Survival of the Smartest

My mother-in-law is a pediatrics nurse practitioner. This means we are generally spared the drama and expense of office visits with the children, and now that we've "borrowed" a prescription pad from her stash, have all the OxyContin we can stomach.

Our illicit adult activities aside, there are pros and cons to having "Dr. Grandma" around. We almost never see the inside of the pediatrician's office, with all the screaming, wailing, flailing children coughing and sneezing and wiping their snotty noses all over every uncovered surface--Pro. We can't go to their house to swim without her repeatedly hosing my kids down with SPF 907 sunblock and forcing them into "rashguards" and hats and trying to keep them in the shade--Con. We can generally get a routine prescription called in to the pharmacy in a matter of minutes--Pro. The average doctor visit lasts 15 minutes, compared to the average Grandma visit which lasts at least three hours--Con.

There's no con, however, like having our own personal pediatric medical journal just a phone call away. All we have to do is dial the number (or answer the phone) and we can hear all about what horrors are plaguing the under-18 population of the United States, Canada, and some parts of Eastern Europe. My mother-in-law is a bit of a worry wart, and her delivery of the latest medical news always carries an undertone of doomsday.

"I'm just seeing so many kids coming down with the flu this year. I'd sure hate to see you guys end up with it."

"There are just so many people now getting skin cancer, you just can't be too careful."

"You should probably check all your toys to make sure they don't have any loose parts. I'd sure hate to see someone choke on something."

Which brings me to our most recent Dr. Grandma visit. The Toddler was due (overdue, but don't tell the people at Toddler School) for his shots, which Dr. Grandma graciously administered herself. (This is, of course, part of my evil plan to get my kids to associate Grandma with pain and suffering.) After plenty of hugs and kisses and the promise of a pony, he had forgotten the assault on his juicy thighs and was merrily getting into his older brother's shit.

That is, until Evil Dr. Grandma knelt down beside him and started ripping the freshly-stuck bandaids off his fuzzy little flesh. That pissed him off. I stood by and watched, dumbfounded, because I honestly couldn't understand what the hell she was doing. And then she explained:

"I will never forget that journal article I read about the little boy who was riding home in the car from the pediatrician's office, and pulled a bandaid off and put it in his mouth and choked to death on it."

I gave my husband my "is she for real?" look and he shrugged. (He's used to the over-abundance of caution. It's still relatively new to me.) I should have let it go, but sometimes the voices in my head just won't let me Spike Lee up and do the right thing. So I Went There.

"How many times has that actually happened?"

My mother-in-law doesn't find me nearly as amusing as I find myself, so she was quick to respond with "I don't know, but I sure hope no more than that one time."

I've been thinking about the absurdity of the whole story ever since. It's very unfortunate, of course (I am not entirely heartless, contrary to popular opinion). But the circumstances surrounding this incident, I admit, I just can't wrap my brain around.

The child was in a car, on his way home from a physician's appointment. Assuming this child was not gifted and/or exceptionally tall, there would have been an adult driving, presumably a parent. Did said parent not notice the child in the backseat was choking? Was there unusually heavy traffic that day? Was there a really good song on the radio at the moment? Did the child not use the International Choking Sign?

I don't know...parent not smart enough to prevent a child from choking less than five feet away...kid not smart enough to not eat bandaids...kinda sounds like natural selection at its most efficient.

Because I like to think my husband and I are smart people. Our kids are obviously smart, considering the myriad hazardous toys we ply them with (the Bag'O'Glass and the bottle of Advil come to mind) and the fact they have yet to seriously injure themselves. And bandaids? My God, the firstborn has been accessorizing with bandaids since he was old enough to wear shoes. And even though he wore his underwear backwards until just shy of his 7th birthday, he's managed not to choke on any first aid items.

I just hope neither of my kids ever sprain a joint and have to use an ACE wrap. After all, they might take it off and hang themselves from the ceiling fan with it.