The Crazy, Wonderful Things Kids Say

Tales from the Singing Pediatrician

Arnold L. Tanis

• Publisher: Prestyge Books
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9780253032492
• eBook ISBN: 9780253034120

A pediatrician shares accounts of the humorous and heartwarming things his young patients have said to him over the course of his career.
"Hey, doctor, I want to tell you something!"
For fifty-four years, kids have shared with pediatrician Arnold Tanis stories, questions, and bold pronouncements about their childhood worlds. In between treating them, the good doctor wrote down what many of them said. Three generations of patients offer memorable and downright funny observations and opinions about all sorts of things: shots, school, their brothers and sisters, growing up, and even Dr. Tanis himself and whether he can sing as well as he thinks he does. The parents also chime in, both to complain about all their kids put them through and to celebrate how well they eventually turn out.
A tireless, lifelong advocate of child safety, Dr. Tanis's impact on his patients and their families spans decades. This book is a testament to his career and a memorable glimpse of the warm and sometimes crazy world of a singing pediatrician.

Tales from the Examining Room

The Singing Doctor

Every doctor has certain peculiarities with which he is associated. I liked to sing in the office, particularly my suture song, which I bellowed out while stitching up a patient.

A fourteen-year-old boy whom I had stitched up three years earlier reappeared in the emergency room. I thoroughly scrubbed my hands and approached the young man. Standing up, he looked directly at me, arms folded, and proclaimed, “Stitching, yes; singing, no!”

Such a hurtful statement. “Ahem,” I sniffed, “I sing for myself and not for you.” I then began to yodel out, “There was blood on the saddle, and blood all around, and a great big puddle of blood on the ground.”

He covered his ears as I sang and stitched him once again.

* * *

Six-year-old Oliver pleaded, “Please don’t sing.”

“I don’t sing for you, but for myself,” I replied.

“But I said please,” he begged.

Those Awful, Nasty Shots

Children almost universally abhor immunization injections. For that matter, any kind of shot is looked upon with utter disgust and often terrifying fear by the intended recipient. What can a pediatrician do? Just get it done.

“What hurts you?” I asked five-year-old Joseph, a very bright and articulate lad. I want children themselves to tell me what is wrong with them.

Looking suspiciously at me, the young boy replied, “Shots.”

* * *

After her physical examination, five-year-old Stephanie announced, “I don’t want a shot; it’ll hurt.”

“No, it really won’t,” I said confidently.

She was having none of it. “Yes, it will. It’ll hurt. I will have a little hole.”

* * *

“I hate boosters,” twelve-year-old Richard declared. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

* * *

Walking out of the examining room, Jessica, eleven years of age, looked up at her mother. “I got so many shots,” she whispered, “we can play dot to dot.”

* * *

“After your shots today,” I reassured Tareah, eleven years old, “you won’t get another one for a long time.”

She folded her arms and stared at me. “Until I am forty-five.”

* * *

The brother of thirteen-year-old Timothy taunted him that he had to get a “booboo” (meaning a shot).

Timothy looked at me and shrugged. “I laugh in the face of a booboo.”

* * *

“We need hemoglobin from you, Tori,” I said to the nearly nine-year-old.

She shook her head vigorously. “I’d rather walk on glass, barefooted, so you can get my blood.”

* * *

I offered six-year-old Joshua a profound choice: “We can give you the booster shot between your eyes or in your arm.”

“My brain’s starting to hurt,” he groaned.

* * *

Nine-year-old Chrystal was being teased by her older sister in the examining room. The girls’ mother tried to put a stop to it. “Leave Chrystal alone or I’ll have Doctor Tanis give you a shot,” she warned.

Her oldest daughter rolled her eyes. “Only if it makes me smarter.”

* * *

Mrs. R. and her seven-year-old son, Angelo, were seeing me one bright summer morning. “When is he due for his shots?” the mother asked.

“Eleven,” I replied casually, making a few more notes.

Angelo suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked up frantically at the clock. “At eleven o’clock?” he gasped.

Well, I guess I should have been more explicit in differentiating between years and hours.

* * *

Deana, a young lady who in three days would celebrate her fifteenth birthday, was in the office complaining of a stomachache. During the course of the examination, I discovered she had inflamed ears. She had been seen two weeks previously for a stomachache and headache. Because of the persistence of the stomachache, I decided to measure her sed (sedimentation) rate.

