At the weekend our infamous fridge was finally fixed. To our great surprise, a repairman (neither the liar nor the king) came when he said he would at 8.30am on Saturday morning.
An hour and half later, and $110 dollars lighter, we could declare it repaired.
On the same day, at more or less the same time as the fridge was cooling down, so was our baby, sickening all of a sudden, wilting like the floppy headed flowers on her sunhat. I knew something was really wrong because she didn’t try to take the sunhat off once on the way to hospital- normally her favourite thing to do.
Five hours later, and for free (thanks to the insurance), she was declared re-hydrated, restored to her wriggly giggly self by a collection of lovely Lebanese doctors and nurses (none of them liars or kings).
Later we talked about the what-ifs of the day. If the fridge repairman hadn’t come, I would have gone to the Saturday Farmers Market. If I had gone to the market I wouldn’t have been there when she got sick. If I hadn’t been there (with the insurance card and pediatrician’s phone number) things would have been a lot more challenging.
So in the end, you could say that the fridge saved the day, staying sick just as long as was necessary. It was obviously the right weekend for repairs.