Dear Diary. Darby still sleeps after a scary night. Her mom lays next to her and even though it is already 8 am, they're both asleep. A sign that they (at least Anne) was awake in much of the night.
Darby came home from school feeling terrible. She had a slight fever and complained that her throat hurt really, really bad. She was fine when she left for school that morning. As the evening progressed, she got worse and eventually was crying because her throat hurt so bad. The scary part though became reports about her neck which hurt. I say scary because Anne is a whiz at beating the doctors to the prognosis by going to the computer. She diagnosed meningitis, and together with the story she heard a few days ago about a young girl, friend of a friend, who got sick and died in 24 hours from meningitis, had us contemplating the emergency room.
So there were calls to the urgent care doctor on call, with instructions of pills and watching for symptoms. There was debate between us and conversation about Darby's tendency to "soak up" sympathy.
I crawled away to her bed upstairs to sleep. This morning, the two of them rest peacefully, like a picture, in our bed. When I look at them, as an incognito spy, and also knowing they don't know I'm watching, the serenity of the scene, from soft cotton sheets and kitty cats at the foot, bump in the blankets where our Yorky is warm and cozy under them, it is hard to imagine that more drama will ensue, when the light finally violates their lush comfort.
Alas, we're engaged already. The doctor's office doesn't open until 12:45 on Wednesday! The alternative is traditional hospital medicine, with our limited health care insurance and our high deductible, and the ridiculous routine of tests and prodding related to liability and corporations.
Naturally, we'll do whatever, because we won't risk any true danger, but why oh why can't we stay in that peaceful Currier and Ives collection, all cozy and safe, blissfully resting in perfect beauty?
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