Cheetah has a cold. Her nose is stuffy, really, really stuffy. She has a cough that when it really gets going makes her spit up her milk. I listen to her at night and it is snuffle, snuffle, cough, cough, breathing so quiet I jump out of bed, then back to snuffle, snuffle. Sad little girl. This morning I tried to give her some relief by suctioning her nose out. One suctioning and a giant bugger came out. Second suction and blood started pouring out. I called Dr. J and he said she's probably just dried out. "Is there anything else?" "Baby bleeding out her nose isn't enough?" I asked. "No, it is," he said. I hung up and came downstairs to get the girls in the car to take Gigi to preschool. She was dragging like nobody's business. She didn't want to eat. I reached out to give her a little hug and she was burning up! Go mom!!! I texted Dr. J. "Gigi is burning up." Welcome to my life. I have a doctor I can call whenever I need. He can make house calls. He assuage my fears by letting me know what is and isn't important. But that doesn't mean I'm on medical easy street. He is not at my beck and call. The nature of his work means he is gone most days, long hours, and it is extremely difficult for him to get work off. If I have a medical emergency, he is going to be the last one to get there. When Peach hurt her arm, I was on my own, trying to entertain three girls in the ER. When my water broke 13 weeks early he only missed two days of work. When my daughter has a fever, I have to cross my fingers that he'll get home in time to take Captain E to his last soccer practice before the game. Otherwise I'll be driving the girls out there and waiting in the car until he finishes. I can't demand that he be home because he has no way of knowing what will or will not happen in the last minutes he is at work and if he will be able to get away or not. Medical residency is time consuming, a physically and emotionally taxing endeavor for all members of a family. It might pay to have a doctor in the house but it doesn't come without a cost.
OH this does make me sad! I wish I could make Nana house calls so I could help you out. I remember all of the miserable nights... usually on the weekend when I was walking the floors with you kids. It's not easy! I'm so proud of you for surviving it...
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