Hospitals scare me. I get tense and anxious and my hands start to sweat when I'm in them. Emily's appointment today with the haemotologist meant that we had to go to the oncology department, and I hated seeing all the little kids having their chemo treatments. I still feel a bit teary and fragile. This evening is the first time I've really missed having TV. I'd love to veg out in front of something soothing like Seinfeld right now.

The haemotologist wants to run another panel of bloodwork for Emily. Her neutrophil count has dropped over the past few months, and he wants to make sure that the trend doesn't continue. He says it's most likely nothing to worry about, though. Of course I worry anyway.

Guess how much it costs for fifteen minutes of a haemotologist's time, by the way? Go on, guess. Close to $500 dollars, that's how much. Fortunately, we've finally reached our (massive) deductible, so we only have to pay 20%. But that still feels like a lot. I liked the doctor, though. He didn't rush us, didn't patronise us, treated Emily like a rational person, and explained everything at length. So that softens the blow a bit.

I'm resending all our claims for the growth hormone to Lifewise-of-fucking-Oregon via certified mail, because when I called them today they said they still hadn't received any of them. It's funny how they slowed up they've suddenly got now that they actually owe us some money. Incompetent idiots. I can't tell you how much I hate them. And I'm so tired of getting The Dubious Look from sundry doctors' receptionists when I give them the pathetic little un-laminated grubby home-made looking dog-eared type-written cardboard insurance card which is all the documentation which Lifewise provides us with.