Confessions, a little late

Today as my son had a thermometer in his mouth, a memory flashed back to me. Waaaaay back in the day when the nurse’s office was located behind the secretary’s desk at school, I was sick and sent down there to have my temperature taken. The secretary sat me on the bed, stuck a thermometer in my mouth and told me she’d return. After what felt like hours, I wondered what was holding her up, when, to my horror, the thermometer slipped out of my mouth and went crashing to the floor, the mercury spilling all over the place.

I panicked. Dreading the inevitable lecture in high decibels, I scrambled to solve my problem. Did I have enough time to do anything? I hopped down off the medical bed, pushed the glass and mercury to the best of my first grade ability under the furniture, opened the sterilized container to take out another thermometer. Now the true test was on. Was the secretary going to return at any moment and take my temperature, but would it be accurate? Would she step on a remnant of my crime and I’d be found out? Did she know how many thermometers were in the container? And what if the thermometer didn’t have enough time to register my fever before she returned? Because as each moment passed, I was feeling sicker and sicker. I really needed to go home. I needed my mommy.

After waiting another eternity, the secretary eventually returned, confirmed that, yes, indeed, I did have a fever, and called my mom, who came to pick me up and take me home. I never found out if the broken glass and mercury were found, and imagined that they would be under that furniture forever. I never confessed to my mom about my evil deed. And after a while I forgot about the whole incident. Until today, when my son popped an electric thermometer into his mouth, and had to wait for forever for his temperature to register. Which it did, after much beeping and waiting, at 98.7°.

Gone are the days of mercury and glass thermometers, and the risk of students breaking them in the nurse’s office and trying to cover up the evidence. Isn’t that a relief?