Latest Updates
Tampilkan postingan dengan label pediatricians. Tampilkan semua postingan
Tampilkan postingan dengan label pediatricians. Tampilkan semua postingan

The good doctor

The good doctor
My previous post described our harrowing experience with the first pediatrician who examined our son an hour after he was born. Thankfully, we had another very different experience with a doctor who assessed Ben when he was three days old.

The story continues the night Ben was born...

The doctor thought it was a chromosome problem, but he didn't know what, and when pushed by D'Arcy, he said Ben had a 50 per cent chance of having brain damage.

How could we figure out what Ben needed? Could he see a geneticist?

There was nothing to be done that night, the doctor said. He’d be back in the morning.

From 3:30 to 6 a.m. we tried to get Ben to latch on to breastfeed (he had an unusually small mouth and receding chin) but despite guidance from a lactation nurse, we weren't successful.

We bottle-fed him and D'Arcy collapsed on a cot. I held Ben and sang him "happy birthday" – something I had planned, but not with tears streaming down my face.

The doctor returned with a furrowed brow and a list of seven things that were "wrong" with Ben. In addition to his facial anomalies, he had a larger-than-usual liver and undescended testicles.

They kept him a night to monitor his breathing and then the doctor said "you can take him home," explaining that as it was Sunday, a geneticist at a nearby children's hospital wasn’t available to assess him.

"What about his breathing?" I asked, reminding the doctor that he was born with irregular breathing and had had some dusky spells.

“If he has trouble breathing, just drive him over to SickKids' emergency department.”

SickKids was at least a 15-minute drive from our house.

“How will we get him in to see a geneticist?”

The doctor was leaving on a ski trip, he said, but if I called the hospital maternity ward first thing Monday morning, the clerk would make the referral.

We took Ben home and he slept in his car seat – like a china doll – propped up in our bed between the two of us. At 8 the next morning I called the ward, only to be told that a physician had to make the referral and they knew nothing about it.

Our midwife encouraged me to call a different pediatrician – a Dr. Till Davy. I reached the nurse at his office and read off the shopping list of "defects" the doctor had given me.

A few minutes later a man with a precise, staccato-like voice came on the line and introduced himself – in an Austrian accent – as Dr. Davy. He had a soothing, melodic way of speaking that made you feel he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.

"Our son was born on the weekend," I began.

"Congratulations!" boomed the voice on the other end.

Had Dr. Davy pressed the wrong line?

"Could you be so kind as to bring Benjamin in at 5 p.m. today?" he asked.

At 5, a tall man in a white coat with a meticulously-groomed haircut and beard enthusiastically reached out to shake our hands and congratulate us. Even his stethoscope – clasped by a small stuffed koala bear with magnetic arms – was friendly and lighthearted.

Dr. Davy picked Ben up like he was holding a priceless vase, and laid him on the examining table. For the longest time, he just looked Ben closely in the eyes – admiring what he obviously considered to be a mysterious and sacred new life.

Ben gazed back.

Then he began to physically examine Ben, poking and prodding him, peering into his ears and eyes and tapping on different parts of his body. The hospital doctor had touched Ben impassively – like a machinist turning over a defective product. Dr. Davy delighted in him as a most intricate, fascinating puzzle.

Ben's eyes locked on him as his sing-song voice flitted from an intimate whisper in Ben's ear to a hearty laugh and a light blowing on his tummy.

Dr. Davy quickly ruled out any problem with his liver. Ditto that he had a cleft lip and palate that needed surgical repair.

Finally, his verdict: "I think he has a syndrome," he said in his lyrical voice, his eyes still fixed with reverence on Ben’s. There was no judgment in his words, no devaluing or disapproval, simply an estimation of the way things were.

He faxed the referral to the geneticist.

In those moments – which added up to exactly two hours passed closing time – Dr. Davy gave us our son back.

I hugged him.

How could my son's birth be 'wrong?'


They are words that will be seared in your memory – as fresh and raw as the day you first heard them.

When you learn your newborn has a disability or health problem, the words a doctor uses to share the news can build you up or tear you down.

"He has anti-mongoloid eyes, low-set ears and a bit of a hare lip," the doctor told us. He was obviously annoyed at being called out at that time of night and he didn’t like what he saw.

Ben – the sacred being that had grown in my body like a new limb – lay naked under the stark, fluorescent light. The doctor had unswaddled him and was inspecting him, piece by piece.

I hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Ben’s eyes. I had always loved the metaphor of the eyes being windows to the soul. I knew that mongoloid was an archaic term for Down syndrome. What on earth did ‘anti-mongoloid eyes’ mean?

“In Down syndrome, the eyes slant up,” he said. “Your son’s eyes slant down.”

He said our son had "something like a cleft palate," shook his head and muttered: "the timing wasn't right."

How could my son’s birth be wrong? My jubilation – a brilliant, burning fire – was now flickering in the wind of a competing grief.

The doctor said these were soft signs for mental retardation, though he didn't know what he was dealing with.

Sensing our mounting anxiety, he made an attempt at a joke. "Did you hear the story about the doctor who comes to examine a newborn, sees the baby's mongoloid eyes and tells the mother that the baby has Down syndrome? Then the father comes into the room and the doctor realizes he's Chinese – ha, ha, ha!”

My boy was only an hour old.

Research shows that mothers remember the first words a doctor uses to describe a baby’s disability or medical condition – and the way it’s communicated – decades later.

How did your physician communicate the news?

An article published in the journal Pediatrics last week provides guidelines on how doctors should deliver a diagnosis of Down syndrome, based on a literature review of best practices.

I think the guidelines are relevant to any newborn diagnosis.

They include that obstetricians and pediatricians jointly deliver the news, in a private setting, with both parents together, and provide accurate, up-to-date information. That includes reading resources and local support group contacts.

Most important, the researchers recommend that doctors:

-Begin the conversation with positive words, such as congratulating the parents on the birth of their child (this may sound like common-sense, but we didn’t hear the word congratulations from a health professional for days. Instead, they darted in and out with their eyes down).

-Use nonjudgmental language, avoiding words that convey pity (“I’m so sorry”) and tragedy (“Unfortunately, I have some bad news” or “I know this might seem like a devastating loss.”). It’s “unnecessary and not always reflective of mothers’ emotional states,” the researchers say. Further, conversations should not involve unsolicited personal opinions.

The article notes that in a 2007 survey of 2,500 medical school deans, students and residency directors, 81 per cent of medical students report they don’t get clinical training about people with intellectual disabilities and 58 per cent of deans say such training is not a high priority.

No wonder sharing this kind of diagnosis with sensitivity is so challenging.

Dr. Brian Skotko, a clinical fellow in genetics at Children’s Hospital Boston, led the 29-member team of health professionals that came up with the recommendations. Dr. Skotko’s research focuses on children with developmental disabilities. He’s co-authored two books related to families of children with Down syndrome and has a sister, Kristen, with Down syndrome. He writes about the study in an article called How to give a diagnosis of Down syndrome.