Best Medicine

A few weeks ago, Younger thought he might have strep throat, so off to the doctor we went. Now, he’s had his throat swabbed — and gagged and gagged — often enough that I didn’t even consider reminding him of the process. But, apparently, when the nurse had finished with the preliminary questions and, snapping plastic gloves onto her hands, announced, “Now for the fun part,” Younger momentarily forgot the usual strategy.

But, off to the side and a little behind him, I totally missed his brief moment of panic. Fortunately, he shared his appalled reaction with me the second the nurse stepped from the room.

“Mom,” he said, turning to me with wide eyes while hunched on the small, padded table. “When she said that about the fun part and was putting on those gloves, I got a little concerned. I just about told her, ‘Hey, lady, I just came in here for a sore throat.'”

Apparently, he had a moment of fear that she intended to check orifices he hadn’t brought there to be checked.

I laughed at him.

“I thought,” he continued over my giggling, his eyes still round as he blinked at me, “I thought my day was going downhill in a hurry.”

And so I laughed with even more amusement.

I reckon it might not have much effect on a sore throat, but for this exhausted mother who had run from work to the school to the doctor’s office and still had the pharmacy and Elder’s basketball game to go…

Laughter really is the best medicine.

 

 

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