Hollywood calling

I'm still trying to entertain and impress. I can tell because I resist communicating about the past several days of spiking fevers and spending way tons of time in bed. It's amazing how easy it is to do this when it is the wiser of more immediate options - for example, having a scintillating stroll down the hospital corridors (I almost typo'd 'horridors' - I love how quaintly Freudian are my errors) accompanied by my 2-3 pump IV pole. If its base was more solid, I'd hop on it and .... what, skateboard?.... Careening into the walls would not be too bright. So yes - I fantasize about play and allow bed rest. Today my Findhorn Angel was "Relaxation" - and my new one (they are on GMT after all) is "Wisdom." I can be wise, even when I'm not particulary  entertaining. 

That's Dick Wezelman's job (the handsome man in that t-shirt). He and his wife Beany travel the world collecting ethnic artifacts which they sell privately from their artsy Berkeley home several times a year. Full of life doesn't begin to describe them. They came by yesterday bringing an earthy feminine healing statue from the Congo and some TJ's chocolate (did I say I have enough chocolate? I am luxuriating in abundance!). They will return tomorrow with a load of washed clothes for me and some homemade organic beef stew. After 22 years, I'm back on the red stuff, as long as it had a conscious life. 

I rarely had fevers before, it seemed, although I can look back with as much bias as anyone. But fevers are weird - you space out and heat up. And the strangest thing helps them - Tylenol! Honest, I didn't know that. I'm a folk remedy aficionado..... garlic as nature's penicillin, apple cider vinegar and honey hot drink, fresh organic foods, gazillions of immune-building supplements, anti-oxidants. [Ok, so I have a little strong coffee and chocolate jones....]. However, having multiple antibiotics dripping into my veins isn't something which with I readily resonate, so I do what I can in the absence of a complete internal transformation - I detach. Big time. In these series of moments I find that very useful.

I'm rootin' for 1000 - and I hope you are for me, too! That's the magic number for my white blood count to rise to to get me sprung from this joint. The reds are holding their own, which is nice. Platelets are a bit manic-depressive (had another platelet transfusion today). Whites were the baby thrown out with the bath water in chemo guerrilla warfare - and now they need some coaxing. Come on, white blood count!