After reading Rosellen’s most recent post, I felt compelled to write about my own experiences with the healthcare professionals that have played a significant role in my life. I’ve put a decent amount of thought into how exactly I should go about writing this post. I don’t normally talk about it, but after reading that post I immediately knew I had to write something. But I don’t’ want to sound like a complete schmuck either, so I’ve been putting it off.
Waking up this morning, feeling ever so grateful that the euphoria of the job still remains and the effects of the two double-short rum and cokes has not, I feel now is the time to try and put these thoughts into words. This is, after all, one of the reasons I started this blog.
Being (mostly) fresh out of college, the piece of advice I remember most came from my dad. Back when I had finally decided on a major, my dad asked me if that’s what I really wanted to do. I had told him, yes, Anthropology was a subject that truly fascinated me, and that even if I didn’t know the exact direction that it would take me, it’s where I wanted to be. He smiled, and told me as long as I would be happy in that field, that’s all that mattered. He told me that although he considered and was told by many people he could do a lot of other things besides being a farmer/rancher, in the end, he chose what he loved to do the most. Growing up, most children think their parents can do anything, we have our own personal superheroes at our disposal. My dad sat on school and various philanthropic boards, he truly cares about the community and what happens in the world around him. He really could have done anything, but despite the long hours and low pay, I saw him go to work and come home everyday loving his job. And even though we disagree on the political scale and don’t always see eye to eye, I admire him to all ends. His advice has always stuck with me because he just didn’t shell out some words of wisdom, he led by example.
Growing up around this philosophy, it’s also encouraging as a (mostly) fresh college graduate to hear other people’s experiences in the field of work they love and know they’re supposed to be in. Rosellen’s post was another reminder that pain of unemployment and the uncertainty of life are only temporary and when the right thing comes along, I’ll know it.
However, it was the part about the finite relationship that healthcare providers ultimately have with their patients that really struck a chord with me. Not an angry chord, but when I read that, something resonated inside me...I’ve had that sudden realization that a relationship in my life wouldn’t always be there and would come to a rather abrupt and complete end.
Some background: I have been rather fortunate in my life when it comes to certain aspects of my health. I rarely get sick, I’ve never had strep throat, a bloody nose, I can’t remember having an ear infection, I’ve never broken any bones, torn any ligaments, and never had to visit the emergency room (because of my health, for other people’s, that’s another story). With that being said doctors, in the general sense...”oh you’re sick, maybe you should see a doctor” didn’t play a hugely significant part in my life growing up.
With that being said, I have also been on the rather unlucky side when it comes to certain aspects of my health. I had bronchitis four or five times that led to a nasty case of childhood asthma (which did lead to a rather unpleasant experience with my pediatrician who always called me Kathy to begin with...I hated that), I had a tumor the size of my fist removed over Thanksgiving break my senior year of high school and I have a, I don’t even know what to call it exactly...condition...called hydrocephalus. In brief, your brain and spinal cord are protected by, among other things, cerebral-spinal fluid. This nifty stuff is supposed to drain naturally from your skull, as it is being continually produced by your body. If it doesn’t drain, well it accumulates in your head, and bad stuff can happen. So my head doesn’t do that on its own and I have a system of tubes and valves that do it instead.
This system of tubes and valves gave me the privilege of having a neurosurgeon for the first 21 years of my life. When I called to make my last appointment with Dr. W. (who, I can say without a doubt, knew why he was here; he is a great man, very dedicated to his work), I was informed he would be retiring in a couple months. My usual yearly checkups had, as I grew older and farther away from the last major surgery, became every other year checkups, so news of his retirement came as a bit of a surprise for me. I had assumed that this would be my last appointment with him, regardless of his retirement, but the thought of him not being there if something happened, was the definitive realization that our relationship, however important to my life, was indeed not intended to last my entire life.
My last appointment went as normally and routine as all the other checkups. Look over the CT scan of my head (which I got to keep this time, not many people have pictures of the inside of their head, I felt pretty cool), poke and prod the valves in my head to make sure they’re still working, check for pulling at the incisions on my stomach, walk in a straight line, balance on one foot with my eyes closed, how are my parents? how am I doing in school? boyfriend? married? (okay, that was a new one and definitely wasn’t expecting it). And with a couple more final tidbits of information...having kids won’t be a problem, I have small ventricles and the name and type of my shunt (main valve thing), it was over. An event that had become so routine, it was almost as mundane as the other things in my life that defined me, suddenly took on a new meaning. This was it; this was not routine. I gave him a hug, and (to my surprise) through tears, told him thank you, took my folder of CT films, mumbled something about thanks for the parting gift and left his office.
After thinking about it the entire drive home (our little town in Wyoming didn’t have the medical facilities or staff for this, so my doctor was actually 2 ½ hours away in Billings, MT) and then really stewing over it later that night at home, I definitely felt some strange hole in my life. I worried I had come off as ungrateful, was a “thank you” and subsequent comment out CT films adequate enough for the moment? I mean, not to sound all-important or overdramatic, but this man had saved and given me a chance at life, repaired, fixed and replaced that which I needed to stay alive. And all I said was “thank you.” How very anticlimactic.
Eventually, after the I immerged from whatever state you want to define that as, I realized that my appreciation could not be summed up in one final moment with him, but hopefully I was able to effectively show my gratitude with every visit and after every surgery. My mom did send a letter to him, my last visit was one of the few time she stayed in the waiting area, and a part of me always regrets I didn’t do the same. I’m always tempted to find his address and write, maybe one of these days I’ll get the nerve and actually do it. Is there a “too late” in this situation?
And so, while my checkups and relationship with Dr. W had become an integral, but rather ordinary aspect of my life, it took the finiteness to make me realize how truly important, even if not permanent, he was to my life.
Here’s a big thank you to Rosellen, Dr. W, my parents and everyone who knows where they’re supposed to be, and love doing what they’re doing; you encourage all of us who are trying to do the same.
