Wow, I'm scary

We just saw one of the pediatric residents, who will be coming back in an hour to examine The Boy because I refuse to have his nap interrupted.

As soon as he entered the room, I asked him if he was going to touch The Boy. He said that eventually he'd have to examine him. I then asked in my best teacher voice if he had washed his hands.

This gentleman was somewhat difficult to understand, as English is not his first language. Not his fault, but it did complicate the process. I've figured out that the reason for not keeping all of the medical history info from one visit to the next is so that the residents get a chance to practice asking about it, and as a side effect, the parents get to talk about it over and over again.

The resident asked about the history of The Boy's diagnosis and treatment. He didn't seem to understand some of what I was saying, perhaps because he hadn't encountered anything quite like this case before. I spoke slowly.

I think I've got most of the generic questions down: Was he born full-term (yes, and then some)? Normal delivery (for those too squeamish to say "vaginal" delivery. It was an induction, no other drugs, no complications)? Developmentally okay (mostly, except that he doesn't walk yet, and we can probably thank the nerve damage from the Vincristine for that)? Vaccinations up to date (hey brainy--he's on chemo. No, they're not)?

Then there was a brief family medical history, where I got to answer yes to all of the questions.

He said that he'd have to examine The Boy now, to which I responded that The Boy needed a nap and he'd have to come back later. He scurried away.