Swabbies

The Pony woke up this morning, healthy as a horse. Slight headache, not much coughing, temp of 99 degrees. Since I already made the appointment, I whisked him off to the doctor. I mean nurse practitioner.

Whisked is perhaps not the most descriptive word. After about 3 inches of rain last night, we floated an expedition to rival Lewis and Clark in order to get the #1 son to school, and The Pony to the doctor. I mean nurse practitioner.

River Rafting Guide H left for work around 6:00 a.m. By 6:30, he was back home, having called to tell me what creeks I would have to drive through, how deep the standing water was on our gravel road, and which route to take. RRG H said it would be light by the time I was ready to go. Au contraire, RRG H, it is always dark when we leave for school.

RRG H was sent ahead as the scout, and I followed his Pacifica, reasoning that if it could cross a wide expanse of rapids, so could T-Hoe. We made it out by a different route than usual, after fording a little bridge on our gravel road that is usually dry as a bone. We did have to puddle through the gravel road beside the creek, but it was only standing water, as the creek was still about 6 inches below road level. After a torturous, winding route about two miles out of our way, we arrived in town.

Woe were the highway workers who left a big white panel truck parked under the bridge they were working on. As we crossed the bridge on the old highway, we could see the river halfway up that panel truck. Surely the workers were smarter than to be working down there this morning. What price, progress? There go more of my tax dollars for a truck parked under the newer highway bridge.

After giving #1 to my mom to drive to Newmentia, The Pony and I sailed on to see the doctor. I mean nurse practitioner. Imagine my embarrassment when the hale and hearty Pony was found to be afebrile. I swear he went up to 101.2 yesterday afternoon. A physician's assistant (must have been a nurse practitioner's assistant) stuck two giant Q-tips up The Pony's nostrils all the way to his brain, and twisted them until his eyes bugged out and he had to blow his nose. That was a swab for the flu. Which The Pony was found not to have. But when the real nurse practitioner broke that news, she said, "But the test is not always accurate. So if he gets worse, call our Saturday Critical Care Clinic, or bring him in next week if he's not better. I'm not going to prescribe Tamiflu, because he seems to be doing well now and his lungs are clear. But there was some reason for that fever, so we need to watch that it doesn't come back." She looked like she was 12. Where is that comforting doctor who I last saw wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a green knit rasta hat w/braids, swilling a long-neck Bud at the Catholic Trivia two years ago?

The Pony got a medical excuse to return to school on Monday. I had tried to persuade him to go back this afternoon, but he was having none of it. And the excuse said November 2.