Olivia had not been to day care in a week. Urine cultures (which are fun with a girl who's not potty trained), throat cultures, flu tests, blood tests, chest x-rays, and 4 visits to three different doctors gave us no info as to what was causing her fever of 101. A virus. Jeff got it too, and I have never seen him so sick.
Being the glass half full kind of gal, I look at the past week as an opportunity to wean my students from Mrs. Schlichting's care. While they got to experience instruction from a panoply of substitute math instructors, I got to catch up on episodes of Barney and read Goodnight Gorilla thirty-seven times.
So I guess it was a good thing that I had requested a sub through the often faulty and generally unreliable SAM automated Subfinder for Thursday morning. Come to think of it, I never checked to see if anyone picked up the job. Because by 7:00, my phone rang. It was our birth grandmother saying our birthmom had gone into labor, and they had just arrived at the hospital.
Book a flight. Repack into a carryon. Worry about Olivia. Worry about Jeff. Worry about Mimi worrying about me. Jump on a van. Get to the airport in plenty of time. Whew. Google viral meningitis. Fly to Memphis. Eat a barbecue sandwich the size of my head. Wait as my flight is delayed 45 minutes. Then another 30. Then another hour. Watch as they bring another aircraft from the hangar Call my friend Phyllis in st. Louis to tell her not to bother picking me up at the airport at midnight. Call jeff to ask him to rent me a car. Board the flight to St. Louis. Fly to St. Louis. Rent my car. Drive 45 minutes across the mighty mississippi into Belleville, Ill. to the hospital. Try to be coherent as I explain to the security guard who I am. Make it to the birthing center and there, behind the nurses' station is the most perfect baby boy I have ever seen.
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