Then she threw up on me.
As I drove home that night, still smelling of someone else’s mac and cheese, I thought about that child. Her father did not have any money for treatment and was clueless about how to help himself, much less her. My little patient was a sweet, tiny child with filthy, rough nails and worn clothes that had more than a just a few days worth of kid dirt. For many reasons, I wished her food had stayed inside her