“Well, please don’t ruin this finger, because it still hurts from last time,” she complained, holding up the aggrieved digit.

“Well, I wasn’t really thinking of the finger …,” I began slowly, looking at her arm.

“No, no, no!” She begged and pleaded until I changed the subject and spoke of the medicine for her ears.

“I hope you have forgotten about the blood,” she said, hopefully, a few minutes later.

I smiled. “We old elephants never forget.”

“So be a young one and forget,” she retorted.

* * *

Six-year-old Mindy came into the office because of an allergic reaction. Her face was swollen and had a fine little papular (elevated) rash similar to prickly heat. Mindy’s a good sport but really objects to getting injections. Whenever I see her, she’ll ask a dozen times, “Do I have to get a shot, do I have to get a shot, do I have to get a shot?”

This time while I was examining her, she simply looked at me and proclaimed, “My face is not ready for a shot.”

* * *

I walked into an examining room for an after-hours visit to see little Shana, four years old, whom I had never treated before. She stared at me, sized me up, and announced, “I don’t want a shot.”

Leaning out the door, I shouted down the hallway to no one in particular, “She doesn’t want a shot!”

Stepping back into the room, I asked, “Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” she nodded gravely. “My mommy wants me to go to McDonald’s.”

* * *

Maria, the sixteen-year-old daughter of a longtime established family in my practice, came in to see me. She had a multitude of complaints: coughing, back and chest pain, and some rectal bleeding a couple of days ago.

After examining her thoroughly, I told her and her mother, “We want to get a chest x-ray to be sure that the pain and the cough isn’t anything of a serious consequence. I also want to get a blood count, too, to see if the abdominal pain is of serious origin.” The latter meant, of course, taking blood from her arm.

Maria began screaming at her mother, “No, I am not going to have it done! I am not going to have it done!”

“Well, it is important,” the mother said soothingly. “You have to have it done, and you will have it done.”

“No, I am sixteen, and I don’t have to have anything I don’t want!” wailed her daughter, now trying to get up and leave.

“You have to have it!” the mother exclaimed.

“I am a hemophiliac,” Maria whimpered, settling back down. “You can’t do it.”

That went nowhere with us. She then made one last, valiant effort.

“Mom, if you love me you won’t do it.”

Hugging her, her mother murmured, “We are doing it because I love you.”

* * *

I examined Shana, a four-year-old young lady, for an upper respiratory tract infection. After I finished, she glared at me, wagged a finger under my nose, and declared, “No pushing needles in!”

* * *

Marc, Todd, and Joshua were in for their complete preschool checkups. It was always quite the annual event, and, as usual, the boy’s mother and I had a great time catching up. Mrs. F. confided that Todd’s main health concern was an allergy in the morning.

The ten-year-old boy quickly interrupted us. “No, my main concern is getting a shot.”

* * *

Jason, a clever fourteen-year-old, was due for a booster as part of his physical examination. He kept staring at the syringe and couldn’t stop talking about it as I examined him.

“Are you sure I have to get a shot?”

“Why don’t I just come back for it.”

“Maybe next year will be a better year.”

When we finished the complete physical examination, he walked over and picked up the syringe.

“Don’t touch that!” his father admonished him.

“Yes, it’s frightfully expensive,” I admitted.

Putting it down, Jason looked at us and asked, “Well, then, are you sure you want to waste it on me?”

* * *

Laurie had received a tetanus booster four years ago. Her mother told me that it had taken three people to hold her down.

“Don’t be disappointed,” I said to the worried daughter. “You don’t need a booster now, but you will need it next year.”

“It will take more to hold me down,” little Laurie promised.

* * *

As they walked into the examining room, Mrs. V. smiled and assured her five-year-old son, Austin, “You don’t have to get any shots today.”

“Thank you,” her little boy solemnly replied. “Shots are my enemies.”

* * *

After Robert, at the age of just under five, received his DPT (diphtheria, pertussis, tetanus) booster, he complained, “My bone hurts.”

As his mother and I tried to reassure him, he interrupted us. “It would be much better with a Slurpee,” he said slyly.

The Little Wise Ones

Never underestimate the mental function of your patients, even th...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Preface
• Introduction
• Tales from the Examining Room
• The Little Ones Have Kept Me Young