"Yep," I said, placing the geiger counter that I was just using back on the table full of tools, "it's just as I expected."  The geiger counter had been providing more electrical discharge than an eel hooked on ex-lax.

"What is it, doctor?" asked the worried mother standing over her son.

"The cause of it all I'm not entirely sure but your son has been exposed to a massive amount of radiation.  Has he been playing near any nuclear factories lately?"

"Goodness no.  Why, I would never..."

"Ma'am," I interrupted.  I had heard all of the excuses before.  "Do you think it's possible that perhaps you mistakenly gave him plutonium to play with instead of standard Play-doh?"

"Plutonium!" she exclaimed.  "Are you mad?  I would never give my son something so dangerous, let alone know where to purchase such a thing!"

"So, you don't have any terrorist connections?" I questioned, appearing to make important notes on my clipboard but truthfully, I was just doodling.

"No, I-- I don't understand.  Are you positive it's radiation?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am," I said matter of factly.

"I'll admit that I am a bit shocked.  I just thought that it was a fever and perhaps a bad cough.  Also, are you aware that you have toilet paper stuck to your shoe?"

I took a moment to look down and I did indeed have toilet paper stuck to my shoe.  "Yes, actually, I was quite aware of that.  It's a medical thing and you probably wouldn't understand given that you're a simple layperson and all."

"What's medical about having toilet paper stuck to your shoe?"

I sighed audibly.  I hated patients who tried to argue with you like they knew more than you.  "Do you see all those degrees hanging on the wall?"

"You mean the ones crudely drawn in crayon or the bootleg Thomas Kincaid painting?"

"The crayon ones," I said with no minor amount of annoyance in my voice.  "I received each of those degrees from a highly accredited medical institution from which I graduated at the top of my class.  I also have a few more in some drawer somewhere but I simply haven't found the time or space to hang them all up.  I think I have over 30 in all, so I'm pretty sure that I know what I am talking about when it comes to medical stuff."

"You can't possibly have 30 medical degrees.  And those don't even look real!"

I took off the clown wig and rubber nose that I had been wearing up until this point in an effort to have her take me more seriously.

"Oh, like you would know?  Have you ever been to medical school?  No?  I didn't think so."

"I may not have gone to medical school," she protested, "but I have been a mother to this child for seven years.  I'd think I'd know if he had radiation whatever it is and not mere flu symptoms!  It's probably just a common cold."

"Ma'am, your son is anything but common.  I mean, look at his nose!  He's got a bigger schnoz than Pinocchio did after he was finished testifying in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee."

"Oh, my word!"

"Oh," I said in what I thought was a soothing voice, "don't worry.  With radiation, his nose will be the least of his worries.  He won't die right away so he'll still have plenty of years to sit around and suffer.  First, his hair will begin to fall out and won't stop until he looks like a seven-year old Telly Savalas, followed shortly by most of his teeth, which will take on a sick, green color until he finally swallows them while he sleeps."

At this, the woman clutched her son's arm tightly, a look of ghastly horror replacing what used to be her face.  Her eyes narrowed as she glared in my direction.

"Ma'am, I know it's unpleasant to hear and even more horrible to think about," I said, trying to waylay her fears, "but he is your son and regardless of how he looks, you should love him the same as you always have.  Well, minus the feeding him radiation part.  I mean, it's not his fault that he is going to look like a late-80's Sinead O'Connor with a bad dental job."

"You are a horrible man and a horrible doctor!  I am going to leave here and go somewhere more reputable for a second opinion!"

"A second opinion?  You want a second opinion?  Not only is your kid sick with radiation, but he smells funny and has horrible halitosis.  It smells like he's been eating out of the dumpster for the past month.  How's that for a second opinion?"

Without a word, she snatches her kid off the table and storms out of the office.  I heard her mumble something about lawsuit as she passed the receptionists desk but I simply chalked it up to her being a raving loon.  I swear, I guess there is simply no pleasing some people these days.  She didn't even pay, either.  How am I supposed to afford lunch with all of these cheapskates coming in, getting a free diagnosis, and then bolting out the door?  I'm just a simple doctor trying to save the world one patient at a time.  Why do those patients have to make it so damned diffcult?