We are still walking a tightrope.

Nigel's 103 degree fever continues, and he will still be contagious until he is fever-free for 24 hours.

One of the grandmas took Nigel to his pediatrician yesterday. He has a double ear infection and most likely some god-awful virus due to his aches and nausea. Might as well have thrown him into a den of daycare kids. In fact, the last time Nigel was this sick was when he was two and a half years old and our playgroup was at the Burger King playground. A van of daycare kids arrived and turned the place into Soddom and Gomorrah--which was fun for everyone. We all like a good party. And toddler nihilism is entertaining when they're not yours. But the next day was like a waking up to a bad hangover.

When you consider that on the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer, a driver--thinking she was on a two-way street--suddenly tried to make a left turn in front of me (I had to slam the brakes, lay on the horn and our cars did indeed kiss; both of us too shaken up to do anything but continue driving forward), and then the following day my car was actually totaled while I was in it (yes, yes I'll get to this story soon), I've come to one conclusion: somebody or something is trying to take me out.

But I feel great! I'm out of my chemo tunnel and have a surge of energy and euphoria. And perhaps testosterone. My face has completely broken out. I feel the need to do a pull-up. I'm playing rap music in my head (I blame that tech who played gansta rap during my bone scan because I've never been a rap kind of girl). I also know that once my pelvis gets the green light and after Jason has collapsed on our bed with a cold compress on his eyes, fatigued from a full day of nurturing and caregiving, I'm going to pounce and say, "YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF!!!"

I don't know what's chemo and what's menopause. It will get sorted out eventually. But right now, it's a total rush.