Years ago I made the decision that I would never say no to a student who asked to go to the clinic, even if I considered the request unnecessary or flagrant avoidance or attention-seeking. I figured that's why we have medical professionals in the building, even if the only thing they can prescribe is ice in a baggie with an institutional paper towel wrapped around it.
Since then I've seen little bags of ice held over eyes and on top of heads, tucked into socks and waistbands, and ultimately almost always abandoned. And I've chosen to overlook the inevitable puddles on the tables and floor, as well as the students who bite a little hole in their bag and suck on the cold ice melt before discarding the panacea altogether.
And although it mystifies me why kids still want to go there for maladies that ice won't help, they continue to ask. "They're only going to give you ice," I warn as they grab the pass and go, limping or grimacing or groaning only to return a short while later with a couple of neatly packaged cubes, born like badges of honor.
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