Tortured Notes

They're trying to kill me here. They've made me into a sad and grumpy borderline maniac. Tell me if this doesn't resemble waterboarding.

They're pumping me with fluids even though my fever has been gone for almost 48 hours. I spent the entire night peeing like a horse and drowning in my sweat. I dreamed about floating down a river. I was in an aqueous dishumor.

This morning when my new nurse walked in (her name is Cherish), she mentioned something about hanging my next bag of meds. After my harangue about how the dam was about to break, I said I was pretty sure that antibiotic had been eliminated. Off Cherish marched to call my oncologist and the Infectious Disease Doc.

Good news: no more iv fluids, and yes, that drug is out. The complaint switch is stuck on the on position.

My doctor wants to keep me here over the weekend. I'm already a piece of heavily crazed china bordering on breakage into a million pieces. I'm going with Psycho Girl when he comes in. The problem is, I'm so angry my acting skills might be shot. Should I perhaps roll up in a ball on my bed and be mute? Should I be a fire-breathing dragon and go for the burn? Rational logical charming PJ's not working for me here. Dragon or fetal curl?

No woman, no cry.