Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Chain of Command

Baleen got mastitis two nights ago. It's not what it sounds like, a madness for clipper ships, but an inflammation of the breast. Our language is clinical around here. I went back to work, she took the night shift by herself, then carried on conversations with Grizzly and Wood Duck the next day without getting a nap, and boom, the lump appeared.

Actually, it wasn't a boom, more of an achy complaint. We got the iPhone out, looked at symptoms (feverish, hot then cold, headache), got the Dragon Boss' first aid kit, and took her temperature. 99.9.  She made it through one more night on her own (she kicked me out, lovingly, with her toes turned in) and the Dragon Boss helped her out, only waking once during the night for a feeding. Hello, wise son.

The next morning, the five of us had a staff meeting. We established a chain of command. Baleen, in her weakened state, was still the field general. Her orders were to not be disturbed unless the Dragon Boss needed maternal attention or a feeding. Wood Duck would tend to her grandchild and Grizzly would procure the day's supplies, primarily fresh bagels, toilet paper, and an antenna for the TV. When I got home on Tuesday night, after getting a good long nap in during both the morning and the afternoon, Baleen was back down to 99.2. Hot bananas.




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