[/caption]My friend, CYNTHIA (I assured her that I would always announce if I was talking about her in my blog so she wouldn't feel paranoid every time I said the ambiguous, " my friend") was sharing with me recently how wonderful a recent doctor's visit was with her daughter. Cynthia was so impressed with the staff's ability to relate to her daughter, their equipment geared towards her understanding and the doctor's empathy and ability to listen.
It was to the eye doctor, Ellie's most dreaded doctor of all. In all of our years of doctors visits, the one and only time she has actually run out of the room was at the eye doctor. They had some machine that was supposed to appeal to children, but for Ellie it was startling and loud. The woman performing that portion of the visit quickly became impatient w/ Ellie and left. I recalled how one of the doctors wanted to try a new machine with Ellie to determine her visual capacity. We came into the room and the doctor explained that he was going to put a gel on Ellie's head. Ellie immediately began screaming at the top of her lungs, "NOOOOOO!" (For anyone who does not know, Ellie is extremely sensitive to the way things feel and has thrown up when I've tried to put lotion on her in the past.) The doctor, quite taken aback, stammered, "I mean we are going to use this electormagnetic goobly gop (he used a much more eloquent word which I cannot now recall). After much negotiation on his part and much screaming on Ellie's, the young doctor or resident finally acquiesced, saying, "I guess we won't be able to do this test today." As soon as those words were uttered, we all immediately began gathering our belongings and heading for the door. When the doctor realized his faux pas, he suddenly began to back pedal, "Well, maybe we could just try...." But at that point it was too late. I mean we hadn't high fived on the deal, but that deal was sealed. I recalled how the eye doctor when she informed me that Ellie most likely does not have peripheral vision, she smiled. I thought, "How strange, to give me this news and smile." It just didn't seem like the two went together. Maybe she thought of a joke right at that moment.
[caption id="attachment_2146" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="Wonderful Caitlyn NOT at the eye doctor."]
[/caption]As Cynthia told me of their experience at the eye doctor, I wondered where she had discovered such a wonderful facility. I thought perhaps the next time we gathered up our courage and made a trip to the eye doctor, I could make an appointment at their clinic. Turns out we were at the same exact clinic, different doctors, but the same clinic. It made me suddenly wonder if there was a way to make Ellie's experience at the eye doctor as wonderful as Caitlyn's. Wouldn't that be amazing? Wouldn't it be amazing if all the children coming to the clinic, even ones with developmental delays or autism or whatever else could have Caitlyn's experience of feeling loved and understood and having a good time? Isn't that the real test of how well a clinic or hospital is doing, how well the ones struggling the most are treated?
I don't recall this pact about stating my name every time you talk about moi. You can call me "my friend", "our friend" or whatever you want (as long as it's nice). I am not that paranoid. Seriously. I must have been joking.
ReplyDeleteBTW: our second and third visits to this clinic were not as stellar. My conclusion: it was Dr. France who made the place shine. He retired two weeks after our appointment with him. When he told me he was going to retire I wanted to scream, "NO! YOU CAN'T! Not until my daughter's vision issues are fixed BY YOU!" He was magnificent and I wanted to bring him home with us and have him be Caitlyn's adopted Grandpa. She lost one Grandpa a little over one year ago and she needs a Grandpa. Anyway, Dr. France was da bomb! The clinic: not as much.