Sick House

It's 5:21 a.m. I've been awake since 3:30 with a fever. At 4 you woke up puking. We've since bathed you, attempted to get some food in your belly, changed your sheets and tucked you in to your bed with the slide. You're so hot I can hardly stand to touch you. You're the saddest, most pathetic, most beautiful sick person I've ever seen.

Your brother has a horrible hacking cough. He keeps coughing in his sleep. He might cough until he vomits. At least that's what he did yesterday.

It's 5:23 now. I'm exhausted and helpless and crying. Why isn't the doctor's office open yet?