Posted at 21:25h
Years ago, I was babysitting a friend's little boy and my youngest son wanted to know why we had to watch another child. I told him that his mommy had a doctor appointment.
My son, said, "Oh." His face looked worried.
"What does a doctor do?" I asked, hoping for an answer like,they help you or make you better.
"They hurt my mouth," he answered with a quiet voice--staring into the the space in front of him.
My son's childhood was fraught with doctor appointments and surgeries. His most recent one at the time had closed his cleft palate. It was painful and followed by weeks of keeping his arms strapped down so he wouldn't touch his mouth. I told him that the doctor had fixed the hole in the roof of his mouth and had helped him. My little boy looked unconvinced. He hates hospitals--they are torture chambers to him.