My Toddler Had a Fever on Post-Call Day

post-call from L&D. eighteen hours. toddler spiked 103 at daycare pickup. pediatrician brain and mother brain fought the whole drive home. knew the odds. still panicked. gave tylenol. watched her breathe. called my mom. cried in the shower. we tell patients to rest. nobody restocks us. the pediatrician waiting room had a fish tank and a argument about screen time in whispers. i filled out forms with one hand. work email pulsed in my pocket like a second heartbeat i did not invite. being good at medicine does not make you immune to fear when the patient is yours. daycare sent a photo of her smiling at snack time and i stared at it longer than any rational person would. guilt is a subscription service with no cancel button. i folded tiny socks at ten pm because domestic tasks do not respect credentials. my partner is asleep already and the house is quiet in the way that means tomorrow starts early.

Post-call from labor and delivery. Eighteen hours. My toddler spiked 103 at daycare pickup.

Pediatrician brain and mother brain fought the whole drive home. I knew the odds. I still panicked.

Gave Tylenol. Watched her breathe. Called my mom. Cried in the shower where nobody could ask me to interpret a deceleration.

We tell patients to rest. Nobody restocks us. OBGYN training prepares you for other people's emergencies. It does not prepare you for your own child fevering while you smell like hospital soap and guilt.

She slept. I did not. Morning came anyway. I went back to work because that is also what mothers in medicine do.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

Know someone who should read this?