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Dang, Kathi, are you serious? I am so sorry. That is too, too much! I am so sorry for Neil, and for you. And, I am saying this because I know how people in general are but also because I know how YOU are: don't you DARE try to be a hero. You know what your limitations are, and don't think for one second that, just because Neil needs help, that that somehow trumps the fact that YOU need help. You got it?! You don't do anything you can't, or shouldn't be, doing. I don't care how much your instinct is to say, "Well, I can handle doing ___ just this once, 'cause he really can't do it right now." You can't. If you have to hire someone, if you have to let the grass grow, or the house get dirty, or whatever, the world will keep spinning, and life will go on. And if you have to pay someone to do it, somehow, somewhere, it will get covered. GOT IT? (At the same time, I can't help but wonder if, after all of the time you've spent wondering how he could still love you despite all of your "defects," it might not--in some sick and twisted way--help you to realize that, yes, he's still pretty lovable, even being all cripped up? Obviously, while hoping this is highly temporary and that he is feeling much better as soon as possible).

Funny you should mention about the temperatures of the showers. When I look back at the various symptoms I had long before I realized there was anything wrong, that is one of the ones that stands out to me, actually in a fairly humorous way (as opposed to the ones that have me pretty pissed off. See: one point off my NYSSMA score for posture, which kept me out of all-state chorus in high school. Yup, still bitter). Anyway, when I was in college, for my P.E. credits, I took WSI (water safety instructor). After class, we'd take showers, which was one of those oh-so-humane set ups where there were multiple shower heads set up around a single pole, so, sort of like a maypole dance, but with semi-naked chicks instead of ribbons. So, we'd all shower in groups around these poles, while still in our bathing suits (sorry, Kevin). And, in the stupid things college kids do, we had this thing about seeing how hot we could bear it, and, for the white chicks, how red we could make ourselves. Well, provided I stood at the right angle, making only my shoulders and upper back get wet, I could go for hot-as-it-could go, and I could "win" every time, no problem. You'd think, after awhile, we'd have either stopped this stupid contest, or I'd have figured out that this was kind of abnormal, but, nope, twice a week for an entire semester, I put up with burning hot water in order to bask in the glory of being the WINNER of being scalded while no one else could take the heat, so to speak. I've since realized it's because: I can't fully sense temperature in that area. Brilliant. And, Kathi, in case you were serious about the butchering (apparently, according to my [now-ex-]*friends here, I need to "tone it down," so hopefully I'm not being too literal...), no, you're not butchering it at all. In Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, it IS "The best-laid plans of mice and men..., although it's actually misquoted THERE, and the original Burns poem on which it's based is actually, I think, "The best-laid SCHEMES..." (So, you didn't butcher it; Steinbeck did ;-) ).

*Because apparently it is nit-picky to expect that, when you do a show, you put the correct composer and playwright on the program title page and not just the first people who show up on Google, even if those people wrote a different show that happened to have the same title, even if it was 34 years earlier. That's why I'm a total c*. I'd be a much bigger c* if the licensing company actually cared about this property the way some of the other companies care about theirs. Like, Rodgers and Hammerstein properties? Oh, man. This show, I'm just nit-picky. If it were an R&H show? I'd be nit-picky, and they'd be being sued for tens of thousands of dollars. R&H loves suing people. This show, they figure they look better keeping their family-friendly image. Bummer. Not bitter about that, either. I'd forgotten there was a perfectly good reason I'd stopped doing theater long before I got sick. It's because most theater people are batsh*t crazy. So, just to clarify, I would not be JUDGING you for misquoting Steinbeck on a messageboard. On the otherhand, if you had spent 12K to put on a licensed production of a musical version of one of his shows but then attributed it to some random other author who once happened to mention Mice and Men in something he wrote, and you printed that in the programs, despite having signed a contract in which you'd clearly stated to whom you'd give credit AND you were supposed to give me the program to copy-edit but didn't because you were involved in some petty pissy match? (Oh, and your director also completely plagarized his entire director's note, which I would have noticed in under 15 seconds, had you given it to me like you were supposed to?) Then I'd judge you. Just in case you were concerned :-) Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Uggh, I realize that is probably a useful and healthy thing to have so you don't risk burning yourself, but all I can picture is how the Department of Health used to make us set the thermostat on the hot water heater at camp ABSURDLY low so that there was no risk of campers' burning themselves in the camp shower. Like, ABSURDLY low, like, dumping my Brita water pitcher from the fridge would give me a warmer shower, low. Now, realize, this camp was in the Adirondacks, where it would get down to 40 degrees in the evenings by the end of the summer. You come in from sailing and all you want is a hot shower.

