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What's Wrong with My Daughter?

MARISSA

“Why didn’t you call, Dee? How long has she been like this? What’s wrong?” The questions tumbled out of my mind one after the other. I was sitting in the back of Denise’s car, as close to Annie as our respective seat belts would allow.

I had her clammy hand in mine, my thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back of her hand. Denise caught my eyes in the rearview mirror, worry shining through stress clouded by more worry. “It started a couple of hours ago. She threw up once, then it just kept happening.”

I reached for Annie’s forehead, trying to determine if her fever had gotten any worse since we left my office. She felt the same, but she looked much worse.

Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the window. She was breathing fine, but deeply. Denise looked at me again. “I’m not sure what it is. I gave her some flu medication, but I don’t know if she kept it down long enough for it to make a difference. I don’t think it’s the flu. She keeps complaining about her stomac
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