On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

… an infant daughter sick with RSV.

Yes, gentle readers, it was a more eventful Yule than the Better Half and I were hoping for.  The Squirrel woke at 3 AM on Christmas Day for a feeding, which is not unusual.  However, she then woke again very fussy an hour and a half later, which is.  The Critter is an early riser himself and was up and bellowing an hour after that, so the Better Half and I were both forced to stumble with zombie-like mien into the happy day.

Unfortunately, Squirrel’s fussiness did not improve over the next several hours, though she did snooze in Grandma’s arms long enough for us to herd our rambunctious preschooler through the usual ritual of gift-giving.  (I got a few accessory Sandman titles!  And shirts!)  By the early afternoon, she was coughing and spiked a temperature of 102, which was enough to shake my usual blasé “she’s fine” and get us to a regional emergency department after putting in a call to her own pediatrician.  Four hours later we took her home after a reassuring set of test results, and she’s been hanging in there since.

Again, a rather more eventful Christmas Day than we’d planned.  But it did allow me to celebrate my heritage on my mother’s side (we had Chinese food for dinner) and my father’s (we postponed the roast lamb and had it the next day, and decided to tell ourselves we were simply observing Boxing Day).

There were a couple of interesting things that I observed during our time in the ED.  First of all, the provider who saw us as we waited for our pediatrician to arrive and check our daughter out felt compelled to clarify that we were both there as parents.  Which is fine.  Same-sex parents aren’t the norm, and I have no trouble with being asked for confirmation of how we relate to the kiddos.  What was a little more irksome was his stipulating immediately afterward that he “didn’t have a problem” with our situation.  I understand it was meant to be companionable and welcoming, but it accomplished the opposite effect.  We take it as a given that medical providers don’t have a problem with our being parents, and if they do then they’d be well-advised to keep it to themselves.  By making a point of telling us that he didn’t find our same-sex parenting problematic, he implies that we shouldn’t  take it as a given and that we might expect others would have a problem.  His heart was in the right place and I wasn’t actually affronted, but it was a little irritating regardless.

The other thing I observed was in myself.  I had no compunction at all about communicating that I am a pediatrician while we were there.  And I’ve been thinking a little bit about why I would choose to do so, since it seems kind of obnoxious, and also in conflict with the idea that I was there as a parent and not as a medical professional.

First of all, I think I would want to know under the circumstances.  If I’m going to be under extra scrutiny from parents who are themselves medical providers, it just seems to be better to know that up front.  It’s simply more honest.

But, frankly, I guess I want the people who take care of my kids to know that, in fact, they are under extra scrutiny.  Maybe it’s not right or fair, but I want their medical providers (especially in an emergency room) to be sure they’re bringing their A game.  And that left me wondering if people who don’t have an angle like mine to work feel disempowered when they seek medical care.  I’d guess they probably do.

I wonder how many people feel like their questions weren’t properly answered.  I wonder how many feel like they don’t know what’s happening to them or their loved one, or don’t feel like they have any say in their care.  I wonder how many undergo procedures or treatments they don’t want or understand because they don’t feel they have the authority to question their medical providers.

I wonder how many of those patients or their families are mine.

I hope very few.  I hope I take seriously-enough my obligation to not only the physical health of my patients, but also their sense of being both looked-after and in control.  I hope I give as many of them as possible the sense that they are in good hands.

And I hope my daughter gets well soon.  These 3 AM wake-ups are killing me.

Russell Saunders

Russell Saunders is the ridiculously flimsy pseudonym of a pediatrician in New England. He has a husband, three sons, daughter, cat and dog, though not in that order. He enjoys reading, running and cooking. He can be contacted at blindeddoc using his Gmail account. Twitter types can follow him @russellsaunder1.

16 Comments

  1. If nothing else, you’re telling the doc, “I understand the code, you can tell me what’s really going on.”
    I know a guy who refuses to go to a doctor’s appt. before he knows what will be prescribed, and what’s wrong. (might be helped by being able to get free consults over the internet — favors owed and all that.)

