Pediatrics: An Inspiring Rotation

Although pediatrics has not felt as relevant as other rotations, I've certainly had a lot of chances to be humbled and amazed by the parents I meet.

"Lupita"

In the outpatient clinic I worked in, my preceptor had me shadow for well child visits. One afternoon, I followed him into a well child check, only to see no child in the room...only a middle-aged woman sitting in the corner chair. She and the pediatrician began to speak and I slowly began to understand what was going on.

This woman was adopting a distant relative's child, "Lupita" after discovering that Lupita and her siblings were being neglected. Raised in a small town in south Texas, the children were left alone often and had to choose which children ate at meals. Lupita didn't speak English very well and didn't know what grade she was in. The woman said that at home, Lupita talked nonstop to whoever was around her and ate voraciously, almost choking on a sandwich in her haste to eat it. Drug use and deportation played a role in her mother's absence.

Lupita came in after the pediatrician had received all this news. She was a grave child, obeying the doctor in everything she could understand without smiling or showing any embarrassment that a girl her age would typically show. She spoke freely but only when spoken to. In her hand, she held a little charm, and when I asked her what it was, she opened her hand and showed me a plastic star the size of a die. "Mi estrella," she said simply.

I was very amazed by Lupita's new adoptive mother. This woman was also planning to adopt Lupita's baby brother, who was still in Mexico. And when my preceptor asked, "how do your twins feel about all this?" I was completely amazed. Pray for them!

"Aaron"

In the same outpatient office, with a different preceptor, I saw a follow-up with eighteen-year-old "Aaron" on a stress fracture. Aaron was a young adult with autism and a lot of sensory overload. He was in a post-high school program designed to teach adults to ride public transport, interview for a job, and use a basic skill set in an employment setting. He had come in with his mother, who I learned (and could see by difference in race) was his adoptive mom.

As the doctor conducted the history from his mother, Aaron would constantly interrupt: "what's going on? I don't understand," or "I have something to say. I'm going to explode. I still don't understand," and his mother would quietly redirect him or ask him for input. She was very skillful at letting Aaron talk as much and as constructively as possible, while also advancing the discussion of his painful foot.

During the physical exam, however, the doctor had to palpate for swelling and tenderness to palpation (an X-ray was inconclusive), and the pain began to be more than Aaron could communicate. Unable to say "stop it" fast enough, he screamed loudly, then began to cry. The doctor stopped and we stepped out of the room for a time, while Aaron and his mother re-grouped.

After a few minutes, we came back in. "Aaron wants you to know he's embarrassed," his mother said gently, "but he wasn't prepared for you doing that today." The doctor nodded, apologized to Aaron, and the interview went on. It reminded me of a video I'd seen about a nonverbal girl with autism (at right and also online: Carly's Cafe). It was as if Aaron's world was too overwhelming, and processing it took so much time that he couldn't ask the doctor to stop pressing, and the pain and the inability to stop it became very distressing.

Throughout, the mom was a calm and loving help to this young man who she was barely helping to function. At one point in the interview, she became tearful when she talked about Aaron "falling through the cracks." Where would Aaron be without this woman? This is another story of someone I'll not forget easily, someone whose generosity was humbling.

"Helen"

I just finished the week of newborn nursery time that's sandwiched between the other weeks of pediatrics. I rotated through the NICU and saw some very incredible moms there, too. I spent some time talking with one in particular, "Helen," who had delivered two preemies. Her first child was born at 28 weeks and she spent months in the NICU fighting lung problems and sepsis. While her baby used IVs and NG tubes, Helen pumped breastmilk from the day he was born, hoping that when he was mature enough he could take it. It was a nightmare, she said, something "I wouldn't wish on anyone." Fortunately, her son is now caught up in growth and milestones, and has no residual CNS effects except some possible learning disability.

During her second pregnancy, Helen received weekly progesterone injections (thick, oily, slow gluteal IM shots) and underwent cerclage, but still went into labor at 28 weeks. After trying every drug her MFM had to offer, she started a terbutaline drip at home and stayed on bedrest for six weeks. Helen told me she has a propensity to contact dermatitis and the indwelling needle for the terbutaline drip was a constant irritant in her leg during that month and a half. And at some point every week, she would go into labor again and the terbutaline dose would have to be increased in the emergency room.

"Was it worth it?" I asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Helen said emphatically. "My daughter was born at 36 weeks, and it was so worth it to have her that much farther along. Oh, absolutely." This woman has her priorities in beautiful order. The generosity of soul of these mothers astounds and humbles me!