Fortunately, for this guy, the highly trained emergency physician was home and was able to quickly take control of the trauma by reaching onto the high shelf, without a stool, to get the Neosporin and water proof bandages. Meanwhile, the mom-nurse held the patient, applying an absolutely intolerable measure of pressure to the wound. During the excruciatingly too long amount of time it took the physician to peel away the wrapper from the bandage, the mom-nurse had what she fancied the perfect medicine to heal the boy's soul and restore him to full health.
The mom-nurse: Shhhh, it's okay. . .I need you to stop screaming. . .
The patient: (through incapacitating sobs) I'm trying. . .
The mom-nurse: This is what I need for you to do, Son. Think really, really hard. I need for you to think of the most terrible word you can possibly think of.
The patient: (immediately interested, but cautious. . .and definitely less hysterical) Um, why?
The mom-nurse: Because. . .and you may not tell your brothers I told you it was okay. . .I need for you to be very brave and when I take off the wash cloth and Daddy puts on the medicine and bandaid, I want you to yell the bad word as loud as you can.
The physician raises his eyebrows.
The patient: (hopeful the remedy will be soon forthcoming, braver by the second--but still a little sniffly) Okay. . .let me think.
The mom-nurse: I'm going to count to three. . .
The physician seems concerned, yet intrigued. The patient assumes the bravery of a veteran soldier.
The mom-nurse: (removing the blood stained wash cloth) Okay, ONE. . .TWO. . .THREE!
The physician quickly works his magic.
The patient: (with the vocal strength of ten thousand 6 year old boys) WHAT THE. . .WHAT!!!*
*This is an exact translation. No words were changed in the telling of this story. Nevertheless, we warned the patient that he shouldn't use that kind of language and emphasized, again, that it would be in his best interest not to tell his older brothers.
No comments:
Post a Comment