Funny Doctor Stories: Scared Little Father Vs. Doctor
Note About This Story: It is one of the funny doctor stories that has really happened. It has been submitted to us by a doctor from India.
I shouldn’t be sitting at my keyboard to chronicle this incident. But it’s a gem. So if Derek, the father of my patient reads this, he will have to shake his head with embarrassment.
Some days ago, forty-five-year-old Derek and his eleven-year-old daughter came to my clinic. She had a burns injury.
I guided them into the examination area. Then turned away from them to the trolley. While I was preoccupied with the trolley, I heard someone shriek.
I turned to her and smiled.
“No need to be scared.” I said.
“Oh, that wasn’t me.” She replied. “That was daddy.”
I looked at him. Derek was gazing at the instruments on the trolley. His face looked like he was about to be castrated.
I squirted hydrogen peroxide on the wound. It frothed. The girl winced. Derek leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like he was doing a check on its structural integrity.
“Please get me a tetanus toxoid ampoule.” – I said to the nurse.
“Tetanus?” Derek asked in disbelief.
“She needs a shot.” I replied.
He screamed and left the room.
When Derek had returned, he gave his daughter an encouraging smile. But the young lady was looking fearfully in my direction. Derek looked fearful too. The sight of a needle in my hand did not make him happy. There was no telling what might happen next, so I asked Derek to leave the room.
Derek vanished behind the dividing screen like I’d given him a ticket to the Promised Land.
But the issue didn’t end there. The little damsel abruptly decided if she was going to be injected, she wanted parental support, up-close and personal. “Dad!” she hollered. “Come hold my hand!”
The sound that emerged from behind the screen was truly hard to interpret.
“Daddy…!” She screamed again.
Summoning hidden reserves of courage, forty-five-year-old Derek rushed to his daughter’s aid. A frantic glance at me convinced him that the needle had not re-materialized into something less fearful, like maybe a strain of anthrax. I swabbed her arm and brought the needle up. Judging from his skin color, this was Derek’s worst nightmare.
I smiled at the girl and said: “Now count to ten.”
“1-2-3-4-5-6-7-” said the father quickly. Then the needle punctured the skin and Derek lost count. He blacked out. The fear of math took its toll.
I helped the girl down and said: “Sit down. I’ll rouse him.”
“Are you going to give him an injection?” she asked.
I shook his shoulder. He popped awake.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Good question.” I said.
As I went to wash my hands, he walked slowly to the desk and asked his daughter: “Are you okay?”
She nodded, then asked him: “What about you dad?”
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