It is so hot I don't know what to do with myself. My best idea so far is weeping. When I woke up this morning and it was already 80 and muggy, I just felt despair. I did get all my stuff done yesterday, although I swept up a pile of crumbs and grit and then got distracted on my way to the dustpan and brush, so when R. stopped home to change before the baseball game he saw it and then asked me, "what's up with the pile of crap?"
I wish I had a digital camera so I could show off my Martha Stewart cupcake creations.
Ordered bed number two. Oh, and I hate doctors, especially the Patronizing Pediatrician we increasingly get stuck with at our group practice. I called the nurse line to say, "My daughter S. has a stye and her eye is almost swollen shut. I'm putting on warm compresses. Anything the doctor can really do for us?" The nurse calls back and sternly orders me to make an appointment. So we go in, and S. tells the PP she has a stye. The PP nods condescendingly, examines her all over, then turns to me and says, "She has a stye. Do you see it?"
"Yes," was all I felt safe saying.
"Has she ever had one before?"
"No, but I get them all the time. We've been putting on warm compresses..."
"Here's what I want you to do: get a washcloth wet with water as hot as she can stand, then hold it on her eye 10 minutes out of every hour."
"Yes, we've been doing that..." and just as I'm warming up to complain about the phone nurse, the PP, and healthcare in general, she throws in,
"I'm going to prescribe an antibiotic ointment, although," she looks pointedly at me like I'm a proven drug seeker, "it would get better on its own."
So because of the ointment I can't claim there was no point to our coming in, but it's really just another opportunity for her to do what she does best--patronize.
Sorry, I'm sure my mood will improve after the violent thunderstorm this evening.
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