Dr. Mom

Quit complaining and eat it. Number one, chicken soup is
good for the flu -- and number two, it's nobody we know

The college boy ever-so-casually mentions that he's not feeling well.  It's a bad cold, bad cough situation.  Hearing this pains the SJG on many levels.  I tell him to go to Student Health.  He reacts as if I've just told him to board a spaceship to Mars. "It's just a cold."  I try another approach.  "Are you taking anything?" "That stuff you packed for me."  "What stuff?"  "The cough medicine and the inhaler."  "Which inhaler?"  "I don't know the name."  Part-time asthma specialist that I am, I pursue this line of questioning. "Is it Pro-Air?"  "I don't know."  "Honey, please look at it and tell me which one it is."  On the other end, he issues a very sarcastic groan. I hear him get out of bed and cough.  Days, months, years pass before he comes back.  I could have driven there, taken care of him, and changed his sheets.  "Symbi- something."  "Symbicort?"  "Yeah."  "How many times have you used it today?"  "Four."  "That's too much.  It's not a rescue inhaler."  "What's that mean?"  "It means you're only supposed to use it twice a day, in the morning and at night." From here, I tell him all the things he should be doing, and he pretends to listen.  "Have you taken your temperature yet?"  "No."  "Take it."  "I don't have a thermometer."  "Yes, you do.  I packed one."  "I can't find it."  "Have you looked for it?"  "No."  Oh, if only my friend Elena and I had actually launched that business we always talk about whenever our college kinder get sick. We'd call it The Mamalas, a nationwide dorm-to-dorm service that delivers chicken soup and smothering hugs to ailing undergraduates.  "Honey, I want you to find the thermometer and take your temperature, okay?"  "Uh-huh."  "And if you're not feeling better, I want you to go to Student Health on Monday."  "Uh-huh."  On Monday, I'll remind him.  Or get on a plane and tell him in person.