Hot town, summer in the city
Summer finally arrived in the South, and boy was she pissed. It's been
in the 90s and dripping wet humid, just like an Amazon jungle with treefrogs
and poisonous snakes and stuff. (I'm actually exaggerating about
the treefrogs and snakes but we do have helicopter-size mosquitoes which have
been sniggering about our mild winter while they started in on small animals
and have already worked their way up to being able to pick up small
children. Seriously. The local TV stations paint logos on their
sides and use them to film aerial shots for the evening news.)
My husband valiantly got out the hammock and tried to take a snooze in the
shade last weekend. He did have a strong, hot breeze blowing over and
under him, which frustrated the mosquitoes as they couldn't find a leeward
place to land and feast. He still only lasted for about half an
hour. On the whole I think his experience was very similar to that
of our evening's entrée roasting in a convection oven, without the excitement
of the temperature probe.
So, between mosquitoes and rain and the expected "down" week from
chemo, I had to spend the whole week inside the house. No afternoons
in the gazebo, no lunch on the patio, no basking in the sun.
This exacerbated a problem. One of my temporary side effects from chemo
is that my internal thermostat has been reengineered: I'm most
comfortable when the room is a cozy 80 degrees. Yes, I now think
global warming is a good thing. My
husband – not so much.
I used to be the one always sneaking the thermostat down to 70 degrees,
feeling guilty about not abiding by our city's green guidelines but also feeling
sure that our city fathers didn't intend for me to actually sweat. I’m still turning the
dial, but this time in a new, novel direction, kind of like
the teenager who's just learned that volume knobs can also turn to the
The instant my husband leaves the house in the morning, I crank it up. The house hovers around 80 degrees during
the day, then I turn it back down to 72 degrees at five p.m. and grab a sweater
and blanket so I can bundle up to endure the frigid cold. When my husband gets home, I look like a
Sherpa about to lead a team up the last face of Mount Everest.
You know, it's an odd thing - stores in Texas don't seem to sell Snuggies in
June. I've checked. Must be an oversight. Anyway, you can just imagine what a
schizophrenic closet I have right now:
warm winter woolens for whenever my husband’s home, and summertime
cottons for when he’s not. Makes for
some interesting outfits. Hopefully my internal
thermostat will readjust soon; if not,
I’m going to be one of the few yelling “Bring it on!” when we get those 100-degree forecasts by the end of the
Oh, yes, my progress report for the week: I hit some new lows on my
cell metrics but they’re all starting to trend back up now. My voice comes and goes as this respiratory
infection will be around until July when I’m through chemo and recover enough
to beat it off. Next week should be a
fairly decent week; I'll be using it to get in good shape for (drum roll….) my
LAST all-day chemo, coming up just after Father’s Day!
In the meantime, very warm wishes!