The next morning, it’s official. The nurse asks how many times I’ve been on antibiotics in the past couple years, and I’m not sure. “You don’t know?” she asks, like, How old are you? Twelve? My mother would know. She’s read all about antibiotic resistance. People are too damn quick to take drugs, and someday they’re going to be mighty sorry, and that’s not going to happen to her kids, not if she can help it. She writes all our prescriptions in a book that she keeps in her top desk drawer so she can put her finger on the information in two seconds. The nurse rephrases her question. “Do you
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