Tet(anus) Offensive

As my daughter grows older and passes each developmental milestone (“inch-stone” would be more fitting, as I suggested a couple posts ago), the occasional visit to the pediatrician’s office comes with the territory. I’ve had the mind-bending misfortune of accompanying her and Jenny on two occasions now; let me explain why it’s such a supremely bizarre place.

At the pediatrician, reality is inverted. All the standard rules of the medical profession are turned on their head. Decorating devices that would otherwise seem out of place in the hyper-formal world of medicine are employed with the greatest deliberation: stripes, polka-dots, and primary colors, for example, are all unusually prominent; wayfinding fixtures (e.g. signs, door numbers, room names) are bright, bubbly, and cartoonish. Around every corner is another dreamlike setting that could've been spawned out of Lewis Carroll’s hallucinatory visions.

On our first visit, I asked how I could find the bathroom, to which the nurse provided a tentative, open-ended response, “Well, we have a big bathroom and a little bathroom – which do you want?” I was instantly confounded by many aspects of that question, so I’m afraid I interrupted her with my preferences before she finished responding; I really didn’t need more details - all I could think about was ducking dramatically through the little bathroom’s doorway, crouching to my knees as I pinched my fingertips together to turn the microscopic faucet handles. And I’m sure little fairies would’ve been there to dry my hands with the sparkling breeze from their fluttering wings.

To up the ante during our next visit, we were jettisoned from the waiting room to a new room, its walls festooned with Star Wars posters and shadow boxes full of alien figurines. Plastic model spaceships and more aliens hung from every square inch of the ceiling. (Maybe I’m an outlier here, but the persistent anxiety associated with medical appointments was scarcely eased by alien creatures and their extra-terrestrial deformities. Instead, the worst medical side effects imaginable took turns clawing their way through my head). I can’t speak for Josephine, but if I went to my doctor and found a seemingly unhealthy fascination with sci-fi space mythology, I would be more than a little concerned about his/her commitment to the Hippocratic oath.

The terminology is way out there too. It’s safe to say there’s a lot more coo-ing than would be typical for my own doctor visits. When infant Josephine goes to the doctor, however, there are entire conversations held between physician and patient with rare utterance of any sensible English vocabulary, each party making the most frugal use of consonants. There are lots of official references to “prickles” and “toesies”, “toofers” and “bumbles”, and all manner of gobbledy gook, with hardly a trace of scientific terms. I’m still not quite sure what the pediatrician meant when she referred to Josephine’s “snorkies,” but in one of the few oddities that I actually appreciated, Josephine’s doctor simply referred to her shots collectively as “the meanness”. Her sweet Southern accent gave it a dainty gloss that I assure you is only attainable when one’s vocal chords are cured in a steady marinade of iced tea and pimiento cheese.

The vaccination portion of each visit is particularly troubling for me. In general, I wouldn’t say I’m an avid fan of sharp metal objects piercing flesh, but the gory pain of the stab is just the beginning. Now I’ve found another reason to loathe shots -- just take a look at a few of the dubious ingredients that go into concocting a common vaccine in the lab (according to the Dr. Robert Sears Vaccine Book):

Chick embryo proteins

Fetal cow blood serum

Monkey kidney cells

Monkey guts? The blood of an unborn calf? Throw in a frog’s heart and some cat eyeballs and you have yourself a bona fide witches brew. All those years of education, internships, and residencies, yet the average M.D. hasn't evolved much past the same elemental resources used in the lore and mysticism of several centuries ago. Granted, they're mixing their prescriptions at a more granular level now -- and without the bubbling cauldron. Ohh, and there is the minor point that the newer way does seem to work, whereas witches have a less honorable track record.

Pediatric sorcery and witchcraft aside, there are more ethical concerns at hand: I’m horribly disappointed that Austin, one of the bastions of progressive citizenry in our fair nation-state, has yet to enlist a doctor who will perform vegan vaccinations (you know, something without all these cruel, carnivorous inputs). Can’t some pharma chemist somewhere figure out a soy-based shot for measles, mumps, and rubella? If veganism has taught us nothing else, it's that there's no limit to the wonders you can squeeze out of a humble soybean as long as you’re willing to process it enough.