Over the past few weeks I’ve had ample opportunity to be on the other side. Not like some parents with chronically ill children or those with children who have suffered tragic illness. No, not like that; I am fortunate that hospitals aren’t a part of my family’s everyday (except for work). My children have had amazing fortune and I remain in awe of good health. Lately though, we’ve had some stumbles. Literally.
O broke his leg a week ago after falling from some play equipment while we were on a trip to California. Six days before that, he turned blue in his lips and mouth and we ended up in the ER for a 6 hour investigation. My mom finished a week of chemo this past weekend and we’ve got follow-up visits for nearly everyone. Two today, in fact. I’m still living a part of the generational sandwich. And we go to see doctors. Allowing ample opportunity for being on the other side.
When I tell others about my experiences in the ER with little O or with my mom at the cancer center, or going to the doctor for my own health care, people often point out how good it is for me. Enter broccoli with a side of brussel sprouts. People want doctors to go to the doctor. I get it.
It’s a little like how, on some level, it would feel much better if BP’s Tony Hayward lived on the gulf coast, wore boots that were drenched in washed-up oil, and had to make a living in a small fishing town in Louisiana for 5 months. Maybe then he’d feel the impact of the oil spill that we expect. We just want people in charge to understand and feeeeeel.
We consumers of health want our doctors to connect, to understand, to care. We anticipate, discuss, and await the visit; often it’s the crescendo in our day. We want the doctor to sit down. We want them to listen so we don’t have to repeat ourselves. We want them to know it’s a scared space–that airspace between doctor and patient. I mean, it’s a formal endeavor for many of us; my mom puts on make-up, I comb my hair. We want it valued. Really, we want to share our shoes. Swap them, of course, with those who help us so they walk like we do and understand. We want to have those who are in charge of big decisions in our lives (read: doctors) really embrace the decisions like we do.
Lots of providers, lots of the time, really do feel this. They really do connect. Ask them to if they don’t. Say something like, “Did you hear what I said about her not being able to sleep?” if your doctor is distracted. It’s always okay to clarify. And it’s always okay to ask.
When O broke his leg, we were in northern California visiting the husband’s parents. We were far from Seattle Children’s and from the resources and colleagues with which we are familiar. When we arrived in the ER, I was unsteady. Hoping for good care but expecting the worst. Trying to find balance in being primarily a mom, but having the pediatrician inside me, too.
Crazy thing was all I found was compassion. It changed everything. From the nurse (who told me about his children) to the ER doc (who enlisted my opinion) to the orthopedist (who told me of his 20 month old while holding tyrannical O down for the casting), the entire team took the time to care about O and his entourage. They took time to connect. It was this humanism that changed everything. They call this place, “The Queen.” Maybe this is why.
Humanism, care, and competency are exactly what you want when you’re stuck on the other side. I’m okay with all this time on the other side. I’m learning a lot. And with a leg that is healing, I know the little bits of my mommy-broken-heart will, too.
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Shelly says
Wow, you have been one busy mama on the other side of care. The only way to sanity this summer for your son is to get him a cast cover that is waterproof. When I broke my leg two years ago, it was the only way I made it through the summer!
https://store.drycorp.com/Dry-Pro-Waterproof-Full-Leg-Cast-Bandage-Protector-s/24.htm
I have no stock in these or care where you buy it (just typed it in Google and this was the first one that had the brand I used), but they are awesome. Have already handed mine down to a relative. Thanks for sharing your experiences!
Shelly or rather noguiltmommy 🙂
Mark Ragan says
I loved this post and wish more doctors had your experience of negotiating our sometimes wonderful, often horrible health care system.
My father died of ALS in 1995, and my mother has been in and out of hospitals for the past 10 years. And I am a three-year Cancer survivor myself.
So I know how horrible it can be when hospital employees look through you as you approach the desk for your appointment; or when doctors shout at your 80-year-old mother, even though she can hear perfectly well.
Two decades ago, my father wrote a column about the indignities patients face in our health care system. He was the founder of my trade publishing site for communication professionals.
I re-published that article a few years ago on Ragan.com and it was picked up by The New York Times.
I wanted you to see it. My father was a magnificent writer. I wonder whether you agree with his observations.
Thanks for a great post.
Here is the post from the late Larry Ragan:
https://nyti.ms/dcIaaO
Jenny says
You and family have certainly been on a roll lately! Hope you get to stay out of the ER (non-professionally) for a while.
It’s funny but I’ve never thought about my doctors and their kids getting sick or injured. (The same way you never think about teachers or cops having to use the bathroom.) It’s a great reminder that we’re all human and that medical professionals experience this humanity in many forms.
Wendy Sue Swanson, MD says
Mark,
Thanks for sharing the sentimental and spot-on piece written by your father so many years ago. I agree with Tara Parker-Pope– a lot hasn’t changed.
I’m not here to defend the institution of medicine but I will say this, I think we both (patients and doctors/providers) have to come a little to the middle. We have to find ways to allow doctors TIME to talk with families. We have to allow same day access for sick patients without double booking and pushing appointment times later. We have to figure out how to get rid of the ridiculous gowns without it costing the consumers!
The wheelchair point your father makes is astonishing. I’ve never thought of the sponge of resources lost in its use… After the birth of my second son I tried to wave off the transport tech with the wheelchair down to the car. It was senseless; once in the car, I’d be there with my 5 and 1/2 pound newborn, husband and no wheelchair. Why did I have to take the ride? But the hospital refused stating it was for “safety” and “policy.” I’ve thought about it many times since…was it not wanting me to faint on hospital property? Not wanting me to show I really wasn’t ready for discharge less than 48 hours after abdominal c-section and delivery to the point that they’d have to readmit? What was it? Why was I free to walk across the street but not walk down the hallway to the elevator?
Like so many things in life, it remains a mystery. Thanks again, Mark, for sharing your heartfelt story.
Angie says
I’ve had two different friends with their kids having the blue lips thing…scary, lots of tests, but in the end they both ended up just outgrowing it.
gerineldo says
Interesting post. I’ve had some problems to read it, because I’m from Spain. I’m learning English to be bilingual, and maybe to work in UK. I’m a doctor G.Practitioner.
Greetings from Spain.
🙂
https://foro-tarancon-emigrante.blogspot.com/