Agreed.First Shirt wrote:Been through this mess with a granddaughter. She's going to be nine, and she's about average size for a five-year-old. Since her dad is 5'7" and her mom is 5-foot-nothing, nobody is surprised, except the pediatrician who wanted to send her for every test in the book for "arrested development." Especially since there are TWO insurance plans to send the bills to. (Daughter's plan from work, and her hubby's Tricare, since he's 100% disabled, and medically retired from the Navy).
Daughter keeps says, "Given who her parents are, and that she's above-average intelligent, and has the reflexes of a mongoose, I'm thinking that she's just gonna be short. Never figured on having a WNBA star in the family anyway. So let's just don't bother." She's been reported to CPS twice, once by the (former) pediatrician, and once by the school. So far, they still have custody, and nobody's in jail. (Although I did come close.)
So it's not always the patient's (or patient's parent's fault).
I note purely for informational purposes that in such a case, it's hard to practice medicine when the bones in one's hands have been pounded into pea-gravel-sized bits by sledgehammers, and one's head helpfully and forcibly inserted into their own rectal cavity (with continuing attachment to the cervical vertebrae at that point entirely an optional matter) and stapled into place with roofing nails.
I further observe that life is far funnier when certain people have trailer hitch replica claymore mines, dry cell batteries, modeling clay, and random electronic parts epoxied to the hood of their cars, faced towards the driver's seat, with wires leading under the vehicle. Just make a list, pay cash for components, spread the purchases over time and space, and observe the 50 Mile Rule. Oh, and nitrile painting gloves are your friend.
Remember, nothing grows fear and guilt in true @$$holes like such a pediatrician like actually being guilty, and the local bomb squad probably needs the practice anyways.
For school busybodies, a much better percentage bet is to simply stack half a dozen kilo-sized cellophane bricks of powdered sugar and baking soda, or shredded oregano and eucalyptus leaves, in the back seat of their car, and make a call from a pay phone.
Bonus points if it's during school hours, and you put a few pro-marijuana/pro-drug/anti-police bumper stickers on the car before the call.
Some people have to learn the hard way how fun it isn't to be busybodies, or to jerk people's chain under color of authority.