What's Up Doc?

Ó2003 Marta Martin

 

"Put down the esophagus!" I pleaded with my son. He persisted in holding the enlarged plastic esophagus with the very colorful and graphic lining which was dramatically cut so we could enjoy a cross-sectional view up to his neck, making disgusting choking sounds the entire time. "Ack, I have zomezing in my throat, Herr Doktorhelp me." he goofed.

 

"Dr. Frinjani is not German." I wasn't sure just what nationality he was but the kids always giggled when he talked because it really was very difficult to know what he was saying. We were in one of Dr. Frinjani's examining rooms, waiting.

 

"Whatever," said my son and proceeded to stuff his pockets with rubber gloves.

 

"Well, there goes another increase in the price of health care." I countered while pulling the latex coverings out of his jeans.  "Stop touching things."

 

"Do you have menopause?"

 

"No, I don't have menopause!"

 

"Well, you're grumpy."

 

I straighten up and cast a glance around the room at the posters and displays from various pharmaceutical companies.  "Where do you see menopause?"

 

"It was on the Cosby show.  How about osteoporosis?"

 

"Do I look that old?"

 

"I didn't say you did.  Now you're paranoid.  What shall we prescribe for that?"

 

"You are not the doctor here.  You're the patient."

 

"What are you, the audience?"

 

"No, I'm the smart aleck's mother.  That is who I am."

 

With a very solemn face and big eyes he patted my arm, "Mom," he asked me, "Can I get some Viagra?"

 

"Maybe you should try Ritalin.  Now sit down!"

 

He pulls a tiny chair into the corner of the room so that he sits in the shadow of the examining table, totally unseen. "Vere is de patient?" he asks softly.  We both sit, heaving with laughter, tears running down our cheeks. The doctor comes in and signals confusion at our mirth. That happens a lot to us.