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December 2nd, 1999

Doogie Howser M(y) D(octor)

What a crazy day I had yesterday. I went to bed Tuesday night around 10pm and, in the next eight hours, this is what happened:

My three-year-old woke up at 11:15pm

My three-year old woke up at 12:45am

1:15am and my pillow is missing. Teeny, tiny little bedroom and I can't find it. Go figure.

1:20am - I go in search of a new pillow and find my four year old and her eleven year old sister PAINTING THEIR NAILS! What on earth are they thinking?

2:00am the hubby comes home from work and wakes me up by stealing his pillow back.

4:15am and guess who is awake AGAIN!

Finally at 5:45am the 14 year old is at the foot of my bed complaining of stomach pains. I normally jump to the "crying wolf" scenario but I have to take him seriously this time because he's crying. He never does that.

So, a few gallons of coffee later and we're off to the doctor's office.

Apparently my pediatrician retired so they scheduled me with a new doctor. Imagine my surprise when I found myself face to face with what could have been one of the Backstreet Boys. Well, maybe better than a Backstreet Boy because he can write prescriptions.

I feel jaded. I apparently missed the Medical Tutoring "In the Womb" course with my kids or I could have had four doctors in my house, too.

I hate it when someone gets sick in the house. Well, maybe I'm just envious.

I remember when I brought my youngest son home from the hospital. Within weeks I was ill and running a temperature so close to 105 degrees I kept staring at the thermometer with dread wondering just how far I could go before I spontaneously combusted. I took care of my son all the while and vaguely remember sitting in the living room in a feverish daze watching "Riverdance" on TV. I could have sworn they were dancing in slow motion

After about three hours of this I woke up my husband who was then working nights.

"Honey? Wake up."


"I think I need an ambulance. When I walked into the kitchen a moment ago, the lights dimmed. Oh, and I went out to get our newspaper all of the streetlamps in the block went dead, too. I think something is wrong."

Later that day, after a nice ambulance ride, I came home and crawled into bed. Surely with a temperature as high as this I would have some well-deserved peace? So, fluffing up my pillows, I sat waiting for someone to bring me tea. Nothing. In fact, I couldn't hear anything at all so I pulled on my robe and went to investigate. I found my husband on the phone whining to his mother about how tired he was because I had woken him up so early.

I wanted to take a rectal thermometer and orally test his degree of intelligence by jamming it in his ear.

Mothers cannot be sick.

I don't mind catering to my kids when they are ill. I can take care of my kids, no problem, but when my husband is sick I am in the midst of what you would think is an Ebola outbreak.

It amazes me to no end that a man who is capable of swimming through shark infested waters for us would willingly feed us to Jaws if he had a hang nail that particular day.

"Honey, I'd love to jump in but I have a sniffle. Yes, I can see that is a big shark. Just tell him you need to move some furniture around and I'm sure he'll swim away. Now hang on while I get some help."

I shall have to be careful to schedule all future cruise vacations during his optimal level of health

"Honey, I'm sick."

"What is it this time?"

"I have a temperature of 101.2"

I always want to laugh when he adds those points in there. It's almost like viral football and he's gotten a safety.

He then retreats to the bedroom like a bear to his cave and sleeps as if he is hibernating through to the new millennium.

"Do you have to go to bed?"

"Well, when I am sick the only think that makes me feel better is sleep."

"Funny, when I'm sick the only thing that makes me feel better is cooking dinner, shuttling the kids to day care, putting in a full days work, scooping the litter box, taking out the trash, vacuuming, extracting a gummy bear from a two-year-old's ear and then dropping from exhaustion in front of the dishwasher and spending the night curled up on the linoleum floor! But to each his own!"

I toss a kitchen sponge down the hall at his retreating back and hit him in the head.

"Oh, great. Now I have a migraine, too. I bet I have a brain tumor. Call work and tell them I won't be in next week. Thanks a lot, honey."

Unless otherwise specified, all material
Copyright 1999 by
Marijke Hildreth



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