Pediatrician Now

"I have a force field, Dr. Elena," Leo informed her, crossing his arms tightly. "No pokes allowed."

Elena had spent fifteen years in this room. She had seen infants who could fit in the palm of her hand grow into teenagers who now ducked their heads to enter her door. She was used to the "symphony" of a pediatric office—the high-pitched giggles from the waiting room, the rhythmic crinkle of exam table paper, and the occasional, inevitable wail of a toddler who spotted a needle. pediatrician

If you'd like to explore more about this profession, I can help you with: Steps to Finding pediatric clinics near you Recommended books for parents on child health "I have a force field, Dr

"Good to know," Elena said, pulling a "light-saber" (her flashlight) from her pocket. "I actually need to check your internal engine today. If the force field is too strong, I won't be able to hear if your heart is beating like a drum or a racecar." She had seen infants who could fit in

Dr. Elena Vance’s office was more of a technicolor dreamscape than a sterile clinic. Hand-drawn dinosaurs lived on the walls, and the "Scale of Bravery" by the door featured a cartoon lion that grew fluffier the taller a patient stood.

Elena didn't reach for her stethoscope. Instead, she sat on her rolling stool, which squeaked just the right amount to make Leo’s eyes widen. "A force field? That’s impressive. Is it solar-powered or does it run on apple juice?" Leo paused, his scowl wavering. "Apple juice. Mostly."