Of course, hypothetically, if one were fortunate to be at a camp where one of the benefits of being on an island meant you actually got some advanced warning of a DOH visit (because they needed a boat pickup, vs every other camp, where they just show up), one MIGHT keep the water at a warmer-but-still-non-dangerous level and then just turn it down when the DOH arrived. Again. Hypothetically. Along with all of the other things on the hypothetical checklist of things to hypothetically adjust in the 30 minutes it took to pick up the DOH at the dock (poor DOH. Always had to take the slowest boat we had!). So, I know those thermostats are probably great things to have, Lisa, but all I can picture are like torture devices that would make me keep the water at ice-level that makes shivering children cry. I'm careful now to test the water on a part that (I think? Shoot. Now I'm all paranoid!) has all its feeling, but a hot shower does more in making me feel better than just about any drug or TENS unit. Speaking of, some dude just brought one to my house. Tens unit, that is, not shower or drug.

The new physiatrist was all big on how he was gonna get me an inferential stimulator, which was DIFFERENT from a TENS unit. I told him I had one of those, but he told me I was wrong and I had a TENS. Hey, whatever, I don't like to waste insurance's money, but maybe it's a newer version, so I'm not gonna argue, even though I KNOW I have the inferential one (because I ALSO have an old TENS unit, which is only half-useable), because my PT got it for me on my old insurance and I was supposed to give it back and never did and insurance finally decided it was cheaper to buy it out rather than keep renting and trying to get me to give it back, and now I have new insurance, and, ha, I deserve to win on SOMETHING after my stupid school district went against our contract and took away our choice of insurance; send it on over. I ain't making any calls or fighting for it, so I don't believe I'll ever get it anyway, but, what do you know, this dude just calls me, hi, I'm in your neighborhood, are you there? Can I bring it now? Fortunately, he didn't kill me, and all is well.

So, we go through the whole deal where I have to pretend I can't grasp the concept of CROSS THE WIRES, and PRESS THE ON BUTTON because the poor man probably deals with idiots all day long so I let him draw me his little picture and he gives me the machine that looks like maybe they've slightly modified the last inferential stim one they give me, so, sure, I'll take it. All of a sudden, I look more closely, and: it's a TENS. Heh. I tell him, "Are you sure this is the right one? The doc seemed pretty insistent that there was no way I already had the inferential and that's what he wanted me to have, and this one says TENS right on it." He looks through his paperwork, definitely looking like he's nervous he's messed up. "Nope, they definitely ordered you a TENS." Brilliant. Whatever. I happen to prefer the TENS, and I tore the wire on my really old one (why I can only half-use it), so, while I DID have an inf. I did NOT have a functional TENS, so, yay for me, but, seriously? You're gonna act like *I* don't know what I'm talking about and then order me the wrong thing? Someday, the world will realize that I am always right, and it will just save everyone a lot of time and energy ;-)

Anyway, he sets it up and tells me to stop him when it gets too high. This is the same area where I win the hot shower contest (opposite of where I win the wet T-shirt contest...). So, he's going, and going, and going.... and finally I'm like, "Does it pulsate and go higher? 'Cause, then I guess I should stop there, in case it's suddenly going to go higher. Otherwise, go up a few more." And he's all, "Damn, I'm impressed. I don't think I've ever seen anyone have it go that high. [beat] Or maybe that's a bad thing. Do you have major nerve damage?"

Well, GO ME. I win shower contests AND TENS unit contests. And yet I'm about to go out of my mind with pain inside it. So, explain THAT one, neuros. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, you can't because you're too busy last-minute-canceling my scheduled-two-months-ago appointment so you can be on the news for saving Haiti, a trip that you've clearly had scheduled for weeks. Not bitter. Since I'm clearly not gonna pass as Haitian, I wonder if I can convince anyone I'm a paralyzed football player (since you like those dudes, too), so maybe I can get another appointment before the end of the summer? (Sorry. I realize that the people in Haiti need these services desperately and have almost no options and I am amazingly lucky to have the choices I do as an American, but, dang, it's frustrating when the situation could have been avoided if someone worked in a functional office that knew how to, say, operate Google Calendar, or, say, not act like a total arse. Grrr (Note: not the TENS-guy. That guy rules).

Other totally random Hot Bathwater story (warning, explicit but completely relevant language ahead. I've starred it out but I'm warning you if you are super sensitive. Otoh, if you're that sensitive, you probably shouldn't read any posts I write, because the language used here is about as innocent as I get. Kisses) :
Baby Eliza. Learning to talk.
Mom makes Eliza a bath, goes to check the temperature before putting Baby Eliza in it (GOOD MOMMY!).
Water is very, very hot.
Mom is surprised by hotness of water.
Mom jumps back and yells out, "F*CK"
Baby Eliza, learning to talk. Smiles. Points at bathtub. Cute baby voice. "Fuuhh?"
For weeks, every time Baby Eliza sees bathtub, Baby Eliza points and says, innocently, "Fuuhh?"
Took some de-learning on that one. Which obviously never fully took.
(Kevin, no comment there, either!).
(Never mind. I WAS being totally innocent. I tried. It's hard).