Mom gets injections in her eye for macular degeneration and a bleed in her retina. They’re part of her treatment, and I’m grateful that treatment is available. But I’ll be honest—those shots are hard to watch. I don’t know that I’ll ever get comfortable sitting beside my mother while a needle comes toward her eye.
The first appointment after her trigeminal neuralgia attack was especially difficult. The injection was on the same side of her face where she’d experienced so much pain. Mom sat calmly while the doctor explained what he was going to do. As far as anyone else could tell, it was a regular appointment. But when he reached toward her left cheek, I held my breath. I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first.
I watched his hands, then her face, looking for any sign that a shock was coming. I could still remember her crying in our living room, begging for the pain to stop, and I was afraid we were about to go through it again. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. She got through the appointment just fine. By the time we reached the car, though, my shoulders hurt, my jaw was tight, and my hands felt a little numb. I’d been sitting there bracing myself the whole time.
Sometimes I get frustrated with myself over that. Mom is calm. The doctor knows what he’s doing. Why am I sitting here so tense? But it happens at home, too. I’ll see her washing her face and catch myself holding my breath, quietly praying, “God, please don’t let a shock happen.” After watching someone you love hurt that badly, it can be hard to stop watching for the next sign of pain.
We’ve had other experiences that have made medical visits difficult. When Mom had her stroke, there wasn’t a room available, and she ended up in a hallway. Privacy matters to my mother, and I knew how upsetting that situation was for her. I tried to protect her dignity while also explaining what we were seeing and making sure our concerns were understood.
A few months later, after she fell, we spent five hours in the emergency room waiting area because there were no beds available. When she needed the restroom, no nurse was available to help, so my sister and I helped her. It was stressful trying to get her there safely. Afterward, we agreed that if we were in that situation again, we would need to be more firm about asking for assistance.
Those experiences stay with you. When we head to another appointment, I remember what’s happened before, and I want to do whatever I can to help things go well. One thing that helps me is being prepared.
What Helps Us Get Ready
Before an appointment, I write down my questions and go over them with Mom and Dad. I want to know what they’re concerned about, too. We also check her prescriptions to see whether anything needs to be renewed. It’s easy to forget something once the conversation gets going, and I’d rather catch it before we leave home.
Then we update her workbook and print the current information to take with us. It goes wherever we might need it—specialists, clinics, or the hospital. I created the Caregiver Command Center because I needed a place to keep all of this together. When someone asks about a medication or part of Mom’s medical history, having it in front of me takes some pressure off.
If you’re just getting started, a notebook and a current medication list are a good place to begin. Write down each medication, the dose, and when it’s taken. Make a note of anything that has changed since the last visit, whether that’s a new symptom, a fall, or a difference in sleep, appetite, mood, or memory. Include when you first noticed it. Then write down your questions, putting the most important ones first so they get addressed.
Once we’re in the room, I try to make sure I understand what we’re being told. Sometimes that means asking someone to slow down or explain something again. Sometimes it means saying, “This is different for her, and I’m concerned.” You don’t need medical terminology to explain what you’ve noticed. The things you see at home can help the doctor understand what’s going on.
There’s another part of this that I’m still working on, though: knowing when to step back.
When Dad pauses to find a word, I want to finish the sentence for him. When a doctor asks Mom a question, I sometimes want to answer because I remember the details and can get through them quickly. I’m trying to help, but I have to remind myself to give them time. These are their appointments. They need the opportunity to speak, ask questions, and explain how they feel. I can fill in details afterward.
Mom has reminded me many times how much determination she still has. Not long after her stroke, she wanted to walk out to see her garden. It was a long walk for her. Dad stayed on one side, and I stayed on the other. She walked slowly, stopped when she needed to, and kept going until she got there.
I’ve told her that after watching what she’s worked through, her daughters and grandchildren ought to think twice before saying, “I can’t.” She needs help sometimes, and some things are very hard, but she keeps trying. I need to remember that when we’re sitting in an exam room, too. I’m there to support her, and part of that is giving her room to do what she can for herself.
Taking My Fear Into the Room
There’s a verse I come back to on days like these:
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” —Psalm 56:3, ESV
I appreciate how honest that is. I can trust God and still feel afraid when the doctor reaches toward Mom’s face. I can pray on the way to an appointment and still have to remind myself to breathe once we get there.
Sometimes my prayer is simply, “Lord, I’m scared. Please help me.” I don’t always have anything more polished than that, and I’m thankful I don’t need to.
God was with us during Mom’s attack. He was with us in the ambulance and during those long hours at the hospital. I can trust that He’s with us at the next appointment, too. I may still tense up. I may still watch more closely than I need to. But I can bring that fear to Him as often as it comes.
If you’re reading this from a waiting room, maybe take a moment to loosen your shoulders and let out the breath you’ve been holding. I know there may be questions you’re afraid to ask or answers you’re afraid to hear. You can tell God that, too. He knows how much this person means to you.
I also put together a free Doctor Visit Checklist to help with the practical side of getting ready. It’s a one-page printable with questions to ask before you leave and room for notes. You can get your free checklist here.
A Prayer Before the Appointment
Lord, You know what we’re walking into today and what’s worrying me. Please give the doctors wisdom and help us understand what we need to know. Give me a calm voice when I need to speak up and the patience to step back when Mom and Dad need time to answer for themselves. Help me listen well and remember the questions we came to ask. When I feel afraid, help me turn to You. Thank You for going with us and caring for the people I love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
With understanding and hope,
Deb
