Don't 'sweat' the small stuff.

As part of seeing the Respiratory Specialist at the R.C.H Bubble had to have a sweat test to rule out cystic fibrosis. On friday we went to the hospital to do the test, the pathology was crowded with sick kids and anxious parents. The test involved having a device attached to the arm which sends a small electrical current through two electrodes to stimulate the sweat glands. A small amount of people don't sweat enough and have to repeat the test.

They can only perform the test twice in any one day, once on each arm. Guess who didn't sweat enough? Despite drinking copious amounts of water and running up and down the big ramps in the hospital wearing five layers! Those bloody tests took 3hrs and we have to go back on Tuesday to do it all again. Woo.

In the middle of a very late lunch I got a raging fever and decided not to take the boys home on the tram because I was feeling so rotten. Mat couldn't pick us up until he closed the cafe and we found ourselves going for dinner at Rumi because we were both too shattered to cook or even contemplate what to have.

We sat outside so as not to infect other diners and I rallied a little. We had olives, labne and smoky fennel, tenth century carrots, fried cauliflower with caramelised onions and pinenuts and the goat. (Sorry Kirti, I know of your 'herder' dreams) We had walked in like four weary travellers and came out like feeling like Persian Royalty leaving a banquet and sucking on great blobs of pink rose-water delight studded with pistachio.

We came home, threw the chaps into bed before collapsing in the lounge to watch 'Wire in the Blood', which was disturbing and left me cold.

I felt worse than I did after lunch as I crawled into bed with my vision swimming before me. Absolutely bathed in SWEAT... Oh, the irony!