What goes down must come up

I was woken up on Friday morning by Tomato informing me, particularly loudly, that Bacon can't go to school because she's sick.  This is a normal occurrence so I rolled over to pretend that I was going to be able to get some more sleep (I do this every morning and never get any more sleep so I don't know why I keep doing it – apparently the first sign of insanity is repeatedly doing the same thing expecting a different outcome, but hey that insanity ship has long since sailed).  I had planned on a very rare coffee date that morning with a friend who I hadn’t seen in 23 years, so I was not keen to listen to anything that might affect my selfish me-time.  I then suddenly realized that there was something wrong with this picture, usually it's Tomato saying SHE can't go to school because she's sick, not her sister!  So I dragged my tired butt out of bed and hobbled like a newborn giraffe (I’m not a morning person) to Bacon's room where she was just lying on her bed with a beet-red face and looking miserable.  Turns out Tomato is psychic, with a temperature of 37.9 Bacon was not going to school that day, she was headed straight for the Doctor.

 

The Doctor visit was uneventful, Bacon did all the right things in all the right places and ended up with the eagerly anticipated complimentary fizz pop and mom received a long list of medication to purchase as well as instructions on how to perform do-it-yourself physio.  The Doctor showed me how to “cup my hand” and whack Bacon on the back to loosen phlegm while she coughs (oh the joys of motherhood, my aim is to aid phlegm expulsion - beautiful). 

Now a great perk of going to that Doctor is that there is a dispensary right next door so we nipped in to fill the prescription.  I put Bacon on the counter while I spoke to the pharmacist and I was happily playing with her while we were waiting, pretending to take her sucker away, when she started coughing.  I immediately remembered my motherly commitment to cup my hand and whack her on the back which I dutifully did, only to find that this is actually rather effective, too effective in fact.  

Bacon coughed so much that she started vomiting, yes, not just phlegm (as was the aim).  No sirree, being an over-achiever like her mom, out came her healthy breakfast (which I really wasn’t that keen to see again) of Pronutro, yoghurt and cheese [don’t children chew?] and of course it was a beautiful red color from the sucker.  She managed to get it all over herself, all over me, the counter and the floor. And she didn’t stop there, it went on for what felt like an eternity.  The pharmacist, noticing the drama unfold at his counter had suddenly sped up his dispensing and handed me her medication, which had quickly incorporated Rehydrate due to recent developments, but she just kept on and on and on.   

The next person in the queue was keen to get to the pharmacist but wasn’t too keen to take occupation of the “puke-counter” so everyone just stood back and enjoyed the show that we were giving.  As luck would have it, I had a whole 3 tissues which lasted about one piece of cheese and no Pronutro, so I was kindly given some toilet paper (obviously this guy has never cleaned up vomit before because toilet paper just disintegrates or pushes the bits around).  Then the icing on the cake – the cleaning staff hadn’t pitched for work that day.  After using the entire toilet roll I was beginning to get a bit desperate, but wait, I noticed there was a purging-lull……..

I grabbed the meds and Bacon’s hand and headed for the door at a pace, muttering something about hoping someone finds a mop, only to be stopped by security saying I hadn’t paid for the medication. Huh?  I was informed that I had to go to the check out to pay for a shortfall.  [Great!]  So we stood in the queue my sick child and I, my face hidden because of the mess I had left a few meters away, both of us smelling like we’ve been rummaging through dustbins for the past month, dripping vomè on the floor and after what seems like an eon, we finally got to the till.  In an effort to save time and vacate the premises rapidly, I whipped out my credit card before the amount was rung up, only to be told that the shortfall is R2,46.  Seriously??  The R700-odd could be taken out of my medical savings from my Medical Aid, but for some moronic reason R2,46 was so way out of benefits that I needed to personally add this pittance to their coffers (aaarrghhhh). 

Anyway after a shaky start to the morning and the smallest credit card purchase I have ever made (yes I did make them put it on my card), I am pleased to report that I managed to, drive Bacon home, nebulise her, give her the 2 antibiotics, decongestant and Rehydrate, watch our new Wendy house be constructed, have a quick shower and change and still get to the coffee shop on time (okay that’s a lie, I was 10 minutes late but it should be classified as on time after the morning I had!)  Luckily my long-lost friend is also a mother and knows “the mother code” which is to overlook such frivolous details as timekeeping and just get on with catching up, as we both know how precious an hour and a half of adult-only time is, when you have children.