Friends

 I don't like the phrase "Good boy/girl". 

It makes me uncomfortable, it's like speaking to a dog. Insert a high pitched voice because you managed to accomplish the task I set you for you, such as booping your nose into my finger.

It implies that if you /didn't/ do the behaviour that I'm praising, that you would be bad. But you're not bad. If you're scared coming into theatre, you're not bad. If you cry, you're not bad. So I don't say it. I strike it from my vocabulary!

Instead I say "you're doing a great job at working through your fear. I see how hard you're trying. I appreciate how patient you're trying to be with me".

I also don't like gendered terms. As someone who is nonbinary, I feel the sting of gendered language all the time. It leaves no place for me to exist. So I am re-learning my gendered language to be more gender neutral. I've fallen into the habit of calling the younglings who come through my care "My friends."

Today I walk in to double check a patients admission paperwork, to declare them ready to go to theatre.

'Hello my friend, my name is Mouse and I'm here to sign you out!'

"You are /not/ my friend." Please picture in your brain the soul-withering glare that accompanies this statement.

'Fair enough, you make a valid point. May I call you by your name?'

"I guess, you may." There is an upturned nose, as Zed is staring at me from the corner of their eyes. Looking at me askance.

I go through my checks, everything pans out, we're good to go. I thank Zed and their family and begin to back out of the room.

"...You could be." Comes the quiet whisper.

'I'm sorry?'

Zed is now looking at me. "You could be. My friend. But you have to do the secret handshake."

I am so excited. I don't know any secret handshakes and today might be my very first chance to learn one! 'Would you please teach me the secret handshake?'

In response I get a sigh that resonates with the exhaustion in my soul. "I guess I could do that."

There are claps, finger wiggles, a serious on convoluted wrist and elbow twists. There's no discernible pattern. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Zed was making this up as we went along. In the end, I am deemed incompetent but tolerable. I have passed the test with minimum marks. I feel proud. I worked hard for this pass.

I thank Zed for teaching me and head out the room and they say to me as the door closes:

"Bye, my friend!"