“Go doctor, you sick,” said my neighbor Isabella.  We were playing “Doctors Office” in her bedroom and we’d been at it for at least five minutes.  That’s a record for her attention span.  Isabella snatched up her plastic stethoscope and held it to my chest.  I took a second stethoscope and placed it on her forehead.  “No, silly!” she shrieked with laughter.  I grabbed one of her tiny feet and pressed it against the stethoscope.  “No, no!”  She reached out to take my stethoscope but I held it away from her and caught one of her hands.  I placed the plastic stethoscope against one finger.
“Is this where it goes?”  She shook her head vigorously.  “That’s right,” I put the stethoscope against my own chest.  She nodded, but losing interest in the stethoscope, reached for the toy otoscope. 
“Aaaah,” she commanded.  I stuck out my tongue and she looked inside my mouth.  She waved the plastic toy in front of my face, then climbed into my lap.  She put a small hand on my head and peered into my ear.  She gasped and fell back.  “You sick!” she informed me. 
“Really?”  I lifted her off of my foot that was quickly falling asleep under her three-year-old weight.  “Why am I sick?” I asked.
“Gween in your ear,” she said seriously.  “Why there gween in your ear?” 
“Silly.”  I bopped her nose with my finger.  “I’m not sick.  That’s my hearing aid.”  She gave me a quizzical look with her head tilted to the side.  Her hair fell into her eyes and she blew it away, diminishing her serious, questioning expression.  “It helps me hear, just like my glasses help me see.”  I could tell she didn’t understand.  That was the explanation I reserved for slightly older kids.  I took off my glasses.  “Without my glasses, I can’t see.”  I waved my hand in front of my face and widened my eyes.  “Oh!  Where are you?” I feigned complete blindness and she began to wave hers in my face too.  I put my glasses back on.  “Oh!  I can see you again!  If I take my hearing aids out, I won’t be able to hear you.”  She nodded.
“Gwasses?” 
“Yes.  You don’t need glasses or hearing aids because you can see and hear.  I need glasses to see your pretty face and hearing aids help me to hear your voice.”  She nodded and turned away, the timer on that infamous attention span was up.  She dug through her doctor bag again.  She pulled out a plastic shot and poked it at my arm.  “Yowwieeee!” I yelled, making her squeal with glee.
“My turn, my turn!”  I tapped her with the shot and she screamed in mock horror, the scream exploding into peals of laughter.  She picked up the eye otoscope, waving it around my face again.  She tottered back into my lap and slung her arm around my neck for support.  Here we go again, I thought.  But this time, when she looked into my ear she smiled.
“Hear aid!”  She proclaimed, proud of her discovery.  “You hear?”
“Yes, Isabella.  I hear.”