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We took L to the doctor today: a lingering, stubborn cough that has persisted through a round of antibiotics, Benadryl, and Musinex. A quick check and another round of antibiotics.
But suddenly we have a doctor in the house. K and I have both received several checkups. It’s obvious L was paying close attention to what the doctor was doing: L runs her makeshift thermometer over our forehead and down one cheek. She puts her stethoscope on our chest then on our back and asks us to breathe deeply. Warning, “This might hurt,” then whispering the instructions to cry afterward, she plunges a syringe into our arm and clamps a plastic bandage on it.
“You’ll be alright,” she soothes.