great expectation: a father's diary...excerpts

June 12 | November 4 | November 28 | December 10

November 28

I'm baking a chocolate-cream pie. Maura's sister Sheila, who is visiting for the week, is sitting on the sofa writing in her notebook. Maeve is listless in bed, listening to Rosemary Clooney sing Christmas carols. Maura is out for a walk. The dog is sleeping in the hostas out front. It promises to be a quiet day.

It's very cold outside, but Maeve's temperature peaked at 105 this afternoon, and she was absolutely wilted. I got some medicine into her, then carried her upstairs for a lukewarm sponge bath. She moaned and writhed through both of them, but within an hour her fever came down two degrees, and within another hour it was actually down to 98.6. She was bouncing around the house and laughing, teasing Sheila. It's amazing how much a fever saps you, but there are moments when, if we hadn't had the thermometer to give us some real numbers, I don't think I'd have been as forebearing with much of Maeve's seeming discomfort. For instance, at one of her worst moments, I carried her out to the kitchen to try to get her to eat a little something, and I'd just poured her some orange juice. I was holding her on my hip near the sink and she was sobbing as if someone were pulling her toenails out, and then she stopped instantly and said in a perfectly normal voice, "The refrigerator door is not closed all the way, Daddy." "Oh, thank you for letting me know," I said. "You're welcome," she said pleasantly. Then she resumed the same sobbing as before. I get a little suspicious.