I hung up the phone with tears in my eyes.
The office had not even sent the paperwork yet.
Two weeks… wasted.
Two weeks of my son being in increasing pain, complete overload and struggling to enjoy any of the Christmas season.
Two weeks of waiting by the phone for the specialist to call and schedule an appointment.
Two weeks… gone.
According to the gal on the phone, “Jenny’s been working on it.”
It’s a fax. It’s a fax with test results and documents that I hand-delivered to the office two weeks ago. Even if it requires an extensive cover sheet, does it really need to take two weeks, Jenny?
Four years ago, my son melted down in the waiting room — like for reals melted down. We’d been there for approximately an hour with other children crying, playing, throwing toys and being kids – my son withdrawing further and further into himself to escape the sensory overload. I tried to distract him with the office fish tank, the book we brought, a treat. But an hour is a long time for a little boy with autism. It’s also a long time for his momma.
When the nurse finally called his name, she shamed both of us for his behavior, saying, “I guess someone needs to learn how to be patient.” I smiled a weak smile and begged her with my eyes to just.stop.talking, all the while thinking, “If you think that was bad, just wait ’til you see what happens when it’s time for his shots.”
To My Son’s Doctor:
None of this was you, specifically. It was your staff. It was Jenny. It was the appointments booked prior to ours that day. It was the fax machine.
And although I think it’s extremely unprofessional, it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter because you know what?
I am willing to overlook all of it.
Although I think you may have some serious personnel issues, not to mention office management and paper flow concerns, my son needs you more than any of the other people in your office.
You make or break us.
You either take him seriously or not.
You either listen to my concerns and respond or chalk it up to one more overbearing, hysterical momma.
You either affirm us or choose to show us how much more you know.
The best doctors I’ve known, always, always, always choose the first option.
So before I answer the obligatory, “What brings you in today?” please allow me to first share this…
It’s a delicate dance, the dance of a mother in the doctor’s office. I know you have power when it comes to my son, lots of it. You decide what happens next, and you decide it in about seven minutes.
I know it’s important for me to make a good impression, to be credible and to seem educated. I also know it’s important to not seem too credible, too educated or too on top of it. It’s worse when you think I’ve done a little too much internet research and possibly jumped to too many conclusions. I know this. And so I dance.
The truth is, I’m so grateful for you and the hope you bring. I’m thankful you worked so hard in medical school and in all that is required to be a doctor, so my son can benefit from your knowledge. I’m thankful I live in a country where he has access to the care you provide. I have so much respect for you.
I also spend days getting ready for our visits. I prepare my son, in an effort to avoid meltdowns over things being unfamiliar and not going as planned. I prepare myself, thinking about how best to communicate my concerns. I write down talking points and plan to get up a little bit early the morning of the appointment to actually take a shower, put on make-up and wear pants that would not be ideal in a yoga class.
The truth is, I lie awake the night before, and I pray I will communicate well, that my son’s behavior will not be a distraction and that you will have the wisdom and discernment to help us figure out what to do next.
You may not know this, but as much as I want an answer, I’m OK if you don’t have it. I’m OK with you saying, “This is unusual. What do you think based on your daily experiences with him?” or “I need to do some research on this – his symptoms are not in line with a typical diagnosis.” Please do this! Please do this rather than dismissing him and his needs. Do this rather than assuming that everything must instead be fine.
Because it’s not fine. It hasn’t been for years.
I made this appointment and suffered your office staff and the grumpy nurse because I know that he needs you. Therefore I need you.
I’m so grateful for your time. I’m so grateful for your expertise.
Now, please let me share with you what brings us in today…
This post originally appeared on Not the Former Things.
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