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My mind drifted two weekends back when Thomas had been on call both Saturday and Sunday. He rounded both days and was gone from mid-morning to early evening. I was annoyed by the inconvenience of another ‘ruined’ weekend. It had been a busy month. He had worked many nights until well past dinner time and his pager had interrupted a rare date night constantly. How many times had I sat on the sofa in mid-sentence only to be interrupted by the beep of the pager? Usually, Thomas would simply pick up the phone and began dialing before I could even finish my thought. “Can’t that wait 10 minutes?” I’d often said. Yet that night, as I shook with fear, I was grateful to the wife on the other end who had woken her sleeping husband, or hadn’t insisted that he call back 10 minutes later.
Two weeks earlier, life had been normal. We were busy juggling our children’s activities and homework – and arguing about when Thomas would finally take some vacation days so that we could take a family trip to Disney. I had been experiencing shortness of breath. It was difficult to climb stairs or even carry our 2 year old around, but I had dismissed it. After all, I was overweight and starting my second trimester of pregnancy. Still, I felt that something was terribly wrong, but I was too embarrassed to call my Internist about it. I was sure that my weight was the issue.
The night after I walked up the stairs to our bedroom and stood gasping for air, my internist called me out of the blue. “I’ve been wondering how you’ve been since I saw you last,” she said. “I heard you were pregnant and I just wondered how your breathing is.” I was dumbfounded that she had called, and I shared my concerns with her. She immediately made an appointment to meet with me while I protested, “I’m sure it’s just because of my weight. I’m really too embarrassed to come in”.
I had a late afternoon time slot. My internist and I get along well, so I felt lucky to have an appointment at the end of the day. We are so chatty, in fact, that the nurses checking me in often joked that they should bring us back some Margaritas before they left. This appointment was no exception. It’s one of the perks of being a doctor’s wife. The boundaries between physician and patient can become blurred and sometimes you are lucky enough to get to know your doctor as a person, not just Dr. So-and-So. After joking around and the usual discussions about work and life in general, she ordered a chest x-ray. My chest x-ray for the same symptoms had been normal 3 months ago, but because of the increasing symptoms, she decided to do another set. Thomas had told me not to get an x-ray because I was 15 weeks pregnant. Even the x-ray technician questioned my internist about the necessity… she decided to get only a view from the back to minimize the radiation.
We laughed and talked while we waited for the results. When she came back into the room, she suggested that I go ahead and get the ‘lateral’ view….which meant getting undressed again, back into a gown and having the radiology tech turn the machines back on. I should have been concerned then, but I wasn’t. I only felt guilty for taking up so much of her time and for inconveniencing the radiology tech.
“There’s a little…fluffy region there on your x-ray, Kris. I wouldn’t be too concerned. It might be related to pregnancy and the increased blood flow and everything. I’ll have the radiologist check it out tomorrow,” she told me as I was getting ready to leave. I went home feeling reassured. Thomas and I even joked about a ‘fluffy region’ on an x-ray. I didn’t know that my internist had gone home that night and cried. She cried again before calling me the next day.
From there, my life has become a blur of doctor’s appointments, biopsies, MRI’s, chemotherapy and the usual kid’s activities and homework that I was precariously juggling before all of this happened.
Life from the other end of the pager has been an eye-opening experience. I am certain that my appointments and tests were scheduled more quickly because of my status as the “doctor’s wife”. Having my husband with me at my appointments has also been great because he knows the right questions to ask. His presence gives me more credibility. I am a colleague’s wife.
I have also learned though that there is a downside to being known as the Doctor's wife. Despite HIPPA confidentiality rules, the news of our drama spread like wildfire. Of course, no one knows who lit the first flame…but within days it became apparent that most people in the hospital had been informed. After I cried through a CT-guided chest biopsy, this news flash went out as well. I felt embarrassed at its disclosure. I have tried to be upbeat and positive , but this very private moment should have stayed private.
Now, when I’m admitted into the imaging department or for a procedure, it is my husband who is usually greeted first. “Dr. Math, how are you? What brings you here? This is usually followed by an “Oh….” and a quick acknowledgment of the situation. I often find that when my husband is in the room that the nurses and doctors speak with him and not me. During my 30 minute bone marrow biopsy, the doctor and Thomas ‘talked shop’ while I laid there. That felt awkward to me.
As a patient, I feel that I am held to a higher standard …or maybe I have unreasonable expectations for myself because my caregivers are my husband’s friends and colleagues. I worry that my words or behavior will be scrutinized and that I can’t just be afraid or sad. I cringe every time I have to put on a gown or undress. “Why didn’t I lose the weight last year,” I think. I am embarrassed that my husband’s colleagues will ‘know’ how overweight I am. I squirm at the thought of meeting these people at the next Christmas Party or in Home Depot. These are hard realities to accept. My life as a doctor’s wife comes with many perks, but it also places my private struggles into the view of a more public audience.
Of all of the impressions that have left their mark on me through this experience though, I am struck most by a deep and profound sense of gratitude. I am grateful for the doctors who have given up personal and family time to study and become experts in their fields….and grateful for the spouses and family members of these physicians. I have walked in their shoes. Their struggles are my struggles….they have helped their spouse’s to become great doctors. I am eternally thankful for the sacrifices.