Daily Blague

My late mother and my daughter, Houston, 1974. Ms G came pretty close to being late herself this week. I only found out about it afterward, when she called last night to say that she'd just gotten out of the hospital. I was able to follow what followed, but the shock took a long time to wear off. With a very high fever on Monday night, she decided to take herself to the emergency room. They put her on an antibiotic drip, but they never did identify the pathogen. When her temperature returned to normal, they - no individual doctor was ever named; I expect she was seen to by residents - kept her for another day, for observation. While battling the inexplicable fever, Ms G had to contend with phone calls from Houston: there had been a death in her mother's family. "So I'm afraid you got pushed down to the bottom of the list, Dad." Of course, this is what I worry about every time I have any difficulty making contact. "So we'll talk tomorrow," I said before hanging up. After all, she still felt tired and a little nauseated. I called her place of employment twice and then called again, this time going for a live person. The very nice woman who took the call said that she hadn't seen my daughter but would be happy to check the cubicles. Five minutes later (it seemed), I heard a familiar voice. "Sorry, Dad." It would worse if I weren't use to the same sort of thing from my dear Kathleen.