My daughter’s symptoms appeared out of nowhere. Without warning, she started experiencing dizziness, loss of peripheral vision, numbness in her hands and feet, and fainting spells.
What was confusing, not only to us but to our family physician, was that the symptoms would come and go. She’d be symptom-free for a few weeks, and then without warning, she’d have a relapse.
I was terrified. My daughter was terrified. She was looking to me for answers and, despite the fact that she was 18 and legally in charge of her own health, I was determined to help her find the answers she and I were both looking for.
After a few preliminary doctors’ appointments, it was suggested she see a neurologist.
When we walked in my daughter was required to fill out several medical forms. As I watched her struggle to complete the forms and answer the mound of health questions – many of which she turned to me for answers – I could see how lost and frustrated she was. After all, just a year ago I was the one checking her in at the front desk, filling out all the forms and making sure they had all the insurance information. Now, it was up to her.
Like a swift change of tide, legally my job was over. Without my daughter’s consent I could no longer be in the doctor’s office with her, ask the doctor questions, review her medical file, have a say in which medicine they prescribed or weigh in on what procedures might be performed.
And, even though I secretly wasn’t ready to hand over the reins, I knew it was time to pass along the responsibility to my daughter and allow her to take charge of her own health… that is, if she was ready.
But, she wasn’t ready.
As much as she grabbed hold of every new responsibility she faced, this wasn’t like learning how to drive, doing her own laundry or getting a job and paying for her own gas.
She wasn’t ready to make important decisions about her health. She wasn’t confident enough to talk to doctors about which medicine might be best for her. And, she definitely wasn’t ready to go it alone without me.
She wanted me with her, she wanted my input and she needed the comfort of her mom.
After sitting in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity, they called my daughter’s name. When we both stood up and walked toward the nurse who was waiting for my daughter with a clipboard in hand, the nurse looked at me and said, “Mom, there’s no need for you to come in. Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting room?”
Really? Why did she care if I accompanied my daughter? Why did it matter? As long as my daughter approved why did she feel she had the right to say anything?
“Thanks,” I said. “But, my daughter would like me with her.”
As I sat in the doctor’s office fuming, assuming the arrogance of the nurse stemmed from a lack of compassion or perhaps a lack of experience, I found myself totally unprepared for what happened next.
When the doctor walked in he immediately reached for my daughter’s hand and introduced himself – not to me, only to my daughter. It was as if I didn’t exist. No eye contact, no interaction and no respect for the fact that I was her mother.
Didn’t he realize that I raised her? Didn’t he realize that I knew virtually everything about her since the day she was born?
I was there for every sneeze, cough, headache, fever, sore throat, ear infection, and stomach ache.
I know every nook and cranny of her body – every bruise, every cut, every sprain, every tiny mole and every scar.
I held her hair back when she threw up, I sat beside her all night until her fevers broke, I made midnight runs to the drug store for cough syrup, I comforted her when she had to have a shot, I spent countless hours in doctor’s offices for every illness, I cried when she cried, felt her pain as if it was my own and felt a huge sigh of relief every single time she got better.
I wanted to be in the room. I wanted to ask questions. And, I wanted to hear what the doctor had to say. More importantly, my daughter wanted me in the room. She wanted me to ask the questions that she didn’t know or think of to ask. And, she wanted me there to hear what he had to say.
Since my daughter was born I had taken her to hundreds of doctors’ appointments. But, this time was different. I felt disregarded, overlooked, and invisible. My questions weren’t welcomed, my opinion didn’t hold much value and my concern for my daughter and her well-being seemed to be nothing more than a nuisance. She was 18, legally in charge of her own health and, to the doctor and his team, that’s all that mattered.
Throughout the next several weeks my daughter underwent an MRI, neurological tests and a full physical to get to the root of the problem. It was determined she was suffering from severe migraines – thankfully, non-life-threatening and manageable. I went with her to every appointment, accompanied her for every procedure and never left her side.
I am her mother and although she’s 18, she’s still my baby. If she needs me, I’ll always be there for her.
So, to the nurse who encouraged me to “sit this one out,” and the doctor who dismissed me as if I was being fired from a job, listen up…
Back off. My job isn’t done.
When my daughter is ready to take charge of her own health, I’ll gladly step aside. Until then, I’ll be with her on every appointment, I’ll be asking the questions she doesn’t know or think to ask, I’ll be continuing my job as her parent, and I’ll be standing by her side.
Have a little compassion. Cut me some slack. I’m an expert just like you. I may not hold a medical degree, but I do hold an 18-year mom degree with a specialty in my daughter’s life. Not only do I know what’s in her medical chart, I know what’s in her heart. And, she’s not ready…
So, step aside when I walk in. Get used to me being there. I will be by my daughter’s side as long as she needs and wants me… regardless of how old she is.