This morning we started the day with a plan; drop off Little A at daycare; spend the first part of the morning with my sister-in-law then take her to the airport; then work for the rest of the day. Just as A got back to the house after dropping off Little A, the daycare center called. Little A had fallen and hit her head and needed to go to ER. L turned right around to go and pick her up while I called the insurance company. Not knowing how bad her injury was, we thought that it might be imperative that she was seen immediately, so I tried to find out if we could go to a local ER. There is a hospital about 3 minutes away from her daycare, and our hospital is about 25 minutes away on a very good day. After being put on hold for, oh forever, I was finally told that they would prefer that we went to our own care provider, unless it was an emergency. But we needed to establish if Little A needed Emergency or just Urgent care. And we had to adhere to the policy, but there didn’t seem to be a coherent policy, at least not one that could be disclosed. If we went to another hospital she couldn’t tell me what it would cost us, other than to say that the hospital would be entitled to bill us at above normal rates, because they were out of network, and oh because they can. So I asked what would be the normal rates for an ER visit, and she couldn’t tell me because it depended on the severity of the emergency. I started to tell her that we didn’t know and blah de blah, without swearing at her too much or using too many bad words, but instead said thanks and hung up. As I was simultaneously fretting about Little A and fuming about the American healthcare system and the fact that we actually have good health insurance, L called to say that he would take Little A out to our regular hospital. He didn’t say how she was was doing before ringing off so I spent a few minutes trying to rationalise that A must be doing ok if they were driving out to our usual place of medicine. I called ahead to the hospital and was told that our doctor would see the little one immediately upon arrival. She was apparently really out of it when L picked her up, but she quickly seemed on better form.Turns out that Little A’s wounds are pretty superficial, but they surely do look dreadful. She has an enormous welt across the top of one eye, with a cut that our doctor glued together and stuck down with strips. There’s a second dark red line under the first, and the whole eye area is very swollen. The entire episode was a bit traumatic all round, but she is on good form again. What a relief.
Once I knew that L and Little A were safely back in the arms of a branch of Starbucks, sharing a cookie, I took my sister-in-law to the airport. En route we stopped at the Mall so she could do 45 minutes of power-shopping, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Spending the stupidly strong British pound on American goods seemed like a lot of fun. I agonise over every purchase; this was was the work of someone who really can shop. L and I of course spent the day with the kids, and as the builders upstairs were being ridiculously loud, we had to go out, so a nap was out of the question. We ended up back in the Mall, where it was at least warm. We certainly got some suspicious looks from fellow shoppers looking at A’s face then at us, then back again. Not so nice. Overall though, Little A was really brave and good, and she loves our doctor, which certainly helps matters.
Anyway, tonight we made Sausage, Mushroom, and Olive Polenta “Lasagne” which was the same as all the other versions of this meal, but with olive tapenade in the ricotta cheese mixture. Verdict: waste of good tapenade. Tomorrow, Sausage, Mushroom, and Pesto Polenta “Lasagne”, and hopefully a day free of drama and trauma.