look sick all of the time and reap subsequent sympathy benefits.

I've noticed a pattern with many health care professionals I've dealt with. They view their specialty as their business, instead of people. When I was having a phone consultation with an oncology surgeon, he told me that hip surgery was his business, it was how he made his money, so he wouldn't tell me his assessment as to whether radiation was the best choice. In my opinion, helping people make the right decision is part of this job responsibility. Helping people. not just processing blood or taking temperatures or preforming a routine surgery. Caring for people. There are feelings and nerves and souls underneath all of those bodies. I guarantee I will remember the onc nurses who put care and compassion into their work until the day I die.

Radiation is finally starting to rear its ugly head in the form of a massive purple-and-slightly-itchy bruise on the left side of my hip. This thing BETTER heal. I suppose it's less obtrusive than the scar I'd have if I had opted for surgery.

I have had fevers all week but haven't gone to the ER quite yet. I've decided to wait until my temperature hits 102, as hospital stays are not always conducive to wellness. I love how sensuous a fever can be. Hedonistic, even. Heightened body temperature, drenched in sweat, your heart beating faster. You can almost feel the blood pulsing through your veins. Your body aches all over, but a tolerable ache, so that it's not so much pain as a total awareness of the body. Vision becomes blurry. You melt into yourself. I almost enjoy it.

hello from iceman.