I am trying to sleep while my baby naps after a night with no sleep at all. Then I get the dreaded call. I glance at my phone and it is børnehaven.

“Hej, Lauren? This is Børnehuset Fuglsang. It’s Owen. He’s not so fresh.”
“Shoot. Ok. Have you taken his temperature?”
“No. But he is just not fresh. He is tired and sleeping now.”
“Ok, I’ll come get him now. I’ll be there in 25 minutes!”
“It’s ok, we will keep him comfortable here.”
“Tusind tak!”

I rush to pack a bottle and food for my baby and then wake him up. He starts to cry, confused as to why he has so rudely been awoken only to have his diaper changed and be stuffed into a coat. 

I load him into the car dialing the doctor at the same time. It is 2:45. I now have to call the “emergency” number in hopes he can be seen. According to the lægevagten (urgent care) doctors I should be able to be seen by our regular clinic until 4:00. We have always been denied this however. They are too busy, or we should have called sooner. I dial without hope that this time will be different.

The receptionist picks up. It’s Dorthe. I’m fucked. 

“Hej, unskyld, kan vi taler på Engilsk?” I say.

“What is it?” she says in perfect English.

“My son is very sick. He’s had a fever for 5 days. But I thought he was over it and sent him to school today. Only now he has a fever again. His børnehaven just called and said he is sick.”

“He has been sick for 5 days? But he is at school?”

“Well, yes, but he didn’t have a fever this morning and was acting normal so I thought he was better.”

“Why are you calling now? If he’s sick why didn’t you call earlier?”

“Because I thought it might just be a virus.”(quick side note…often when bringing a child to the clinic who has had a 105 F fever for multiple days, I’ve been chided by more than a few doctors for overreacting to a virus. It has been defeating enough to make me rethink bringing them in to the doctor unless my kid is having trouble breathing. Frankly, a lot of the GPs here in Aalborg are nothing short of infuriating.)

“But why not call earlier today? We are busy now and closing.”

“I’m sorry. I understand. But I thought he was better earlier and I only just got the call from his børnehaven that he is sick.”

“But he’s been sick for 5 days.”

Big sigh. “Yes.”

“Have you given him Panodil (Tylenol)?” 

Another sigh. “Yes, every six hours.”

A million more questions ensue until I finally say, “look, I know you are closing at 4:00. But lægevagten has told me I should be able to be seen by my doctor until then. And I am the only parent at home with my kids right now. I really don’t want to take them all to lægevagten past their bedtime. Please, can I please see a doctor?”

She tells me to hold. 

Twenty minutes later she picks up the phone.“I’ll talk to the doctor about your son,” she says.

I am fuming at this point. It is apparent she was trying to get me to either hang up after such a lengthy hold, or to run out the clock. 

“Please tell her I am close by!” I say. “I am in Nørresundby! I can be there soon!”

“Ok,” she responds noncommittally.

Five minutes later she comes back to the phone. “I’m sorry. There are too many people the doctor needs to see. She cannot see your son. Good bye.”

I feel an overwhelming surge of anger and sadness and fury on my kid’s behalf. If is all such shit. And yet, it is expected.

I make it to børnehaven (literal translation: childgarden; but preschool in U.S. terms) and am unloading  the baby from the car when I get a call. 

“Hi Lauren, this is Sarah. I’m sorry to hear about Owen.” 
“Oh, thanks for calling! Yeah, he’s had a fever for five days now!”
“How much?”
“Off and on but 39.2 at the highest.”
“ Right. I’d say bring him in but you’re in Brønderslev. “
“No! I’m in Nørresundby! I told the nurse!”
“Oh really? Well if you can get here in ten minutes I can see him.”

I promise her I’ll be there in the allotted time and start to cry. What kindness! Avoiding a trip to lægevagten in a city 25 minutes away and waiting for who knows how long? It would be incredible. The idea of trying to entertain a baby, a 3-year-old, and a sick five-year-old in a waiting room past their bedtime is not something I relished.

