"OK, now we need a magic word."
I was right in the middle of a little card trick with a boy of about 7 during clown doctor rounds yesterday. He didn't want to use my suggestion of Santa Claus, and after thinking about it for a moment, a sly grin crossed his face, followed by "Poop!"
Mom rolled her eyes, "He's been saying that lately." He smiled proudly.
Everyone else in the room snickered -- Dad, Grandpa, and an aunt.
Hey, you can't say poop in the hospital! Oh, poop. Now you've got me saying poop. Oops, there I said poop again. Are you sure you want to use poop? Oh, no, there I said poop again!
This went on a little bit longer, followed by a forehead plant. The whole room is giggling uncontrollably.
OK, we'll use poop. And then, magically and poopily, I found his card in the middle of the deck. Everyone is amazed and refreshed from the laughter and the tension release.
It's a great release to make naughty fun of bodily functions and mundane or scary procedures in the hospital setting, making me complicit with the patient, family, and staff in the lampoon or jest. It lets the patient have a little innocently off-color control of something he's going through.
With this boy, it didn't stop at poop, however.
Because my assistant (rubber chicken), Dr. Fowlbreath, aka Rudy the Red Nosed Chicken during the holidays, was also in the room doing some stunts, she asked that the boy not order chicken for lunch. The boy's eyes lit up again, and off we went on another round of verbal kidding.
By the time I left the room, everyone had had quite the laugh rush. I heard Mom tell the nurse, "What a great thing for the hospital to have for kids."
Before I left PEDS after visiting all the other rooms, I circled back to his room, ducked my head in, and told him we were all out of chicken.
I was right in the middle of a little card trick with a boy of about 7 during clown doctor rounds yesterday. He didn't want to use my suggestion of Santa Claus, and after thinking about it for a moment, a sly grin crossed his face, followed by "Poop!"
Mom rolled her eyes, "He's been saying that lately." He smiled proudly.
Everyone else in the room snickered -- Dad, Grandpa, and an aunt.
Hey, you can't say poop in the hospital! Oh, poop. Now you've got me saying poop. Oops, there I said poop again. Are you sure you want to use poop? Oh, no, there I said poop again!
This went on a little bit longer, followed by a forehead plant. The whole room is giggling uncontrollably.
OK, we'll use poop. And then, magically and poopily, I found his card in the middle of the deck. Everyone is amazed and refreshed from the laughter and the tension release.
It's a great release to make naughty fun of bodily functions and mundane or scary procedures in the hospital setting, making me complicit with the patient, family, and staff in the lampoon or jest. It lets the patient have a little innocently off-color control of something he's going through.
With this boy, it didn't stop at poop, however.
Because my assistant (rubber chicken), Dr. Fowlbreath, aka Rudy the Red Nosed Chicken during the holidays, was also in the room doing some stunts, she asked that the boy not order chicken for lunch. The boy's eyes lit up again, and off we went on another round of verbal kidding.
By the time I left the room, everyone had had quite the laugh rush. I heard Mom tell the nurse, "What a great thing for the hospital to have for kids."
Before I left PEDS after visiting all the other rooms, I circled back to his room, ducked my head in, and told him we were all out of chicken.
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