where I am right now

I am in Cabo, sitting by an infinity pool overlooking the violent Pacific waves crashing on the slick, black rocks. I am under an umbrella, eating guacamole, having a pina colada, reading a gossip magazine and wondering if Robert Pattison and Kristen Stewart are really an item. I am slightly buzzed and just about to get a sunburn. In a minute I'll start Bell Canto again, so I won't waste my entire vacation on celebrity gossip.

Don't be jealous.

Don't be jealous, because I am only there in my mind. In reality, I am in day 3, or 9 depending on how you look at it, of sick kid hell. I certain I have cleaned up more than my share of vomit than was allotted to me by the motherhood gods and I am beyond feeling sorry for my daughter, now I just feel sorry for me.

Annabelle got sick last weekend. Feverish, puny. Then she got better--sort of. Then I got sick and then Hyphen (true to form) got sicker. All the while, she had a cough, and would cough so hard she would vomit up everything she ever thought about eating that day. Then on Saturday, she broke out into a fever very suddenly. I got concerned because I secretly, well not so secretly, thought we had the swine flu and a relapse is v.v. bad. So I called the after hours nurse line and they told me to give her some warm apple juice and honey to help with her cough. Okay, that sounds great. While I am at it, I will also get in my time machine and transport myself back into the middle ages to get some leaches, because I think bleeding her will help get rid of the evil spirits that are giving her the fever. Ugh. I want some decongestants bitches! Seriously, why can't we give them to our babies? So annoying.



On Sunday, I had a pitiful child and made a quick trip to the fancy medicaid-less ER, where I rationally explained out situation and the doctor who was wearing Prada glasses and who my grandmother would describe as a foreigner sent me home with a Popsicle and a dose of Motrin and told me she had a virus and it would pass.



The thing is, I know my baby. And I am not an idiot. I hold an advanced degree that gives me the ability to sue a doctor. I know the difference between a cold and something more. So this morning, when she doesn't even want to drink her milk, I take her to my real doctor. Who takes the time, even though he is a man, to listen to her chest. And she has pneumonia. PNEUMONIA. Now, I didn't go to medical school, but I am pretty sure apple juice and Popsicles don't fix that.



Sometimes, lawyers are the heroes of the story. Like when I called that quack shack and used the phrase "gross deviation from the standard of care" and demanded my money back.

Their director of medicine is going to call me.