Tigrette (a.k.a. "La Streppy") had strep throat so, of course, this blog is about my suffering through it all. I am amazed I didn't get sick. Tigrette is always the most loving when she is sick so there were endless kisses on the mouth, long hugs, sips out of my drink, using my toothbrush, uncovered sneezes and coughs - it goes on and on. There's a reason, long ago, that we named her Typhoid Delhi. The girl knows how to pass it around. Worse, she would kiss you then say "I'm contagious".
The first day she was actually sick was Friday so my mother, who doesn't work on Fridays, took her. Saturday and Sunday were the first full days of glorious sun in a number of weeks - reason enough to go outside and do nothing. Tigrette wanted to reattach the placental bond by sitting in my lap all day and watching movies. She needed comforting. I needed a dose of sunshine and independent time.
Come Monday, with her no better, I took her to my doctor (who is great!) and we found out she did have Strep. Tigrette was healthy and alert enough to remind me I could hide some cool magazines in her jacket but, upon returning home, wasn't healthy enough to eat, throw trash away or pick up her socks from throughout the house.
My first question to the doctor was "When can she return to school?", to which the doctor replied she could return Wednesday. I knew she was feeling better Tuesday morning when she picked three little fights with me by 9 a.m. I was ready to medicate her and send her to school anyway.
By Tuesday night I was begging my mother to take her for an hour. I had all these plans! Go to the bookstore, buy a cup of coffee and sit outside, make a call, do some writing. All I did was take a nap. I'm still tired and it's Friday!
She managed to look beautiful and refreshed by Thursday when they had pictures taken. I remember years and years of minor "issues" which always meant my pictures were horrible. Sick for 3 days to return on picture day wearing a god-awful periwinkle and pale yellow shirt with a collar and (augh!) skinny tie (how could my mother not have known I was a dyke?). That's just the memory of 7th grade pictures.