Hobson's Choice
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Medical shit
There comes a moment when you are forced to ask yourself, "Am I raising a future doctor? Or am I raising a sociopath?"
At least I have to ask myself that from time to time, after the umpteenth hour of playing doctor or hospital. They say that little boys can turn any object into a toy gun. In our house, any object can become a breathing treatment or a stethoscope. Or "anti-cheese-otics." The most popular is the piece of cardboard attached to a shoestring that can perform virtually any medical procedure. Taking it all to a Star Trek level is a toy cash register with a handheld scanner; Eleanor scans your body and then enters data on the register itself.
One of the Big Bird stuffed animals is sick and in the hospital so often that I have decided he has full-blown AIDS. Nothing Eleanor does for that bird prevents the recurrence of his pneumonia. Sometimes we think he has the bird flu H5N1.
Chris is forced to recount the story of "The Time I Got Diabetes" while I repeat "The Time I Got Glasses." Eleanor collects toothbrushes and toothpaste.
Eleanor's favorite books and videos center on illness and medicine: Elmo Goes to the Doctor, Arthur's Chicken Pox, Big Bird Goes to the Hospital.
And here's where I start wondering about the sociopathy of it all: her favorite part of "Babe: Pig in the City" comes when the farmer falls into the well and has to go into traction. She doesn't understand why this isn't everyone's favorite part: it's got medical stuff in it.
On the upside, I can take her along any doctor's appointment, and she'll wait patiently. My doctor made Eleanor's week when she let Eleanor look in my ears. However, I refuse to take her along to my annual exam. Not all curiosity needs to be satisfied.
8:45 p.m. - 2006-06-03
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