Toeing the Line: the Personal Patient

They say doctors make the worst patients. I thought that was mostly right from what I observed in my own colleagues, or physicians who come in as patients or as the patient's next of kin. But not for me. Of course not. Obviously, I was the exception to the rule. In fact, I thought I did a darn good job of being the "good" patient when they discovered the retinal tear a few months ago and had to laser ablate. I was stoic in the face of a scary and painful procedure, I didn't complain, I accepted the recommended treatment, with a few questions, but not too many. I may have even succeeded.

But God forbid that any of my nearest and dearest should get sick. A mama bear I didn't even know existed just comes growling out, annoyingly second-guessing, researching all the options, insisting on thoroughly investigating -partly protective, partly because "there's no way I'm having their blood on my hands". I felt so responsible -perhaps, more responsible than I should have. I called everyone I knew for help and advice, I read various articles and paid heed to stats that I would dismiss if it was myself. When it's me, I just let it all go and trust the system, trust my doc. It's too much energy not to and I'm already stressed about everything that's happening. But if it's my grandmother, or my friend or anyone I'm close to, I worry, I research, I advocate and make sure anyone I know who might be able to help is also on board, and if I can't be there to speak up for my loved-one, then I will provide the necessary information for them to advocate for themself, even if it means I may be alarming them more than necessary. Medics are hypochondriacs, notoriously. But we've all heard those stories of the sister who insisted on one more test, or the son who pushed for a second opinion, and ended up saving the life of a brother and a father. No such heroism in my case, but better safe than sorry, right.

It's an instinct that develops in the process of becoming a doctor, I suppose. I never really thought about what's at stake. When we get involved, we are putting our personal relationships on the line. We are risking everything that matters most in life -love, family, friends. This is the stuff they tell you is the only thing that matters when you die. That's what we're prepared to give up -we are ready to sell our own souls. Their lives are more important than friendship, bonds, intimate promises. None of that matters -we love them enough to lose them, but at least we did our best by them. Sometimes we choose not to, deferring to superiors, colleagues, especially when we are out of our depth. That's when you hear the line about doctors not treating friends and family -it's even a law. But we cannot help advocating for them -isn't that our duty? And we know the worst possible scenario, and we'll be damned if it's not ruled out. It's easy to forget that part of our training which teaches us about the limits of testing and imaging and screening, that it's all a balance of probabilities. Like who cares if there's only a 1% chance that this particular situation is that deadly condition -my loved one is not going to be that 1% and you better darn well see to it that they are as far away as possible from that 1% chance.

We are no longer reasonable. But sometimes that's how lives are saved. And other times, maybe we cross a line and boundaries blur, as you wonder suddenly whether this person has become your patient or whether they are still your friend and which hat should you be wearing? Of course they mostly just need your love and support, a hand to hold. But who will advocate for them if not you? Certainly nobody else. A tricky balance indeed.

Perhaps the answer lies in release and untethering. None of us has ultimate control. We say our medical bit, we give our kisses and warmth and then we should powerfully choose to go sit in the backseat. It was never in our hands anyway.