‘38.4,’ Mr HB said. ‘Or three degrees higher than mine.’ We don’t really trust the thermometers in our house. ‘Should I cancel the babysitter?’
I was still on the train, a thread spooling back towards my family, normality.
At the doctor, half four the next day, it was 38.6. Then she found a non-blanching spot. ‘Just to be sure,’ she said. ‘I’m comforted that he’s alert.’ Plans were broken up and hastily remade into a different jigsaw.
The Royal Hospital for Sick Children is a twenty minute drive from my house. We arrived at half five. By six, we’d been seen, by seven examined thoroughly, bloods by half eight, discharged by half nine.
Today, I’m grateful for so much.
For the friend who looked after my eldest with ten minutes notice.
For the NHS.
For our good health.
For my boys.