Sometimes karma works in strange ways.
Parents bring their child in for evaluation of the child’s cough and runny nose. About the tenth such case of the day and no one wants to get their kids flu shots.
The child’s dad is standing next to the bed holding the child’s hands and talking baby talk to the child – which is already grating on my nerves.
“We dunna find out what’s wrong wif you.”
“Sir, I’m going to need to get in there so that I can examine him.”
He kind of scooted up to the head of the bed, but wouldn’t leg go of the child. He was kneeling down, still holding his child’s hand, and still doing the baby talk.
I listened to the child’s heart, listened to the lungs, pressed on the belly, felt for lymph nodes, looked in the ears, looked in the nose, then looked in the mouth with a tongue depressor. Lots of postnasal drip … blaaaaaaaaaa. Ooops. Got the gag reflex.
With a violent retch, the child hurled a column of partially digested macaroni and cheese mixed with varying colors of phlegm. I jumped back, but the kid turned his head … directly toward his dad. Dad turned his head to avoid a direct facial hit, but still got sprayed with Kraft Macaroni and Phlegm – all down his neck.
Then I was in the difficult position of trying to look concerned while trying to avoid laughing while keeping my inner voice from blurting out “I told you so.”
Instead, I just excused myself from the room to go get some towels.