Georgia’s been coughing a lot, the lingering effects of a tiny cold about three weeks ago. We’ve been on the vitamin C regimen since October, taking regular doses every 4 hours in an effort to stave off a cold, and shorten symptoms when we get one. Whether it’s that or just the placebo effect, Georgia and I have had a pretty mild time of this sickening winter. But when I heard a wheeze in her chest during a particularly bad coughing fit I thought it was time to call the doctor.
Georgia has always been very brave at the doctor’s office. She is calm and patient in the waiting room, and she doesn’t cry at shots. She’s not worried about the instruments, and she’s had good doctors who tell her what the instruments are and what they are doing. So I wasn’t really prepared when we had to go to a different doctor, one who really talked down to Georgia like she was a two-year-old.
Dr. Beverly: Now this is a little flashlight, and here is a tiny hat that goes on top of it! It lets me see in your ear, oooh, let me see if I can find Elmo! Do you think Elmo is in there?
Georgia almost rolled her eyes. I think if she knew how she would have. She has never liked Elmo [1], when she was much littler she was afraid of him, and since I am old-skool Sesame Street all the way, I wasn’t about to discourage that fear. I think Elmo is an annoying, spoiled brat and a really bad role model. Plus, he’s not funny, and I sure think Jim Henson must be looking down from Muppet Heaven wondering what happened to the sublime, creative, artistic entity he created. I don’t have much appreciation for what the new Sesame Street has to offer, so we, thankfully, missed the whole Elmo phase. And now Georgia is four (and-a-half she would correct) and Elmo is just wayyy too young for her.
When Dr. Beverly said, “Now let me see if Elmo is in your other ear! No, Elmo isn’t in there!” Georgia shot me a look as if to say, “Is this lady nuts?!”
When we left the exam room, Georgia got her choice of stickers. There were Dora and Diego stickers, My Little Pony stickers, and some weird, unknown-to-us Trollz [2] stickers. To my surprise she went for the sassy yellow girl Troll. I was kind of glad, since she gets the princess and pony and Pooh stickers from the bank. She isn’t stuck in a rut, she’s willing to try something new, and strange. But once again, the creeping commercialism gets me wiggy.
Now I know that it’s a lot to ask the medical and financial (and dental) establishments to go for non-commercial treat-items. Maybe they get the stickers and toothbrushes free because it’s pure promo for the toy conglomerates. But it really irks me that she is offered something commercial everywhere we go. Why is it OK to assume every kid knows Elmo? Couldn’t it just be a bunny in her ear? And why can’t the reward for being good be a nonspecific sparkly butterfly or dog or truck sticker like it is at my beloved grocery store? The institutionalized assumptions feed into Georgia’s knowledge of commercial culture even if she never sees the corresponding TV show or commercial. It’s a small thing, but it adds up to another flicker of recognition, and how does one fight it? Tell Georgia she can’t have a sticker? I don’t want her to feel deprived, but I resent how her mind is being sold characters that she will come to know, and maybe decide she wants, based on a dum-dum doctor visit.