Abstract
Being the child of an emergency medicine (EM) doctor means a lot of unappetizing dinner conversations. The nauseating remarks are usually casually weaved into common discourse, with a disturbing disregard for the family's digestion. Perhaps a family member mentions an upcoming dental appointment - an innocent remark - which somehow elicits from my mother the gruesome suctioning noise that occurred when she replaced her patient's displaced tooth in its socket. The conversations are a great way to make sure no one overeats. Being the child of an EM doctor means trampolines are out. I am not sure I am even allowed to be friends with someone who has a trampoline.
Sign-in/Register to access full text options 
Free) 
Talk to us
Join us for a 30 min session where you can share your feedback and ask us any queries you have
Schedule a call
