This is not a great photo, but it is the view from my daughter’s hospital room.

One week ago, she got a fever and we took her to the clinic. “Likely influenza, would you like a test?”

Daughter protested wildly.*

“No, it’s okay.” We went home, she took medication, and rested. Four days later, the fever still hadn’t gone down (and we’d caught nothing from her), so we took her back. She reluctantly had a blood test which showed abnormal results; we rushed to the main hospital for more tests.

Turns out she’d had a kidney infection for over a week. She was admitted and put on a week of antibiotics via IV. The fever broke two nights ago, and she slept for well over 12 hours last night. Now she’s doing fine.

This was the view I had when I woke up this morning next to her.

We spend our lives complaining about the friction of the modern world, yet in a hospital chair at 7:00 AM, you realize human progress has condensed into a single clear liquid dripping steadily into a tube. It is a miracle so mundane we almost forget to call it one.

I’m so glad we live in 2026 and not 1726, where she probably would have been prescribed a shot of brandy and a plate of pickles. The greatest luxury is the simple, boring certainty of a fever that finally breaks.

* And yes, we really should have done the test, but she was kicking up such a fuss and was having none of it.