A Visit to the Kinderarzt

Shortly after arriving in Munich, we began looking for a pediatrician for Miles, just on the off chance that our little former 28-weeker might need some medical attention this winter. Fortunately, a German colleague at work recommended her pediatrician, who was "really great" with her son "and speaks English, too!" So we set up an appointment for the next day.


We quickly took a liking to the doctor, who resembled a rumpled old teddy bear and spoke to Miles in sing-song German with wide, astonished eyes. To our surprise, however, he spoke very little English. So he summoned a nurse and the receptionist to assist with translation, and we began to assemble fragments of Miles' saga in a patois of English and German. Fortunately, Lisa had had the foresight to bring a file containing Miles' medical history along on the trip. The doctor seemed to digest this information without difficulty.

He then pronounced, "Now, we must change his food" and rattled off a list of unfamiliar meats and vegetables in German on which our little munchkin was now supposed to subsist.


This accomplished, the doctor proceeded to examine Miles. But don't imagine this was some kind of stethescope-to-the-chest, tongue-depressor-to-the-mouth, say-ahh kind of examination. It was more like a combination of a gymastics routine and the test flight of a new airplane. Later, we noticed a poster on the wall diagramming the astonishing maneuvers we had just witnessed:


Miles, of course, quickly burst into tears as the doctor twisted his limbs into increasingly pretzel-like forms. He kept sobbing inconsolably throughout the rest of the examination. With each new round of wailing, the doctor would announce, "Ja, ja, zehr gut. Zehr gut. Very normal." He gave Miles a clean bill of health.


When it was all over, somebody was ready for a nap.