The pediatrician is now typing all medical information into a computerized filing system on his laptop. He does this during our appointment. He says that it takes 30 percent longer to do it this way. I’m glad he doesn’t charge by the minute. When I think about it, that extra time probably comes out to a bad deal for him, because while he’s with us, he can’t see anyone else. The appointment seems to take more like 50 percent longer, especially when I’m in a 6×10 room with two boys who are not sick and have plenty of energy, and didn’t listen to me about bringing along something to do while they wait, unless you count the infinite supply of sarcastic remarks and jibes they always carry with them.
As in:
Doctor to Boy 1: How old are you now?
Boy 1: Thirteen.
Boy 2: But he acts like he’s two!
Boy 1: Shut up. If I’m two, you’re not born yet. Your nickname is Little Baby Boy 2. Wittle Wittle Baby Boy 2.
Boy 2: I don’t want a nickname!
Boy 1: Okay, No-Nickname Wittle Baby Boy 2.
Boy 2: Your nickname is Stupid Idiot. That’s what I’m going to call you from now on.
Boy 1: If you call me that, I’m going to call you Baby Buzzard Boodle No-Brain Wittle Boy 2.
Boy 2: Shut up, Stupid Idiot! He bit me on the arm!
Boy 1: Did not! Everyone believes him and no one ever believes me! Stop lying or I’m going to bite you on the arm.
Boy 2: See? He bit me! Yesterday…
Boy 1: I bit you because you kicked me! And I only bit your sleeve.
Boy 2: I kicked you after you destroyed my Lego Star Wars Rebel Escape Pod… And if you only bit my sleeve, why does my arm still hurt? And why is it still red? [rolls up sleeve to display normal-looking skin]
Boy 1: Baby Hip-Hop Rebel Red Arm!
What do I do during such an exchange? At this point, I usually quote a piece of advice I learned from a serious, educational film that both kids have watched with me a million times. I mean, of course, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
From the scene following Sir Lancelot’s wholesale slaughter of a wedding party, I advise: “Let’s not bicker… and argue… about who killed who.” For this to work, of course, you must say it in the right cadence and with the proper accent.
Sometimes, the kids will laugh and repeat the line, and everyone will cut out the fighting for whole minutes. And sometimes, one child will laugh, and the other one, who wants to decide when it’s time to stop arguing and be funny, will just glare at me.
Meanwhile, the doctor listens to the kids fighting. I’m hoping it doesn’t slow his typing. Then he tells this story:
A dad was in with his two boys for their check-up. The boys were going at it, arguing incessantly, insulting each other in a nasty way. The dad is a scientist at NIH. He sits there reading scientific studies, and appears to ignore the kids. Then, finally, as the older one is teasing the younger one yet again, the dad looks up and says, “Jeffrey, don’t pick on your brother. Someday you might need a bone marrow transplant.”
This is all my kids needed to hear. Now, whenever one of them gets tired of being teased, he will shout: “Remember: Bone marrow! Bone marrow!”
That is the type of wisdom I expect from the pediatrician, and it’s why I don’t mind so much that he doesn’t take our insurance.
For more from Paula Whyman, see www.paulawhyman.com and her online parody newspaper www.bethesdaworldnews.com.
