The Gemini Diaries

We've all been there. You're on a tight timeline, trying to get a solitary errand done before lunchtime with the kids. You've got the diaper bag loaded, you're about to load the kids in the car and as you reach for the doorknob to the garage the phone rings behind you. Despite your haste, curiosity requires you to pick it up. Unfortunately for you it's not Publisher's Clearinghouse calling you with notification of your big check it is instead that notorious cling-on conversationalist who is so glad to have finally connected with you and wants to catch up for the past three years of missing time. Your window of opportunity has just been slammed shut. No errand for you, the Cling On has got you. If only there were a way to get out of such a dreaded social situation . . .

I think I may have found one.

A little background. It may surprise some you to learn that LeeAnn and I found ourselves at the pediatrician the other day. I know, right? Weird. Mary Poole had been pulling on her ears and had just been a little out of sorts. Since she had just finished up her antibiotic for a previous ear infection we were wondering if the infection had possibly hung around. So we got an appointment for her at 9:15. This time is cutting it close because naps are generally around 9:45, but we figured it would be a quick checkup: just a look in the ears, an assessment with a possible prescription, a quick drive home and then they'd be asleep by 10. The key would be wrapping up by 9:45 and we'd be golden. Sounded very feasible.

So we're there. The waiting room is pretty empty and we're feeling good. We wait about ten minutes and our name is called. Good things! It's 9:25 and we have 15 minutes to get seen by the doc and get on our way. In the room, it's another 10 minutes, but we're still doing great - it's only 9:35. We're a quick ear check away from medicine and naps. Dr. Knox, our regular doctor, knows the routine. He'll come in, we'll talk a bit about Jane (our friend and his relative), he'll ask what's wrong with MP, he'll check her ears, find the problem and shuttle us on our way. Just the right amount of bedside manner to make pediatrician's visits pretty enjoyable these days. We do like Dr. Knox.

But the problem is this: we didn't see Dr. Knox. Instead, we got another doctor - Dr. X - who shall remain nameless because on any other day she's probably a fantastic doctor due largely to the fact that Dr. X is in the running for being the most helpful, friendly and talkative doctor in all the New World.

Instead of our delightful, and brief, "How's your mom n' 'em" conversation, this very thorough doctor chose rather to give us the short history of ears, vaccinations, infections and the litany of all the children she'd seen come through the doors with any of the above. All without actually doing any inspection of the afflicted. It was sort of an extreme bedside manner that, under different circumstances might have been very truly exceptional. And you hate to be so ungrateful as to complain about a doctor actually spending time with you, helping you understand the craft and nature of disease diagnosis and treatment, but there's a time and a place for education and a very different time known as "the last ten minutes before an expected nap". In the latter case, haste does not, in fact, make waste.

But after the initial conversation, and I do mean conversation, we get to the inspection. It's 9:48, we're running past, but we're underway now. Just a quick check and . . . sure enough . . . two ear infections still. Bad news for Mary Poole, but hey, the good news is that we can get on our way. No need for more education now. We can leave.

Whoa there harried parent. Not so fast. Let's get some more history. While we want to be engaging, LeeAnn and I are reading the babies and we know that they're approaching their known melt-down moment. Meanwhile, this very obvious fact is somehow lost on the ebullient Dr. X. But it's ok, LeeAnn and I just continue scrambling to get them dressed and finally, we're done. All dressed and ready to roll. But still with the stories. On an on she went. Finally, somewhere between the abbreviated history of Joseph Salk's contributions to medicine and the state of the art in DNA repair treatments, Perritt starts to lose it. It's 9:55 and he's done.

And then as LeeAnn and I are exchanging disbelieving looks, we hear a very quiet: "Buh bye." It's Mary Poole. She's looking right at Dr. X as she says it. She's engaged Dr. X with a very serious stare and an even more serious message: "Buh bye" she says again. Deadpan. LA quickly pounces. "That's right, we're going bye-bye." followed by Perritt waving his hands bye-bye in support of the motion on the floor.

Mary Poole hammers it home with a couple of rapid fire "buh bye"s and a slightly patronizing smile. This stops Dr. X in her tracks. The stories have ended. "You've got a bright one there." Dr. X comments. And on the inside, I'm thinking - "Bright?, no ma'am. She's a freaking awkward social situational genius. Did you see the way she leveraged her cuteness to bail her parents out of that one?" Anyway, the appointment ends and we're on our way. Amazing. Thanks to her bailout, we made it home at little after ten and were spared a complete meltdown at the doctor's office.

So remember, parents of elder children - their inability to read social situations may be embarrassing sometimes. But occasionally, they are gems of comic timing and perfection.