“Would you like to borrow my mitts?”
“Thanks!”
“No problem.”
“Um… .”
“Yes, Frieda?”
“I have to pee.”
Sigh… .
A couple of months ago Frieda set the record straight regarding the nefarious Harry Potter.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, Frieda?”
“You know the Harry Potter movie?”
“Yes?”
“It belongs to SATAN.”
“What?”
“It belongs to SATAN.”
“Well, we sure liked it.”
“Oh. Was it funny?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Oh. I never saw it.”
Last week Frieda’s family pulled up stakes and left our small town in search of greener pastures. On the morning of their departure Frieda came over with a batch of freshly baked cookies and a homemade thank-you card. Inside the card was a crayon drawing of me and four little girls driving down the road in a minivan. The girls were all holding hands, and everyone looked happy. Even the sun was smiling.
We’re going to miss you, Frieda.
Chiaroscuro (Light and Dark)
What’s worse, preparing incessantly for a war that never comes, or maintaining a state of blissful ignorance and getting caught flatfooted when the bombs start falling?
Educating my children about racism may help reduce its sting when they finally encounter it firsthand, but it will also hasten their loss of innocence. I’ve always been of the opinion that if my kids have to learn certain unpalatable truths about race relations, I’d rather they get the facts from me than from some bozo on the playground. I can mete out the required information in carefully measured doses, which is obviously far superior to having someone unexpectedly dump the entire toxic payload on them in one fell swoop.
Gradual desensitization makes more sense than abrupt immersion, doesn’t it? Sure it does. Unless… . Unless the anticipated immersion never occurs. What if I’m preparing them for something that’s never going to happen?
I’m black and my wife is white. Although our three daughters are of mixed racial heritage, history tells us that society will view them as black. Jan and I aren’t sure about how best to prepare them to cope with racism. I favour taking a no-holds-barred, worst-case-scenario approach and teaching them everything up front. She prefers the concept of letting them gradually come to their own conclusions.
I don’t want my daughters to develop an unnecessarily jaundiced view of the world, but I don’t want to see them get blindsided, either. What’s better, idealism or pragmatism? Should I hope for the best or plan for the worst? Tough choices. But then, no one ever said parenting was going to be easy.
Lost in Translation
“What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.”
- Captain, Road Prison 36, Cool Hand Luke
I have a patient named Irmgard who doesn’t speak any English. The first time I saw her in the office she brought her friend Roy to translate. The conversation went something like this:
“Hi, I’m Dr. Gray.”
“Roy.” He shook my hand, then pointed at his comrade. “Irmgard,” he said. She waved. I waved back.
“Could you please ask her what’s wrong today?”
They conversed in their language for a while, then Roy turned to me and said something like: “Hibida bibida pain hibida vonch stomach hibida shrek tang two weeks.”
“ What?”
“Hibida bibida pain hibida vonch stomach hibida shrek tang two weeks.”
“Um…She’s been having pain in her stomach for two weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Has she ever had this before?”
They spoke again. He looked at me and shook his head, “No.”
“Has she had any change in her weight or blood in her stools?”
They conferred. At length he told me: “Hibida bibida same stretch munch nona lollapalooza.”
“What?”
It was starting to look like I’d soon be needing a translator for my translator.
“Did anyone in her family ever have bowel cancer?”
They had an animated discussion that went on for a full minute. I fidgeted in my seat and waited. Patience, Grasshopper. Finally Roy swivelled around to face me and relayed her answer: “Purple.”
I made a mental note to never use Roy as a translator again.
Patients Say the Darndest Things!
“Yesterday I went to the hospital and they did a PAP test on my throat.”
“What’s your pain like?”
“It’s magnetic.”
“Does it hurt anywhere?”
“In bits and pieces.”
“How high are your blood sugars?”
“Anywhere from 4-foot-7 to 6-foot-5.”
“What’s your diarrhea like?”
“It’s kind of juicy.”
“How bad is your pain on a scale of one to 10?”
“Not too bad – about a nine.”
“Hey, doc, would you be able to fill out this welfare form for me?”
“Okay. What’s your medical reason for not being able to work?”
“Umm… I don’t really have one.”
“My vision’s blurry, doc.”
“Did you see an optometrist?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“She gave me some new glasses.”
“Do they help at all?”
“They work great, but I keep forgetting to wear them.”
“I was watching television the other day and they said those cholesterol pills you put me on do something to the lining of the wall.”
“The wall of what?”
“I dunno; I wasn’t paying that much attention.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Vogl.”
“Is that European?”
“No, it’s German.”
“Don’t inject me with that cortisone stuff, doc. Twenty years ago they injected some in my wrist and it stiffened up so bad I could hardly use it!”
“That’s odd. Why did they do the injection in the first place?”
“It was getting stiff.”
“Did anyone in your family develop heart disease at a young age?”
“Yes, my great-grandmother.”
“How old was she when she started having heart trouble?”
“97.”
Certified drug seeker:
“Geez, doc, I’m taking way too many Tylenol 3s. Can I get some morphine instead?”
Teenager who’s been slouching around the waiting room playing Game Boy, eating Cheezies and listening to his iPod:
“I have a stomach ache.”
“How bad is your pain on a scale of one to 10?”
“17.”
“The maximum possible score is 10.”
“Oh, okay, I get it. Um, let’s see… I guess it’s about a 12, then.”
“The number can’t be any greater than 10, and a 10 would be like someone cutting your leg off with a rusty chainsaw.”
“Oh. Well in that case it’s a 9½.”
… and sometimes sleep-deprived nurses say the darndest things!
“Mr. Bryant, since you're having trouble peeing I'm going to put this catheter in you, okay?”
“Does it go in my nose?”
“Do you pee through your nose?”
Let’s Get Physicals
“I’m here for my yearly complete examination.”
“I think the wife booked me for a checkup.”
“I’m fine, but I need a physical for my class A-Z driver’s license.”