Living With a Lizard

Temperatures are unbelievably in the 70's where we live. And my husband has the heater on. HE HAS THE HEATER ON. Normally, I would boot his cold-blooded butt out the door and point him to the nearest hot sauna, but given that he is now my husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer, I guess that would be considered rude.

Oh, don't fuss at me and brand me as a wicked wife. His inability to stay warm pre-dates the cancer.

Indeed, our battle of the body thermostats started about five seconds after we said "I do," and has been the cause of many dramatic moments over the past 22 years. Once he woke to find me sleeping naked under a thin sheet on the back deck, where I took refuge after awaking soaked in sweat from the forty pounds of down comforters he had piled on our bed. 

And, yes, I am aware of the physiological phenomenon known as menopause. Yes, my blood runs a tad warm. But my husband's reptilian blood has been a 59 year menopause in reverse and it will never, ever end. 

Lewis the Lizard. Cold-blooded, constantly chilled. He refuses to take a vacation to any location in which the temperature might drop below 78 degrees. He was actually cold during most of our Caribbean cruise last year. 

But now that we are on the cancer journey, I will indulge him any way I can. If he wants to set the heater on 95, so be it. I have an automatic ice cube maker and a really big garden tub in which I can loll in chilled bliss. I have thermal underwear and ski gear boxed in the basement, which I can use to insulate my-husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer at the first sign of a chill.

I don't know how we'll afford the heating bill, but we aren't going on any cruises this year, so we'll get by.

Life with the Lizard includes immeasurable perks. The least I can do is sweat a bit.