My son was blessed/cursed with sensitive skin. Certain fabrics give him rashes, he sunburns and freckles in minutes and has permanent tattoos where a pencil poked through his jeans pocket and jabbed him in the leg.
The boy wanted the doctor to be stymied at this ugliness of the poison ivy, he imagined it might be another HOUSE episode, but that only made Dr. George laugh. Those shows are so unreal, he told my son ( the kid who wants to be a gynecologist) “No ER doctor delivers babies or diagnoses cancer..”
and when it came time for the steroid shot and the antibiotic injection… the doctor left–leaving us to call after him, “Oh yeah, DOCTORS don’t give shots. That’s a nurse’s job.”
Of course, since I kept the gimpy one home, we used this experience to learn about doctors, treatments, homeopathic remedies and skin.
Now, I have to wash my baby, I mean CAR and finish packing for an overnight jaunt where I hope to meet my dream agent, or at least get a damn good meal and have some laughs. Though, last time I went to this restaurant, the valet busted my husband’s side view mirror off and I spent a rain soaked ride home with my arm out the window. You better believe I’ll be watching them this time.