  2. “Maybe it’s not right or fair, but I want their medical providers (especially in an emergency room) to be sure they’re bringing their A game.”

    I know of a certain mother who, whenever anyone in her family is getting any kind of treatment for the university hospital her family gets care from, mentions quite early on that she is on the faculty.

  3. Whenever I call tech support for my computer or phone, I mention quite early that I’m in the biz. It often lets me skip several levels of nonsense, e.g. “The modem’s not seeing the DSL carrier, so just skip all the question about which browser or OS I’m using.”

    • Yeah. I have been known to point out to doctors that I have a biology degree for similar reasons. “Well you see, your immune system works by …” is a useful and important speech … for people who didn’t hang out with grad students working on asthma. No need to waste your time and theirs, Doc, especially in an emergency room.

    • As someone who gives support to some of the smartest people on the planet, knowing that they’ve been using this particular application for the last 10 years (indeed, they CREATED it!!!) does very little to prevent me from checking the things that only an idiot would overlook.

      • I always preface my double-checking with, “I’m sorry. I know you looked, but I really have to see it for myself.”

        • I give them a freebie until they screw up, and then it’s checking every time.

          It works out, for the most part.

  4. By making a point of telling us that he didn’t find our same-sex parenting problematic, he implies that we shouldn’t take it as a given and that we might expect others would have a problem. His heart was in the right place and I wasn’t actually affronted, but it was a little irritating regardless.

    This made me laugh (a disparing sort of laugh) for it brought to mind things like, “you code pretty good for a girl.” Meant as a compliment, an effort at solidarity. A splinter to the psyche.

    I wonder how many people feel like their questions weren’t properly answered. I wonder how many feel like they don’t know what’s happening to them or their loved one, or don’t feel like they have any say in their care. I wonder how many undergo procedures or treatments they don’t want or understand because they don’t feel they have the authority to question their medical providers.

    Often, I think it more that people simply don’t know the right questions to ask. They’ll find them, twenty minutes later, half way home. But in the moment, the proper, necessary, and essential questions elude like will-o-the-wisps. People generally are trusting that as the doc’s heard the questions, know the stuff to look out for, not struck with faery lights just out of reach, and so competently able to recall all the stuff parents should be asking but aren’t.

  5. I wonder how many people feel like their questions weren’t properly answered. I wonder how many feel like they don’t know what’s happening to them or their loved one, or don’t feel like they have any say in their care. I wonder how many undergo procedures or treatments they don’t want or understand because they don’t feel they have the authority to question their medical providers.

    I think this is INSANELY common. It’s something I’m interested in studying, actually. After many annoying episodes, I feel I have to establish some bona fides by a) asking informed questions that refer to refereed journals as opposed to websites, b) establishing I am not a hypochondriac-by-proxy (which may make me a little leery of asking certain questions). Generally I walk in with a measured hypothesis. Otherwise, I feel — rather, I KNOW — I am not given the complete story. I wish I were a pediatrician so that I could skip this incredibly annoying step.

    • G-d. I don’t know what sort of a job we could find up here for you in Pittsburgh, but someone’s gotta have a job for that research subject! (If only because it would save great gobs of money on “let’s go back to the doctor!”)

  6. What was a little more irksome was his stipulating immediately afterward that he “didn’t have a problem” with our situation.
    Also, that’s outrageous.

  7. I mostly don’t let my kids’ doc know that I’m a med student, mostly just because I don’t want to get pimped (it’s happened).

    Of course my cover gets blown pretty quickly when I slip and describe my kid as a “7 yo white male in his usual state of good health”.

    • During our initial peditrician consult, we got spotted as a teacher and nurse because of when we nodded during her talk.

    • I haven’t got eleven kids
      I weren’t born in Baghdad
      I’m not half-Chinese either
      And I didn’t kill my dad

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