I’ve had an ear thing for a few days now. After maybe 30 minutes of fitful sleep, I awoke last night with the distinct impression that someone was goring a pickaxe into my brain. Repeatedly.
Did you know that Aleve does nothing to dull that particular sensation?
Last night I enjoyed a great dinner with two of my sisters at The Capital Grille.
But there’s a hard lesson I’ve learned since becoming a parent: those nights on the town with the girls always come at a price. This time, I paid in down feathers. Approximately 3500 of them.
With son #1 on the DL, we never really discussed how son #2 would get home from camp. My husband assumed I would pick him up, while I was certain – CERTAIN! – I could remain at work until the exact moment I was ready for a nicely chilled cocktail.
I think I’ll call in sick tomorrow:
Please be advised that the Summer BBQ is tomorrow afternoon in the front parking lots.
Kindly refrain from parking in the grassy-knoll area separating the 2 lots, so the caterer can set up for the event.
My son is splayed on the couch, watching TV but not really seeing. Surrounded by Gatorade boxes and dosage cups measured in teaspoons-and-a-half, his eyes are glassy while his forehead radiates red-hot heat.
I panicked a little Sunday as he showed me one, then two, then five shape-shifting rashes on his pale flesh. His persistent low-grade fever from the past 10 days was inching higher. The sullen, adolescent scowl that overcame his beautiful eight-year-old face took my breath away, when I dared to ruin his weekend by taking him out for ice cream.
I’m placing my bets on this doctor, the third we’ve seen since the fevers started. She’s earnest and attentive, and listens carefully to every symptom I describe. From the inflamed lymph node to the low-grade fever to the sudden personality change, she takes it all in. As she peeks at his lower back to see the amoeba shaped red rash with the white center, her expression of benign concern changes to one of satisfaction. For a moment I envy how much she loves being a doctor.
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