Doctor in the House

A mother wears many different labels, such as cook, teacher, hairdresser, taxi driver. Recently I have had to wear that most difficult label of all; the label of ‘doctor’.

Only a few short weeks ago, I was feeling pleased that winter was almost over and our household had got away virtually unscathed from illness. Every winter either one or all of us can not escape a cold or flu. I recalled last winter I had the worst case of the flu I ever had.

Naturally, I thought too soon, because only a few days later my daughter caught a stomach virus. She was not herself on the first day, and we anticipated that the next few days would not be pleasant. The next day she began vomiting, and by the third day she refused to eat, vomited constantly and could not even keep fluids down. I began getting worried and arranged for her to see the doctor the following day.

The doctor informed us that she was not dehydrated yet, but to continue trying to give her fluids. He wanted us to get a urine sample in and when we did so later that afternoon, the nurses were very concerned. A nurse came over to our house to perform a blood test, and the results showed my daughter had a blood sugar level of 1.6. We were later told that with such a low sugar level (hypoglycemia), she could have gone into a coma and it may have been difficult to get her out of it.

On this particular day, she had stopped vomiting, so she was able to keep fluids down. The nurse advised we give her some juice to get her sugar levels up. We pumped our daughter up with apple juice and hot chips for her salt intake. About half an hour later, the nurse returned to do another blood test, naturally with the same result, as not enough time went by for anything to work. She advised us to go to the hospital, which is a half an hour drive away.

The hospital had been expecting us, and gave my daughter another blood test. This time she was over 5.0. It was also around this time that my daughter had had enough of needles and was clearly becoming nervous in the hospital environment. Hours later she had another blood test, which we had to wait another hour for the results.

As we waited in a cubicle, my daughter vomited four times. It was fortunate I brought a sick bowl with me, as the hospital never provided us with one. She was not put on a drip; just handed a sweet ice block in the hope that she would eat it. My daughter refused to touch it after one lick as she does not like sweet things. “But she must have it”, the doctor insisted.

With three doctors examining her, one being a dietician, I began to feel as if my parenting skills were brought into question. There were a lot of comments on how skinny she was, questions on what she ate, how her diet affected her capacity to perform academically. I was becoming angrier by the minute.

After receiving the results of the blood test, the dietician explained them to me; that my daughter’s blood sugar level had gone up, but her salt intake was low. She also told me that either I could admit her or go home. Since when was it up to the parent to decide such crucial medical emergencies?

Both my daughter and I wanted to go home and I rang my husband who also suggested we come home. When I returned to my daughter, there was the dietician with another doctor. I felt the dietician needed another doctor there to convince me to admit my daughter. Another doctor meant more questions, and these questions I felt were again questioning my parenting. By now I had clearly had enough.

I calmly informed them that my daughter was currently seeing a dietician to help her with her eating habits and that she has no problems academically. I also found it ironic that she had not vomited all day, yet vomited four times since being in the hospital. Therefore I felt we would go home and if she was no better in the morning, then we would come back. Also her eight year old brother must have a cast iron stomach as he eats everything in sight, and has never vomited in his life!

Like an obedient child, my daughter drank her apple juice and water in front of the doctor before we left. I told the doctor she was obstinate, and I heard him mutter under his breath “‘I wonder where she gets that from”. I chose to ignore it. My daughter was clearly exhausted and so was I. She slept all the way home, and has never vomited since we left the hospital.

Being a virus, the hospital staff could not give her any medication, yet if the doctors were so concerned for my daughter, why didn’t they just admit her? There is nothing worse than watching your child be sick; you feel so helpless. You rely on the medical profession to help; they should know what they are doing. To have them put that responsibility back on you only exacerbates the situation.

I don’t know if it all comes down to “mother knows best” or instinct, but I clearly felt that being at that hospital was not helping my daughter get better. In this case home was the best place for her. I felt I took a gamble and fortunately it paid off. I may not be so lucky next time.

© Debbie Johansson 2006

About the Author

Debbie Johansson is the author of young adult mystery novels and historical fiction. She has written two young adult novels, which are both in the editing stages. Debbie has also written short stories, articles and has been known to dabble in poetry whenever the mood strikes her. She lives in country NSW, Australia with her husband, two young children, a psychotic pomeranian and six paranahs heavily disguised as goldfish.

See All Posts by This Author