Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Read is the new dial

We sat in the go-up chair (well, what do you call it?) at the ENT's office this morning, waiting for the doctor to come in. There were regular chairs, of course, but E directed me to the go-up chair and herself to my lap. From there we had a vertical view of the parking lot, and the next medical building across the walkway.

Though she and I both love her ENT, she does not love anything to do with seeing her ENT, and particularly doesn't love any of the details for which we were sitting in that go-up chair. She knew a cursory knock would knock soon, and shortly after that a plastic, pointy backlit instrument would be poking around her very modest orifices.

{Hey orifices, lighten up! We're having a party in the go-up chair, and a go-up chair is no place for prudes.}

Tell me a story, she begged skittishly, desperate for a distraction to calm her nerves. I told her about the building across the way, how it's where my doctor works, how I lay on a bed in that building one time and saw a picture of a baby growing inside me and that baby would grow up to be a strong-willed girl who yelled at her doctors when she didn't like to have her ears checked.

She didn't really appreciate that story, and insisted on another one.

"About what, love?"

She pointed out the window to the FedEx delivery guy pushing an empty handtruck out of the next building.
About him.
Obligingly, I crafted a story about a tiny little princess who got tangled up in her regular-sized daddy's stationery and was delivered to a doctor's office and hid behind a white sheet until a woman climbed up on a bed and pulled that white sheet over her and a doctor came with a funny belly camera and showed the woman an image of a baby growing inside her and the woman mused on what to call the baby and the tiny princess stood behind her ear and whispered a name and the woman believed that the perfect name had come to her from nowhere. You know, everyday story stuff.
Our story was interrupted by the nefarious Dr. Earl, who did indeed stick pointy instruments in her ears. E begged for further distraction, tugging on my arm. Read! she exhorted. C'mon! Please read!
I had never been reading, of course, just narrating a story. But that's the word she always uses for storytelling, and it didn't seem fair to quibble with the girl with the ear infection. Pin It