With one innocent question to our local GP about whether we should give you ibuprofen on top of paracetomol, your mother launched us on a bit of an adventure Sunday night. Because apparently if you’re under two years of age and have a fever over 40C, you automatically get sent to the ER.
Within minutes of hanging up, our doorbell rang and a man with more gear than a Ghostbuster came romping in, rapid-firing questions about your condition. Five minutes after him, three more medics burst through the door. As it was around your bedtime, all you wanted to do was just to go to sleep, so you were crying and not happy about having to face these looming towers of people. Of course, they naturally assumed all the crying had to do with you not feeling well, which was probably somewhat true.
Then before I knew it, all of us were packed into an ambulance and on the way to the hospital. You eventually calmed down and just fell asleep in your mother’s arms. Upon arriving at the hospital, we were brought to the waiting room and a couple of nurses periodically checked on your temperature as we waited for the doctor. It was a bit annoying only because it meant we had to keep waking you. Eventually you realized there was tons of toys behind you, so who needs sleep?
Of course, by the time the doctor inspected you, your temperature had gone down. We had to wait another hour in the end for no good reason, but eventually made it home by midnight, which was five hours later. Definitely an unexpected finish to our weekend!