Once again we found ourselves at the doctor's office yesterday. Those cramped rooms with unforgiving florescent lights; stacks of torn children's books that we've read over and over...and over. We were here after the third day of unrelenting fevers. No other symptoms to speak of. I had diagnosed you with Roseola, a common virus with a typical presentation in 9-12 month olds. I felt pretty confident with my diagnosis, after all, I am a graduate of the internet school of medicine. What I wasn't prepared for was the suspicion of a UTI. How could I have misread the symptoms? Before I knew it your doctor was creating a sterile field and inserting a catheter. My mind tried to keep pace as I started envisioning an upcoming surgery. I held you tight, looking down at your socks. "Mommy's Girl", they read. But I hoped this time it wouldn't be true. You can inherit my crooked eye tooth, my inability to handle stress and simultaneously look for it, but you weren't supposed to inherit my kidney. As we waited in the office for the results we held on tight.
It was just a virus. As i bundled you up and drove us back home I realized how in an instant our world/perspective could change. I was driving home the happy mother of a baby with Roseola and just Roseola.
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