Many years ago, when my son Mason was in elementary school, he was hit in the face by a ball while in the schoolyard. When he came home, he looked awful, but there were no signs of concussion.
The following day, I twisted my ankle. The next morning, I asked my husband to take me to the hospital to have my ankle checked, and I thought it would be a good idea to have a doctor look at Mason’s eye.
When the doctor finally came to speak with us, he looked at my ankle, and Mason’s face, and was openly hostile. I wondered, why is he talking to me that way? And then I knew. He thought both Mason and I had been hurt by my husband.
When the doctor was ready to look at Mason, I told Bob that he and I would wait outside the examining room. I then told Bob that I thought the doctor suspected that he had abused us. Bob’s mouth fell open. “Me? Me?!!” I laughed and said, “I have no doubt that Mason will tell how he came by the black eye and I injured my ankle.” Mason always had an outgoing personality and had no trouble speaking to anyone.
What a difference in the doctor’s demeanor after examining Mason! But I was actually pleased that the doctor was concerned about what brought people to the emergency room.
MAY-RONNY ZEIDMAN is executive director of the Sandra Bornstein Holocaust Education Center, in Providence.