Poor little Emma's not well again. Mari took her to see her family doctor at the weekend clinic, and they sent her on to the pediatrics emergency unit at Toronto East General. Ken and I were at Ken's Japanese school in the morning, but followed on when we could. We were all there past six.
Now come the follow-on tests and who knows what else. Emma was in good spirits, and was brave despite the blood work. Her babble is starting to take shape that the rest of us can recognize, too: she told a nurse "have a good day" at a barely contained shriek, then quietly informed Mari and me, "i said 'have a good day'."
I was cycling home in the pouring rain (the rain clothes I bought this week have been a god-send) when the hospital called. They'd assured us that we were free to leave but wouldn't you know they had some paper work for us. So the next day I dragged Ken back up the hill on what was one of the nicest days I can remember, weather-wise, solely to pick up that sheet of paper.