I walk into the børnehaven in a rush. The daycare teacher is speaking to me in Danish and I don’t understand a word. She’s trying to teach me, as she would a child, which normally I would appreciate, but not so much today. And also if she could not teach me now while I have a flailing toddler trying to bite me because I won’t let him have one more piece of cake because oh yeah, it’s a hygge kaffe og kage dag (coffee and cake day) which I somehow missed the memo on. Whoops. I pass my baby off to another teacher so I can pick up my toddler and bring him to the toilet before we get in the car. Otherwise he will pee in his car seat or in the waiting room at the doctor and I don’t have a spare pair of pants packed. Could I fail any more? My baby wails at being held by a stranger and my toddler hits me in the face in front of everyone. I want to die of embarrassment. Everyone else is having loving happy hygge with their kids and I’m the dumb American who is dragging her screaming toddler to the potty after offloading her now wailing baby onto someone else. I think I shouldn’t be embarrassed because that’s thinking about myself. I should instead be focused on my child’s needs and what he needs in that moment. But I have three children and there’s only one of me and I need my toddler to pee so I can go back to my baby so he’ll stop crying. Meanwhile the Danes are politely averting their eyes from this American mess of a mom and cuddling their calm cherubs. At this point my poor five year old is practically asleep because he feels so ill.

I finally convince my toddler to sit on the toilet by (I am ashamed to say) threatening to take away his sut (pacifier). Should he still have this at the age of 3? Well… no. I mean Europe seems a lot more lax about this issue, (I’ve seen four-year-olds with pacifiers in their mouths)… but it’s not ideal. Are we working on it? Yes. Do I care about that in this moment? No. 

We rush to the car and my internal monologue is, “I should not be rushing my children. This will cause them anxiety when they’re older. I should give them plenty of time to get from point A to point B. But also maybe they won’t remember the time I kept yelling at them to hurry so we would make it to the doctor before they close?”

I get them all buckled in the backseat. We drive over the bridge to Aalborg and I curse every slow driver and bus on the way (in my head). We make it in the nick of time and are seen by sweet Sarah for whom I shall now build an altar and worship. (Too much?) 

She is so sweet with my kids, giving the older two slikpind (lollipops). The baby starts crying as I set him on the floor to cuddle my eldest during the dreaded finger-prick that determines infection count. I turn to see my three year old halfway out the open window and about to fall to his death. Sarah pulls him back and gives him a stern talking to while I soothe five-year-old’s sadness from the finger prick. Baby is now wailing on the floor.

“Your husband is away for two weeks?” She affirms.

I nod.

“You are incredible,” she says.

I am not. If only she knew this single parenting thing is why I’ve gained so much weight: stress, no sleep, caffeine, and sugar. 

“Um thanks, but not really. I lose my patience and yell sometimes.”

Then I feel embarrassed for admitting this. As any millennial knows, a parent should always be calm, affirming of their child’s emotions, patient, and loving. But also, how the fuck is that realistic as a mom single parenting 3 boys ages 5, 3, and 10 months for two weeks? I don’t know. I feel like my mom probably could have done it. 

The blood test comes back, it is just a virus. I sigh with relief and immediately start apologizing because… well… that’s a whole other can of Danish worms… but then Sarah does the unthinkable: she says, “It’s good you got him checked out. It’s always good to be sure.” I want to cry. I am being validated? By a GP? In Denmark? And sure, she is British so maybe that is it. But it is such a refreshing thing to hear. I’m not crazy (at least not in that way!) And it was ok to bring my kid to the doctor even though he was still conscious! 

This interaction with a kind doctor that listened and cared and validated my concerns is so incredible that I feel like I can tackle anything. I drive the kids home with a light heart.

It makes me think of all the people that don’t have healthcare. Or have healthcare but are paired with poor providers: doctors who don’t listen, who don’t seem to care, who dismiss your issues and make you feel stupid for even bringing them up. What a difference a good doctor makes. As they say, a little kindness goes a long way.

I know Sarah will never read this, but on the off chance she does: thank you. You made time to see my sick son, you took good care of him (and his brother who almost fell out of the window), and you made this mom feel validated in calling the doctor. Thank you so very much.