Ok, I am breathing again...to continue

As I said, I was about to pay for my initial, ugly thought.

Instead of being openly vexed, I said to him, "I'll call 211 and get a list of free clinics...get dressed, I'll be over in a bit."

"Thanks mom...I love you..."
"I love you, too. Get ready."

I hung up the phone and said, "GGRRRAAAHHHHGGH" (Yes, I actually did say that.) Then, for the umpteenth time, I thought, "If April had her license, I wouldn't be having this problem - SHE could take her brother to those free clinics! But, why should an 18 year old WANT a driver's license?!" Did I mention that I'm a bad mother? "Grace Under Pressure" does NOT describe me. Really.

I fling open April's door.

"Get UP! I need you up and I need you up NOW. C'mon, girlie!" (I called her, "girlie". It is a pet name; it is a good name....maybe I'm not so bad in the mother department, after all.)

"Huh? Wha? Why?" she complained. I quickly explained that she would have to be the one to field both the companies that came by, and text me when they needed payment because I would be toting her non-insurance-bearing brother to free clinics. She was not happy...she hates unknown situations. Yep. Me, too. I wrote down all of the problems we were having with the washing machine and the air conditioning unit, got dressed, called 211 and headed out.

When Mikey came out of his apartment, he was walking like an old man. He had got hit in the groin in the shower with the showerhead last Saturday. On Monday, the 13th, he had mentioned that he had hurt himself and was still hurting a little bit. He had asked me then what he should do, as he had never experienced that kind of pain for so long. He has a tendency toward the dramatic, so I filtered his explanation through my "Mother's Filter" (for instance, "Mom, I hit myself in the shower with the showerhead as I was rinsing. It hurt so bad, I "whited out" - not "blacked-out", "whited-out" and woke up on the shower floor some time later..." turned into, "Mom, I hit myself with the showerhead and it hurt more than I expected." Seriously, if he had really "whited-out", he would not have been talking to me, he would have high-tailed it to a doctor, right?) and asked a few, simple, obvious questions:
1. Is there swelling?
2. Is there discoloration?
3. Is there fever in the area?
All three were negative. "Well, son," I said, stifling a laugh, "I'd say ibuprofin and ice. Why, I remember when I birthed you kids..." I'm sure you can imagine the rest of that story. He smiled wanly and said, "Ok. Thanks mom. I'll do the ice."

Problem solved. I am a genius.

Now, it was Wednesday morning....a little over 24 hours after that conversation, and he couldn't walk. That didn't make sense. No matter; free-clinics, here we come. Someone will have the answers for us in a short while. There would be drugs dispensed, and I could get back to work after lunches. I left the house hoping that April would call me after I dropped Mikey off somewhere, and that I would have all my home problems solved before I had to go pick him up again.

Ouch. Bad mom, again.