"Just a cold this time," he says briskly, writing something in the chart as I sag into a chair. "Give 'em plenty of fluids, extra rest. They'll be fine in a few days. See you next time." And with that he is gone, like an ice cube in July.
"Wait --" My voice is a weak, pitiful squeak. The doctor, that descendant of Hippocrates bound to soothe and heal, does not hear me. Then I catch sight of THOSE CLOWNS, seemingly prancing on the walls in spiteful celebration of my plight.
"You ____ (numerous expletives deleted)," I hiss at them, forgetting my audience. The kids stare at me wide-eyed, or rather, wide-eared, primed and ready to repeat those choice expletives at the first opportunity, probably in front of my mother-in-law.
"Come on," I sigh, collecting my brood and heading for the exit, vowing that my children will have to exhibit signs of bubonic plague before I darken the doors of this place again. But I know better.
Jackie Papandrew is a freelance writer, wife, mother and coffee addict living in Florida. She writes a monthly humor column using material generously supplied by her family. She's published a variety of articles for newspapers and magazines. She can be reached at Jackie@JackiePapandrew.com.
Copyright © Jackie Papandrew. Permission to republish granted to Pregnancy.org, LLC.