Typical Day
Dr. Mortimer Childers is a pediatrician at St. Shmoop Children's Hospital. (In case you're wondering, St. Shmoop is the patron saint of standardized testing.) He wakes up at 5:30AM, eats a bowl of Fruit Loops (filled with vitamin F and natural toucan proteins), and drinks a glass of chocolate milk. As a doctor, he realizes that these aren't the healthiest options, but it lets him get in touch with his inner child before a steady stream of them start cascading through his office door.
Once Dr. Childers arrives at the hospital, he starts by doing his rounds, visiting with each of his patients who had spent the night, checking their charts, and then checking in with them to see how they're feeling.
One young girl just had her appendix removed; the operation was a complete success (the surgeons there are pretty good at those, since they have to perform them so often), and she is feeling much better than last night. She is talkative and seemingly in high spirits. She does inquire as to where her appendix is now and whether or not she can visit it, which leads Dr. Childers to believe that the drugs are still affecting her a little.
The doctor then shuffles down the hall to his office, where he begins taking his patient appointments. Before lunch, he does three immunizations, writes prescriptions for five kids with colds (must be going around), and treats one sprained thumb.
The thumb belongs to an eight-year-old boy named Jonathan who sustained his injury while playing Mario Kart Wii. His mother explains that he was getting a little too aggressive with the joystick, and the repetitive motion (we're talking seven or eight hours of near-constant Wii-ing) finally took its toll. By the time Jonathan finally put down the controller, his hand looked like it had been slammed in a car door.
Dr. Childers prescribes an ointment that should soothe the boy's inflamed thumb and advises him to consider playing his video games just a Wii bit less, and perhaps going outside to play now and then. Of course, he does this without sounding condescending or making Jonathan feel like he's getting a lecture. He knows kids will only listen if they feel that you're speaking to them as a concerned friend, rather than as a bossy authority figure.
Dr. Childers then grabs a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria—one of those square pizza deals they really shouldn't be serving in hospitals—and then goes back to his office to reply to emails and return phone calls.
At 1:00PM, Dr. Childers drops by the maternity ward to check on the infants who are under his care. Nope—none of them are adults yet. Just as he had hoped. He checks each of their charts and observes their vitals, making certain that nothing out of the ordinary has happened with their heart rate, brain activity, etc. One of the babies seems to be kicking his feet with unusual gusto, but he's probably just a future runner.
It's very important to warm up.
The doctor then has another half-dozen appointments in the afternoon, including one youngster who seems to have swallowed a Duplo block. The kid seems fine, but Dr. Childers schedules the little tyke for surgery to have it removed. He checks emails one last time, then heads home, although he's still on night call for the remainder of the evening. Hopefully no other kids in town will find a Lego or other building toy especially delicious, at least until morning.