So Eve started coughing last Monday. Last Monday, when Matt was still home and would be for a week. She was coughing, but nothing else. She wasn't stuffed up or feverish or lethargic. She went to school every day and played with her friend next door most nights and it was all good. I went away for the week-end -- still good. But coughing. When did that nagging but basically unassuming cough turn into something a little more sinister? I'll tell you when: the minute -- probably the goddamned mother-cursed bugger-freaking SECOND -- my husband's plane passed out of Canadian airspace. On Monday, a WEEK after the original cough began. Seriously -- it's like a switch flips once he's gone and all manner of mishaps, catastrophes and incidents of mayhem (MAYHEM I say) descend upon us. Stairs cannot be traversed without falls. Fingers bend in strange and unintended-by-nature ways. Maggots infest the green bin. The clocks run backward and blood streams from the taps. Okay, I'm exaggerating. But the huge days-long power blackout in 2003? He was in Boston. And the only time Eve has ever had an ear infection immediately followed by a stomach virus, he was in goddamned Switzerland. True story.
So I took Eve to the doctor today. I'm a stay at home Mom and she was home from school so we could have gone at any time they could squeeze us in. Naturally the time they could squeeze us in was the exact time when I would have to be picking Angus up from school (I got him to go home with a friend) which then resulted in us getting onto the highway at the exact hour we like to call Rush. WITHOUT a prescription, because the doctor would like her to get a chest x-ray just to make sure it's pneumonia. Sure. Great. Hate antibiotic overuse. WAHHHHHHH!!!
Oh well. She did get a puffer. She's still feeling well enough to be a smartass. And Angus just took her upstairs to run her bath.
God, let the hot water tank be working.