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I’ve never been a big fan of the whole Christmas-miracle motif. Goes back all the way to a foster family who kicked me out of their home the day before Christmas Eve so they could give my bedroom to the cousins coming in from out of state. And here I am complaining about how my husband’s got a chip or two on his shoulder.
Jake and I are staring at each other. It’s like we’re stuck here. Time’s frozen, but just for the two of us.
I knew something like this would happen. Didn’t I tell you everything was too perfect to last?
Jake pulls out his cell phone. I swear he’s about to call his mom, and I’m not going to argue with him. If Patricia were here, she’d know what to do. That woman is as torturous as a hill full of fire ants, but she’s efficient. She knows how to take charge, a skill which Jake never learned and I’ve apparently forgotten in my panic.
But he doesn’t dial his mom. He’s staring at his blank screen. “What do we do?” he asks.
“Call Dr. Bell,” I tell him. Where’s my phone? I swear I had it with me a minute ago. Is it on the couch?
“I don’t have her number,” Jake whines. Of course he doesn’t. I’m the one who arranges all the appointments. I’m the one who takes Natalie to the pediatrician’s. Why would Jake bother storing her number in his phone? It’s not like he does anything with that stupid thing besides play Candy Zapper. I’d despise it less if it were at least a game designed for adults.
No, I can’t do this. I don’t have time to hate my husband right now. All that can come later.
“Call my cell,” I tell him, but he’s still stuck on the fact that he doesn’t have the pediatrician’s number in his contacts. “Just call me,” I snap at him.
Ok, I hear it ringing. There it is. I must have taken it out of my hoodie when I was putting on the front pack. Seconds later I’m talking with the after-hours call center.
“I need to speak with Dr. Bell,” I tell the woman. Her voice sounds young enough she could still be in high school. Let’s hope she’s got more medical expertise than a teenager.
“Can I get the name and birthdate of the patient?” she asks. So polite. Like she’s got all the time in the world before her shift ends and she clocks out to go home and watch Elf with her parents.
“This is for Natalie Franklin. She’s a patient of Dr. Bell’s and has a really extensive medical history.” I grab the thermometer from the bathroom drawer and shove it under my daughter’s armpit.
“And what’s Natalie’s date of birth, please?” She’s got a voice like Barbie. High-pitched and shrill.
I want to throw the phone against the wall. I can’t think straight. Who cares what her birthday is? My daughter might be dying, and I need to talk to her doctor.
“She’s four months old.” Why can’t I remember her stinking birthday?
“Four months exactly?” Barbie asks.
Why can’t I ever figure out what time of year it is? “I just need to talk to Dr. Bell.” Jake is staring over my shoulder at the thermometer. Doesn’t he know he’s in the way? “What’s her birthday?” I ask him.
“I beg your pardon?” Barbie replies.
“Not you.” I hit Jake’s shoulder to get his attention. “What’s her birthday?”
He’s looking at me funny, but I don’t know if that’s because he can’t believe I’ve forgotten or he can’t believe I expect him to know. With Jake, I can see it going either way.
“August 21,” he says, and I probably give Barbie a blown eardrum by yelling the date into my phone.
“This year?” she asks.
It’s too stupid of a question to even answer. “How long until I can speak with Dr. Bell?”
“The way it works is I’ll get a little more information from you and have a nurse call you back. If she has any questions or concerns, she’ll contact your son’s pediatrician for you.”
“It’s a girl,” I tell her but don’t know why I bother. It’s not like that matters.
The thermometer lets out a weak beep. Jake snatches it before I can. Barbie is asking me something stupid, something about Dr. Bell’s clinic, but I’m not listening.
I grab the thermometer out of Jake’s hand. “Listen,” I interrupt. “I need to talk to Janice Bell from Orchard Grove Family Medicine about my daughter right away. She’s on an apnea monitor, a feeding tube, and needs a suction machine because she can’t swallow. She’s on seizure meds and is one step above vegetative, and her temperature’s all the way up to 104.7.”