My friend’s three year-old daughter insisted on that I was a doctor and she was my patient. Several other toddlers insisted that they, too, were sick or injured, so I had to take imaginary triage on the playground.
I took her heart rate, breath rate, level of awareness, and recent history. She complained of sneezing for the last three days and said that her father had also been sneezing.
“Okay,” I said, pulling out my laser pointer. “I’m going to use my medical tricorder to decontaminate your bloodstream. Hold our your arm.”
When I finished, she explained that the sneezing was gone, but her chief complaint was actually her knees. They were talking to each other and they were super loud about it.
“Oh,” I said. “This is an unexpected development. Have you tried asking your knees to quiet down?”
She nodded. “They won’t listen to me.”
“Perhaps they will respect my medical authority,” I said. “May I speak to them? Okay. Hello, Mia’s knees! This is Dr. Ship. I would like to thank you for your service and all the good work you do walking for Mia. However, she would really appreciate it if you would use your ‘inside voices’ when talking. Please whisper to each other so it doesn’t hurt her.”
Mia’s knees listened to me and her pain relented.
I told her that she should make sure she drinks lots of water and rest and she decided to take a nap right then and there.
“Give me a pillow!” she said.
“Uh. Will my knee do?”
She nodded, lay down on the concrete with her head on my knee, snored loudly for five seconds, and declared herself healthy.
Being a doctor is so easy. Maybe I should go to med school.