It’s funny how you can sometimes guess what a kid will be when they grow up. For instance, I would constantly read through a medical dictionary for fun, which meant that I was probably either going to be a doctor or a gigantic nerd.
When I was about 6 or 7, my grandparents gave me this huge visual dictionary about all sorts of subjects, and, being a nerd even then, I loved it. I would pore over the information about archaeology, geotectonics, nautical terminology and plant biology… but my favorite by far was the medical section. I would read through those pages until I knew the human anatomy like the back of my hand. I was like a miniature little Dr. Oz, which as you can imagine came in handy from time to time.
One day in the second or third grade, I was happily playing during recess like most second or third graders normally do when a gigantic soccer ball came flying at me out of nowhere. It slammed into my gut with incredible speed and force--like an obese man slams into a cheesecake. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
Immediately afterwards the large fifth grader that had kicked the ball came over to me and asked me if I was alright. Doubled over and clutching my stomach, I meekly nodded yes and kicked the soccer ball back to him. I then retreated to the opposite side of the playground until I felt I was a safe distance away from any more peltings by killer soccer balls.
Soon, recess was over and we went to back to class, but I still didn’t feel well. My stomach began rumbling like crazy and naturally I began to grow concerned. I had some idea of what was wrong, but just in case, I raised my hand and asked to go to the nurse. Maybe she could help me confirm my theory, I thought.
I entered the nurse’s office and sat patiently until the nurse was free to see me, my stomach still rumbling from the impact of the soccer ball. Once she was available she casually asked me what was wrong.
“I think my spleen is wiggling.” I casually replied.
She stared at me for a moment and bursted into a fit of uproarious laughter.
“Your… your spleen… is wiggling?” she asked, barely able to speak through her uncontrollable giggling.
“Yes, my spleen is wiggling!” I replied, becoming slightly upset. I couldn’t understand what this woman thought was so funny. I had read my entire medical dictionary. There was a rumbling in the general area of my spleen and a wiggling spleen was the only natural conclusion, although any attempts to explain this only caused her to break into even more uproarious laughter.
“Hold… hold on a second.” She managed to say.
I saw her look something up in a book, pick up the phone and dial a number.
“Hello, Mrs. Meyer?” She said with a devious grin, “This is the school nurse. Your son came in just a moment ago and I’d like you to hear what’s upsetting him.”
She handed the phone over to me and I calmly reiterated my dire self-diagnosis of a wiggling spleen. I thought my mother, of all people, would take my well-being and medical expertise seriously… but I was sadly mistaken. She began to laugh even more uproariously than the school nurse had, much to my disappointment. In retrospect, it’s a miracle I survived. A wiggling spleen is a very serious prognosis, yet neither the school nurse nor even my own mother took me seriously. In fact to this day, anytime I get sick my parents still tease me, asking if I can feel my spleen wiggling.
Thankfully though, I have not yet experienced a relapse of the dreaded wiggling spleen.
