Last night I started feeling queasy, and by this morning I was vomiting and miserable. So much for my run of good luck, although my partner graciously took over my afternoon patients so I can’t really complain. And I made it through the morning without actually throwing up on a patient, which is always good. Being sick is always tough when you are a physician. In my small office the choice is a miserable retching doctor or no doctor at all. After my long, long Pregnancy of Puke I am more qualified than most to deal with today’s events.

(No, I am not pregnant. My office staff made me show them a negative test before they believed me in spite of my reminder that the uterus is closed for business. Geesh, can’t a girl throw up a few times without being knocked up?)

Last night, we sat down with a lawyer to discuss a will, the last checkbox on "Suzie’s Morbid List of What Could Happen". Josie sat on Tim’s lap throughout the hour long discussion "reading" her alphabet book and making the signs for the various animals. The lawyer studiously avoided making eye contact with her as she went through the motions of "butterfly" (hands crossed, but appearing to the maniacal rubbing of an evil plotter in a silent movie) and "mouse" (finger rubbing edge of nose, appearing suspiciously like nose picking) and "bear" (arms crossed rapidly at the chest. She looked as if she was either throwing gang signs or challenging the lawyer to a dance-off). Poor man, I’m sure he was happy to see us and our quiet, but plotting, nose-picking, gang baby leave.