This is the new face Julia has been making lately. We call it “The Wrinkle Nose” (and it is her Daddy’s fault).
Dave and I spent our evening at the hospital.
Julia had taken a nap today, which is pretty rare for her, and woke up with a fever of 100.4 that climbed steadily until it reached 103.5 this evening. As her temperature rose and our concern grew, we came to the harsh realization that we hadn’t chosen a pediatrician in our new town, yet. We consulted our Dr. Spock handbook and my mother then decided to take her to the emergency room.
After an agonizing wait, our names were finally called. Julia was given some Tylenol and a Popsicle to tide her over until they would call us back again to see the doctor. We sat in the waiting room holding our sleeping baby and trying to ignore the overt displays of butt cracks that seemed to be everywhere.
I’m not sure who popularized the low rise pants, particularly the ones with words printed across the butt, but I believe that person just may be the antichrist. No good can ever come from showing off your butt crack. Those of you who are guilty of these heinous butt crack displays, hear me when I tell you: People don’t want to see butt crack, and the ones who do aren’t the ones you want looking.
Finally we were called back to a room. We placed Julia on the hospital bed and she woke up her usual, sunny self. The nurse walked in to find Julia bouncing on the bed identifying the color of every item in the room. After asking some basic health questions, the nurse spoke to me in a tone that suggested she didn’t think English was my first language. She explained what a fever was, that it should be treated and that it can be done at home with Tylenol. She didn’t seem to listen when I tried to explain that Julia had been taking Dimetapp for her congestion that I’d brought with me to show her because I didn’t feel comfortable giving her Tylenol with it, especially considering the warning on the label, but she silenced me with her hand and informed me in so many words that I was an idiot. Then to make sure I really felt the cut she’d just made, she threw a little salt in by saying, “First time mom, huh?” She nodded knowingly, “The doctor will be in shortly,” and left.
I sat on the bed next to Julia feeling relieved and a bit foolish. Now that we were there and certain everything was fine, it seemed a little silly to rush her to the hospital. But when we were home and she was draped over me like a rag doll, unable to focus on my face and answer my questions, it seemed silly not to take her. As her fever climbed, I told myself it was probably just a cold coming on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it could be more. All I could think of was my friend who, at the age of 7, came down with a bit of a fever one night when we were playing at his house after church and was dead from meningitis the next day when it was time to go to school.
Dave rubbed my shoulders and said, “We did the right thing.”
The doctor came in later and checked Julia out. She has an upper-respiratory infection. Apparently it’s going around. We left with a prescription and a referral to a pediatrician.
On the way home we decided to drive through Burger King since it was after 9:30 p.m. and we were voracious having missed dinner. After our food was in hand, we pulled to a parking space to divvy up the goods and I realized I had to go to the bathroom. I’d had to go since we arrived at the hospital, but was too scared to leave Julia. I figured I better run into Burger King and go because I probably wouldn’t make the ride home otherwise. I ran up to the side door, but it was locked. There were people in the restaurant, so I ran around the other side to go in that way, but it was locked, too. As I turned to head back to the car, a Burger King employee opened the door and asked, “Ma’am? Is there a problem with your order?”
“No. I just need to use the restroom.”
“Oh, well we close at 10 p.m.” With that, she let the door slam shut.
I crossed the parking lot to go to Sheetz and use their restroom. FYI: They’re offering free self-serve coffee on New Year’s Day.
Do you see the cat in the tree?
That’s Emily. She’s trying to wean her kittens.
My mom pointed it out, “Leslie, come look at this. The kittens have been attacking Emily for milk, so she ran up the tree. Look at her.”
I grabbed my camera to take a picture and Julia wanted to know what was happening. My mom told her that Emily was in the tree. “Her kittens were driving her crazy. I guess she needed some time alone.”
Emily, I understand.
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