The Playpen

My wife went to the doctor yesterday for some routine tests and checkups. What should have been a pleasant, positive experience turned into a nightmare. First, he misdiagnosed something that scared her quite a great deal. Second, he was rude…SO rude and inconsiderate to her that I will be filing a formal complaint with the hospital.


When she called me in tears, I promptly left the office and drove to the hospital, where I found her upset and red-eyed on a bench outside. After she explained to me in detail about how tactless he had been, and about what he had told her, we agreed that he had indeed left some important information out, and that we needed to go back in to get the rest of the information.


I admit I was shocked at what a *censored* this guy was when we entered his office. Even with me there attempting to ask questions he would interrupt, and condescendingly dismissed our questions. But we persisted, despite his attempts to shuffle us out of his office. Finally, when we started to question some of the language on the report my wife had been given, his attitude changed slightly. He finally looked at us instead of his computer screen and told us to sit down. Although his personality remained abrasive, he spent quite a bit of time with us, and answered all our questions, after which Aline felt much better.


Which brought me to an interesting revelation and the query in the title of this post. I realized that my wife and I were not behaving in the way that average patients behave, we were behaving like preemie parents. We were stubborn, insistant and thirsty for knowledge. As I am sure any parent that has spent a fair amount of time in the circus known as the NICU can attest, you quickly become an expert on medical procedures, equipment, risks, stats, readouts, beeps, bells and more. Your fear and love for your child forces you to become involved; to seek out the answers and explanations that will, at the very least, provide you with the tools necessary to insert yourself into the process and make educated decisions about the future of your child. Before you know it you are discussing de-sats and nasal cannulas, atrial septal defects and bradys. You are questioning the doctors and interns, arguing with the nurses and pointing things out you wish them to pay more attention to. It changes you, whether you realize it has or not. From that point on, you are no longer happy with “I wouldn’t worry about it”, or “You’ll be fine”, from doctors. You want details. You want to make sure the information is accurate, and you absolutely want to be positive they have paid attention to the details and delivered an accurate prognosis.


Let me say, on record, that I owe absolutely everything to those who helped my daughter through her stint in the NICU. Those people, and all of the people elsewhere in their profession, can never be repaid. My point is simply that, surviving the NICU has made me realize that doctors are human. With no disrespect to their intelligence, intentions or experience, some of them lose their way. Some of them make mistakes. Some of them, like my wife’s new best friend mentioned above, simply have the personality of a tree stump. So, while I owe an un-payable debt of gratitude to all of you for what you have done for my family and what you will continue to do for others, know this – I will continue to question everything you tell me until I am sure it is correct and the best possible guidance you could give me. And if my refusal to leave your office until you have answered all my questions irritates, annoys, frustrates or upsets you in any way, deal with it. You are the doctor, I am the parent of a preemie, and I need you to answer my questions so I can sleep at night.

Matt
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