Uncooperative white blood cells hand me the world's greatest doctor's order

Yesterday's regularly scheduled chemotherapy session was canceled. It seems my white blood cell count has not recovered sufficiently from the last session, making chemo too dangerous. This is not bad or good...it just happens sometimes. We'll try again next week.

The good news is two-fold. For one thing, I have been able to eat normally and feeling fantastic for about four days now, and yesterday's chemo reprieve presumably presents me me another week of feeling (and eating) good.

Here's the best part: given my low WBC count (and the danger of infection that comes with it), along with my reborn ability to eat, I have been given what must be the greatest order from a doctor ever received. What follows is a list of things I am forbidden to do, as they carry with them a risk of infection:

• Ride the MBTA
• Go to Walmart
• Yard work
• Clean the cat's litter box
• Clean the dishes
• Clean anything at all, for that matter
• Watch "Toddlers & Tiaras"

And here is the list of things I am obliged to do:

• Eat anything and everything I can, the fattier, saltier, and meatier the better

Um...okay. If you insist. 

So thank you, white blood cells, for making one man's gluttonous dreams come true. In closing, here's a summary of every conversation between my wife and me over the next seven days:

Cindy: "Josh, could you..."

Josh: "No, doctor's orders. Sorry. However, I'm ready for another quarter pounder and milkshake."