Old Wounds Part 2 - Confronting a doctor I've been thinking about for 3 years.

A surprising opportunity for healing I thought I'd never get.

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I took the picture above right as I was waiting to have a heavy conversation three years in the making... this is a very nervous lady in the photo above!

If you missed part 1 - go back and read:

Old Wounds Part 1 - Confronting a doctor I've been thinking about for 3 years.

But first, I’ve gotten some incredible responses to my survey about healthcare challenges. If you haven’t replied, please consider it:

Old Wounds Part 2

The day of the appointment, the hernia was playing second fiddle to the monologue I’d been workshopping in my head.

“He probably won’t even remember you,” Zach said over his breakfast of eggs on rice and hot sauce.

“I’m actually really nervous. But I know I need to do this. It feels like I’m supposed to.”

I swished my coffee and let my imagination run wild with every way this could go wrong. But it felt like the universe set up this meeting and who am I to argue with the machinations of the universe?

Zach gave me a hug before heading out to teach.

As I sat in the doctor’s office on the examination table, the anxious tingling in my hands and ears wouldn’t stop. This wasn’t an intellectual moment. This moment was a mix of old wounds - traumas, anger, regret.

And one of the biggest regrets was my silence. There’s no way in hell a doctor could do that to me now without getting an earful from me IMMEDIATELY.

But this was a new version of myself that needed to speak up for the old version of me. And maybe in a way, I was speaking up for all the people like me; scared and silent in the face of chaos in a hospital bed.

Finally the door opened and a peppy, smiling version of Dr. Prince Charming Hair walked through.

It felt tonally weird. He’s chipper.

“Hello Ms. Coffman! You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you,” he said warmly with a cheery smile.

Oh my god, he’s nice. I wasn’t expecting him to be nice or excited to see me. And now I know for 100% sure - it’s him.

“Oh, I remember you,” I said with a very loaded simmering nod.

“Uh oh,” he responded immediately.

And suddenly the air in the room became thin for a moment. And maybe we both felt our stomach’s drop.

His “uh oh” felt like a resounding confirmation that the events I remembered weren’t ICU psychosis or a failed misread of a situation.

“I have an excellent memory and I do remember you, yes. And before we begin an examination of my abdomen, I would like to talk about an elephant in the room.”

He took a seat in the chair below me, looking up at me with nervous curiosity.

“First, I want to thank you for all that you did to help me when I was extremely sick. I know you were my doctor on an immensely medically complicated day,” I said with a measured tone.

He silently smiled and nodded. He seemed to be preparing himself for the “BUT.”

“But I remember an incident that upset me. When the team was debating another surgery, you were very impassioned and you pushed your finger into my abdomen without warning. You hurt me and it led to an ultimately unnecessary procedure when I hadn’t met my baby yet.”

He looked nervous. He took another breath and nodded, “Yes, I do recall this.”

He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

And in this moment, I felt another swirl in my stomach. But this time it was the excitement of validation. This event wasn’t just significant to me, but in hundreds of days and patients later - it was an event he remembers as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a heavy breath.

“I respect your passion. I know you were ultimately trying to help me. But slow down. I wish you had warned me you were going to do that. I was a traumatized new mom who hadn’t met my baby in that hospital bed.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” he said with immediate contrition. “This is how we learn.”

His immediate apology was disarming. I had expected some kind of push to validate my story and my feelings. But this was different than I had expected.

He wasn’t the asshole I’d encountered years before. This person looked profoundly apologetic.

He didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t try to reshape the event. I didn’t have to battle. It was an immediate surrender.

He listened. He validated me. And most importantly he apologized.

And in this moment, I forgave him.

“Thanks for letting me clear the air, before you examined my abdomen again.”

He went to get a chaperone and we proceeded to do an inspection of my hernia.

A general surgery nurse who I’ve seen yearly since July’s birth entered. I always admire her corkscrew tight curls and helpful disposition. But no one wants to see a surgery nurse YEARLY.

Dr. Prince Charming Hair pushed on my stomach and I couldn’t help but see the full circle moment of it all.

As he examined me, gently this time with consent, I felt the trauma and anger I’d felt melt. We discussed my options and then I thanked him again for receiving what I’d said with a lot of grace.

“Again, this is how we learn,” he responded. “And it’s truly amazing to see you are doing so well. You’re a miracle.”

“Thank you. I’m profoundly grateful to be doing well too. And again, I appreciate your passion - but slow down, man.”

He nodded, “yes. I hear you.”

As I walked to my car, I felt lighter. This weight had been lifted. This anger had been relieved.

I know he’ll remember me even more now. And every time he enters a room, somewhere in his mind the memory of me will hopefully remind him to approach each patient in a vulnerable position with more sensitivity and awareness.

“He took it really well!” I said to Zach from the car as I drove home. “He absolutely remembered me. He remembered what happened. He listened and he apologized.”

“Wow. That’s great, babe. But how’s the hernia??”

I laughed, “Oh my god- I almost forgot. We’re gonna skip the surgery for now. It’s small. He thinks it’s best to wait and see for now. He didn’t want me to have another surgery again this year. Quite the different approach.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of myself, too.”

All this just goes to show that sometimes a difficult conversation can be the most direct path to healing.

And while Dr. Prince Charming Hair didn’t repair my hernia, he did help me repair my heart.

Have you wished you could confront a medical professional that upset you? Something you wish you had said but didn’t? Let me know.

COMMENT OF THE WEEK

“So glad your voice and story are being lifted up by these medical publications. Patients matter! “ Kristen

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If you’re new here and wondering, “what happened to this lady?” read:

I started writing this when I was on dialysis. It’s intended to be both memoir and a practical tool to help folks who might be going through something similar or those caregivers and family supporting someone with a challenging diagnosis. NOTE: This is not intended to replace actual medical guidance. Please consult your doctors on your individual challenges and situations. Please talk to your clinicians before adjusting any of your care protocols. Also names have been changed for most of my medical staff.

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