![]() She concurs (I think), but still tells us to stay the fuck away. I tell her it’s probably a bad idea to do this, because that sort of video could go awry. She also wants to film herself getting the news, because that’s a thing that kids do now. She doesn’t want my wife and me near her when she finds out. The decision drops at 6 p.m., and she’s understandably sweating it. The girl is a senior in high school and about to hear from the college she applied to for early decision. The doctor tells her that her swollen lymph nodes are just that, and not cancer. She follows protocol as if she’s always known it. The girl knows what a doctor is, and she knows what the doctor needs to do. She doesn’t have to play Got Your Nose to calm the girl down, or play gentle mind tricks to get her to open up and say ahhh. I realize that, given that she’ll turn 18 just two months from now, this might be the last time I ever accompany her to this office. I see how much she’s grown as well, but I also see how much of her has not. I see the girl when she was a smaller child: kicking and screaming and clinging. So I see her legs dangling off the exam table, watching her kick her feet idly, and I remember. Sometimes a photo jogs my memory, but other times my brain retrieves those images without assistance. I never indulge in any Daddy’s Little Girl nonsense, but of course I’ve retained every memory I can of my daughter as a baby, then as a toddler, then as a grade schooler, etc. She is now measured in height and not length, and stands taller than her own mother. The girl is 17 now, so none of that is necessary. ![]() Then they’d weigh her on a scale, as you would produce at the supermarket. When the girl was a baby, the doctor would lie her down on this sheet and, using a pencil, make hatch marks by the top of her head and by her heels to measure her length. Just like in the old days, there’s a fresh sheet of sanitary paper covering the table. We get called back and the girl takes a seat on the exam table. As such, this is the only place on Earth where I still wear a COVID mask. And there are germs in the air … so many germs that coming to this office feels like ducking under the cordon to enter the Chernobyl exclusion zone. There are free stickers at the counter for kids who just had to endure their regular vaccination shots. There are year-old magazines languishing on the side tables. There’s a large busy box, replete with sliding beads and spinning wooden gears for everyone (including bored dads) to futz with. There’s a play area off to the side where toddlers can burn the clock as they wait to be seen. The girl has gone to the same pediatrician’s office her entire life, and many things are the same as they were back when she had her very first appointment. Her lymph nodes are also swollen, and she fears it’s cancer. Her throat hurts, and she wants a strep test for it. And buy Drew’s book, The Night The Lights Went Out, through here. Got something you wanna contribute? Email the Roo. Contact Us: U.S.Drew Magary’s Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday at Defector during the NFL season.Please contact the rights holder of this image for permission requests. Any use of this image is subject to prevailing copyright laws. Lymph node groups of the neck drawing shows six groups of lymph nodes in the neck: group IA and IB, group IIA and IIB, group III, group IV, group VA and VB, and group VI.Ĭolor, Medical Illustration (JPEG format)
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