When Mustang Filly was 11 months old, she wound up in ER for vomiting that would not quit. The doc ordered a blood panel before he could put her on any antinausea drugs. So we waited, and waited, with the squally sick baby, for the phlebotomist. When she finally got there, she took one look at the baby, and said, "I can't do this without backup. It's going to be 45 minutes before we can get someone else down here."<br><br>
I had had enough. The Filly had had enough. And, I suspect, so had everyone else down in the ER. So I told the phlebotomist that I'd hold E down, she'd get the sample, and we'd all be able to move forward. And I did, and she did. And my darling, betrayed baby, pinned by her Own Mother while this lady poked her with a sharp needle, gave me a look that said, "Fcuk You" far more eloquently than she could have ever managed with words.<br><br>
That one is going to come back and bite me in the butt when she's 15 or so <img alt="biggrin.gif" src="http://files.kickrunners.com/smilies/biggrin.gif"><br><br>
(She got Gravol shortly afterward and was released the next day...)