I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this sacred covenant for preschool-aged children with doctor play sets:

I vow to respect every tool in this $19.99 Target item with the seriousness these plastic medical instruments deserve.

I will always remember my purpose as a pretend physician: to treat the sick. I must also remind the patient of this by whispering into their mouth, “You’re sick.”

I will apply my knowledge and days of experience with my equipment. Operating the thermometer requires knowing that it may require repeated rolls all over my patient’s forehead until it shows the color red. Also, the otoscope is not only to examine the ear canal, but the nose-holes, too.

I promise to remain professional. If my patient shows signs of distress (i.e. grimacing) while I use tools such as the tongue depressor, I will say, “I am the doctor,” while placing my identification badge next to one of their eyes. I will demonstrate my proficiency with the surgical tweezers by pinching the skin flaps between my patient’s thumb and index finger until they say, “Ow.”

In order for the patient to understand the grave nature of their condition, I will say, “That’s not good,” once in a while. Also, if they’re focused on their book: “You are probably going to die.”

I will wield my heaviest diagnostic instrument, the reflex hammer, not only when I am testing my patient’s deep tendon reflex, but whenever they are too distracted with their book and need a whack.

I will remain calm by wearing the enclosed eye cover while using the syringe or surgical knife. This will help hide the patient’s gross inside parts. I will tell them after I’m done, “You’re not going to die now.”

I will treat all illnesses with the one blue medicine bottle I have in my tote.

I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their body’s problems are personal, but I will allow an audience of stuffed animal medical students to study my patient’s many problems. I may need to consult stuffed psychiatrists like Dr. Mollusk, for her specialty in treating adults who stare at books too much.

I will collaborate with other trained medical professionals nearby by shouting any diagnosis I am considering to the next room. Diagnoses may include “bald man syndrome” and “blue medicine bottle poisoning.”

I will give my patient one felt Band-Aid, no matter their diagnosis.

I will keep in mind that if I do not put all of my body weight on my patient’s chest to locate the poison in their body, no one else will. While the patient dies from their unfortunate poisoning, I will give them proper bedside manner by placing the Band-Aid over their eyes as I move their bookmark to a future chapter.

If I do not violate this oath and disturb the patient too much having moved their bookmark, may I enjoy rest time by having the patient read me my book.

For I will be done playing doctor.

Special thanks to Melissa & Doug, Visiting Professors at the School of Imaginary Medicine at the University of Minnesota, for their contributions to this oath.