Pediatrician Here

One Tuesday afternoon, Leo, a five-year-old with a superhero cape and a very serious scowl, sat on the exam table. He was there for his kindergarten boosters, and he was ready for battle.

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, his cape fluttering as he held his breath. "Done," Elena whispered a second later. Leo opened one eye. "That’s it?" pediatrician

Slowly, the arms uncrossed. Elena listened to his heart—a steady, racecar beat—and checked his "super-vision." When it came time for the shots, she didn't call them shots. She called them "software updates for his immunity-shields." One Tuesday afternoon, Leo, a five-year-old with a

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." "Done," Elena whispered a second later

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