My mother always used to tell me that she worried about me constantly. As a result, when I was younger and nulliparous I assumed she was simply an unfortunate worry-wart. Fast forward a few years and now I have to say, I totally get where she was coming from. One thing that my husband and I thought we would be experts on though and therefore exempt from worrying unnecessarily about was when our kids were unwell.
Both of us are doctors; my husband is a GP trainee and I am an anaesthetic registrar. This means my husband has to know a little bit about a lot of medicine because he needs to assess people young and old in a short appointment and ascertain whether they are seriously ill or not, whether they can go home or whether they need to be sent to hospital etc. Contrary to popular belief, I, as an anaesthetic registrar, do not only put people to sleep (which by the way can prove to be a perilous business at times), but I also frequently work on the intensive care unit managing the most critically unwell patients in the hospital. For my exams I have to know a lot of complex physiology in detail and be able to explain the differences in how the body systems of babies, children, adults and the elderly work. My husband and I have both worked in emergency departments before as part of our training. In light of all of this, you would think that we may have more than a slight head start when it comes to assessing whether our own children are seriously unwell or not. Erm, think again……
It would seem that when it comes to your own children, you somehow lose all of your doctor knowledge and find yourself flummoxed and panicking at the slightest hint of a sniffle. Many of my doctor friends agree that it is very difficult to doctor your own children. I shall put this point across by illustrating a situation in which myself and my husband ended up feeling more than a bit daft.
It was about 02.30 am when my husband and I were abruptly woken by our baby (Edward) crying. He was still sleeping in a small cot beside our bed at this stage. Thinking that this was his usual “I’m hungry” wake-up, I fed him, and assumed he would swiftly drift back off to sleep. However, he continued to cry. I tried to rock him and soothe him but nothing was proving effective. He was inconsolable and so we took his temperature and found he had a fever.
The two of us instantly reverted back to our doctor autopilot mode and stripped him down, examining him from head to toe in pursuit of a source of infection that would explain the fever. Now, we happen to have more gear in our home than other families owing to the fact that because my husband is a GP he has a fully equipped “doctor’s bag” that he has to take with him to work and on home visits. This meant we were able to listen to our son’s heart and lungs with a stethoscope, look in his ears and at his throat, and measure his oxygen levels, heart rate and breathing rate. We inspected him for a rash, but his skin looked blemish-free. We were stumped. We had no idea why he was unwell. So, again, going back to our medical background we remembered that a fever with no obvious cause would need investigating. We stared at each other for a while, and deliberated over what our next step should be. Cue a panicked phone call to 111 to arrange an out of hours GP appointment.
We received a call back from 111 informing us that we had been booked in to see the out of hours GP at 04.00 am. My husband had to get up the following day for a cricket match and so I was the obvious candidate to escort Edward to the GP. James would stay home with Henry, who was sound asleep and completely oblivious to what was occurring in the room next door. However, there was one slight glitch in our plan, and this was the point at which I had to come clean to my husband- I had consumed a sneaky glass of wine shortly before retiring to bed and so I couldn’t be sure I was safe to drive. After my husband had expressed some slight frustration towards my late night vice, we called his mother (who happens to be teetotal) and like the star she is she came over and drove me and Edward to the doctor at silly-o’clock.
In the waiting room, weary staff sat behind the desk checking people in whilst a TV screen high on the wall showed an episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show. Of course it was just my luck that whilst in the waiting room Edward produced a wet fart that resulted in baby poo seeping through the leg of his sleep suit. Much to my dismay, this was the point at which I realised that in my haste to leave the house I had forgotten to pack the essential alternative babygro in the changing bag. As a result, I had to change his nappy and clean the stains as best I could with a baby wipe (you may have guessed that this didn’t work all that well and he ended up with a smeary wet patch of poo on his leg).
When we were called in, I explained the problem to the doctor. My son had a fever, was inconsolable, and I didn’t know why. I also sheepishly apologised about the unfortunate poo stains that coated his clothing and explained how I had neglected to pack a change of clothes. The doctor examined him and asked me several questions. I had given some calpol earlier, and although he still had a fever, it had come down from what it was pre-medication. The doctor sat me down once the questioning and examination were over and delivered the diagnosis to me.
Yes, my husband and I, both qualified medical doctors with several years of post-graduate experience under our belts, had missed an obvious cause of fever and crying in a baby who was merely a few months old. Our son had a case of TEETHING. Red-faced I observed as the doctor pointed out the areas of gum that had teeth just under the surface trying to break through. He was very nice about it and said we did the right thing by bringing him in because we weren’t sure what the problem was, it was very tricky trying to doctor your own kids and so getting someone else to check them is advisable, and he would much rather see someone and reassure them than miss something more serious. He then reiterated that if we became at all concerned, we should bring him back to be seen by a doctor. I thanked him and laughed at the misdiagnosis that myself and my husband had made, and quickly hurried off feeling more than a bit silly.
I arrived home to find my husband in bed watching the TV. He had been unable to sleep incase something was wrong with Edward. He asked me what the verdict was and when I explained that Edward was suffering from a severe case of teething he laughed and said “we are such idiots. Thank goodness we don’t claim to be doctors……!”
The point of this post is to reassure you that it is totally normal to worry about your kids. Even when you supposedly have a lot of medical knowledge like my husband and I do, this frequently goes out of the window when it comes to assessing your own children. Always get advice if you aren’t sure. Being a parent is scary, you are most likely going to be concerned about something or the other for the rest of your life!
