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Considering how she reacted to last night’spenevspennemix-up, she probably wouldn’t even take my call. And after she’d rudely rejected my crumble (even when Lorenzo asked if she wanted some to take home), she was the last person I wanted to call right now.But this wasn’t about me. This was about Leo’s health, so I had to put my feelings to one side, suck it up and phone her.
I jigged up and down on the spot, still trying to calm Leo, then dialled Marta’s number.
It was ringing.
Still ringing.
Voicemail.
Where was everyone today?
This was hopeless. As scared as I was about what I might find, I had to see if there was any useful advice online.
I launched the browser on my phone and started typing in the search bar, which wasn’t easy to do with just one hand and a screaming little person wriggling around, but I managed it. As I suspected, what felt like a million results appeared. The first article to pop up was entitled:
Is your baby seriously ill?
Great.
Some articles suggested it could be a fever. They recommended I gave Leo fluids. That was easy enough. I could give him some water. And paracetamol? Wasn’t he too young for that? I needed to check the box first.
I read on.
Oh no!
Do notsponge the child down to cool them. A fever is a natural response to infection.
What? Were they saying Leo had an infection? And I’d just put a cold wet towel on him.
Shit.
I clicked onto another article.
Meningitis?
Oh my God. This article said fever and lack of appetite were two of the symptoms.
I quickly laid Leo down on the bed and scanned his body for rashes or blotches.
I glanced over at the rest of the article.
Someone with meningitis can get a lot worse very quickly.
Fuck, shit, bollocks…
If a child isn’t eating and isn’t their normal self, get an urgent appointment with your GP.
That was the only sensible option left. I had to try the doctors. But I knew they wouldn’t speak English. That was why I was trying to get hold of Lorenzo. If I wasn’t even capable of getting a supermarket cashier to understand me asking for bloody coconut in Italian, how on earth was I going to explain my sick baby’s symptoms?
I had no choice.
Thankfully, I’d saved the local doctor’s number in my phone, not long after I’d moved here. Just in case. I’d only been a handful of times for Leo’s check-ups, but Lorenzo was always with me and translated everything. I wouldn’t feel confident communicating with him if I had to go by myself.
Time to put on my big girl pants and try.
I Googled some phrases, wrote them down quickly, then called the doctor’s.
Come on. Pick up.
