WAG - Could you and your germs just bug off?
I don’t recall ever having fun playing doctor.
I don’t know whether I associated the practice too much with actual pricks of needles or nasty tasting medicines, or cold instruments, or what, but I don’t remember looking forward to playing the sick one for the learned medical practitioner (and later, miraculously swapping positions and becoming the doctor. The exam must have been easier back then. I know malpractice insurance was cheaper).
That didn’t stop me from playing the game. In fact, some cousins never gave me much of a chance, but I didn’t have much patience for being a patient. I can vaguely recall some cases where I played dead, but sure enough, just like Dr. Frankenstein people kept coming up with ways to bring me back into the land of the living – and back into the game.
I’ve matured some, or at least hurried up and got some patience. I do better with doctors – both real and of the quack variety (though it may be increasingly hard to tell the difference between them, the quack doctors more often are the ones with plastic implements). Still, I pause a little bit when asked to make a medical prognosis.
That’s one of the reason why I paused when my sister asked for a second opinion on how she looked. I usually bypass cheap shots on appearances when any female is involved – guys, almost always, however, are open game. This approach was further confirmed by my sister’s description of a headache and the fact she had slightly blood shot eyes.
Of course, I should note that just because one type of joke is thrown out, it doesn’t mean all jokes are off limits.
“Um… did you know bloodshot eyes are one of the symptoms of the Ebola virus? I mean I don’t know where you would have picked it up but…”
This observation, based on various articles and books I’ve read on the subject, was met with a red, slightly irked stare from my sister.
Not deterred, I continued:
“Well it’s only one of the symptoms. It’s not like you’re displaying any of the other ones, like having your body turn to liquid. Well, I mean the total liquidification of your internal organs. I certainly don’t see you leaking out of any orifices… I don’t know… It’s probably just a sign of something else…”
Ever the caring doctor, it was at that point that I realized my sister’s proximity to me and I started holding my breath in an attempt not to breathe in the air she’d exhaled.
I’m a loving, if not a self-preserving brother.
After she took a moment to blow air in my face, we discussed the fact we had spent over half a dozen hours in the car and that time spent shifting in and out of sleep could be rough on the eyes and head.
While grandma is always an option when it comes to consulting physicians, the standard Smith choice was made to wait until the next day to see if things got better.
I didn’t recall this being a stated rule in our house as much as a casual practice, but my sister did recollect our mother telling us if we weren’t throwing up or on fire, we had to go to school. She further recalled our mother being tired when she set this standard.
While my mind buzzed trying to formulate other symptoms that would get the identical effect, my sister crossed the room.
Displaying my infinite care and concern for my sister, I told her, “Don’t be coughing on my pillow.”
When she made a disparaging comment counter to that, I assured her I was just gonna chalk it up to the sickness.
Just to let you all now, all forthcoming negative, obtuse, or otherwise pointed remarks made by my sister in the coming days will be met by the comment (and the subsequent smile): I’m just gonna chalk it up to the sickness.
That’s for making me play doctor.
“Say, ‘Ah!’”
“Dead people don’t say, ‘Ah.’”
“But I must have brought you back to life because dead people don’t talk either.”
“Nuts.”
“Say, ‘Ah!’”
“Ah.”
'Ah_nuts'
