Last year around this time was a stressful season in the Mandel house. My almost one-year-old son had been deemed “failure to thrive” and hadn’t gained weight or grown in months. He was vomiting or spitting up (depending on your definition) upwards of thirty times a day and woke up every ninety minutes starving, needing to nurse out of hunger, not to mention comfort.
Prior to my son’s illness, I had a passing relationship with the folks at our pediatrician’s office. My older daughter usually only came in for vaccinations, well visits, and the occasional bout of Coxsackie. Suddenly, our relationship became close enough that they recognized my voice merely at the “hello” stage of our conversation, and we were seeing each other every other day for weeks for weigh-ins and conversations about next steps with specialists and tests. I called on evenings and on weekends, usually trying to determine if we had to bring my son in for IV-fluids because his vomiting had brought him to the brink of dehydration.
The story had a happy ending, and after many tests and appointments with specialists at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), we determined that he had multiple food protein allergies, and today he is a healthy, happy toddler who sees his pediatrician just as often as his sister used to. His doctor still has the nickname “troublemaker” for him, and is still paranoid about his weight and insists on weighing him even for appointments related to Coxsackie and ear infections (the usual ailments of toddlerhood). The entire office staff (which only consists of three women, really) went through the experience with us and really grew to care deeply about my son and his well-being.
Growing up, my mother and I went to a similarly small and caring family practitioner’s office. There was one doctor, and when my mother was hospitalized (which was quite often), he would appear in the doorway to oversee her care and keep the residents and attending doctors on their toes. He knew her chart inside and out, like the back of his hand, and on more occasions than I can count, his presence, either physically or because he was constantly in communication with her care team, meant the difference between life and death. The relationship we had with that office was invaluable, and we went to great pains to keep it on the best of possible terms. My mother knew the birthdays of the office staff and would bring a small gift with her to appointments; for Christmas she brought with her an enormous basket of cookies, candies and coffee mugs. She saw it as an investment in her healthcare and the entire office felt valued and appreciated, which they were.
When selecting my own kids’ pediatrician, I wish I could say I had this experience in mind. We were young parents who assumed we would have healthy children, and chose our pediatrician based on three criteria: the office’s proximity to Dunkin Donuts, being within walking distance for when we had to make office visits on Jewish holidays or on the Sabbath, and one of the physician’s resemblance to Mr. Feeny from a favorite old TV show, Boy Meets World. Not the best reasons to choose a pediatrician, perhaps, but it has worked out for us. The doctors not only went above and beyond in their care for our kids, but they also went to bat trying to push specialists’ offices into finding space in their packed schedules for my son.
It was in the midst of my son’s issues last year that I decided to reinstitute the tradition I grew up with. We bought a large gift basket at a local shop to bring along to one of our many appointments, and the office staff were enormously thankful. They didn’t lack for chocolates or cookies, but as I learned from my mother, a little appreciation goes a long way.
This year, despite my son’s much improved health, we continued the tradition of bringing a basket to his doctor. We’ll also be bringing one to my midwife’s office, because staying in the good graces of the folks in that office is a top priority this year as well. My daughter “delivered” our basket to the office staff herself. Being a curious toddler, she asked why we were bringing the doctors, nurses, and receptionists presents. I told her the truth: We want to show them how thankful we are for the good care they provide us all year long. I realized when I said this that bringing these baskets to my mother’s doctors wasn’t just about them, but also about learning this lesson as a child: never fail to appreciate the importance of good doctors, and be grateful when you’re lucky enough to be in their care.
The post Why You Should Give Gifts to Your Kid’s Pediatrician appeared first on Acculturated.