Ask Questions When Making Life Decisions

When the doctor ordered yet another Cat Scan, I think the sixth, we asked, “Why?” After hearing a rational explanation, we consented. The procedure happened and the results erased the dark roads that raced through our minds. The test answered questions just as the doctor assured us it would; no, not all of them, but we felt more informed.

When the nutritionist said the feeding tube would remain after discharge, we demanded clarification. A thorough lesson on the healing process left us nodding our heads in agreement that we did not want complication. The risks outweighed the rewards, and the tube extraction waited until after Thanksgiving.

When our 33-year-old daughter had a stroke, daily — sometimes hourly — decisions had to be made. We quickly discovered that Kari, the patient, should make decisions about her care whenever possible. But until she was healthy and conscious, we stepped in as her proxies.

When the recreational therapist invited Kari to relax in the pool on her back with her head in the water, She asked, “Why?” After listening to the explanation, she simply said, “No!” then looked at me and added, “Thank you.”

Never being an adventurous person in water, Kari resisted even the idea of giving up control. She relished sunning on a boat on a hot day. Floating down the Boise River required a substantial sized raft with an experienced paddler. Pleasure followed time at the side of a pool with her legs in the water to cool off and sometimes Kari even climbed in the pool to splash and play with the kids — in the shallow end. And gliding across the top of the lake on a paddleboard, provided pure bliss.

However, surrendering control to the therapist in the pool, when her right side didn’t move was not happening.

Once the questions were asked, discussion examined the reasons, risks, and expected results. Concrete answers often proved elusive. When in a hospital neither patients nor loved ones want to hear, “I don’t know.” But in all honesty, that is often (too often) the answer.

The belief that doctors perform miracles and magic, stems from flawed thinking.

Society elevates specialist causing mere humans to create unrealistic expectations. Doctors are intelligent, skilled, trained individuals who practice medicine. Notice the word practice. Perfect answers are elusive. The complexities of the human body demand a career of lifelong learning. Many components and systems remain invisible to the naked eye. Thus, medicine remains consigned to the field of science.

Questioning became our avenue to gain wisdom after Kari’s stroke

At first, I found myself apologizing about the never-ending stream of queries. But in a short time, I acknowledged the power of asking. I learned to never be afraid to inquire and accepted responses with the knowledge the situation could and probably would change over time. Few absolutes existed. The questions provided an avenue to insight and empowered me to manage what often seemed unmanageable.

No one professional possessed all healing knowledge; Kari interacted with a wealth of specialists: gastrologist, neuropsychologist, general practitioner, internist, radiologist, rehabilitation spinal cord specialist, orthopedic surgeon, pulmonologist, neurologist, psychologist, cardiologist, oncologist, dietician, radiologist, neurosurgeon, social worker, physician’s assistant — not to mention a different therapist for different parts of the body: speech, recreational, physical, occupational . . . and the list went on, and on, and on.

Each professional inserted information into her medical puzzle. Together they developed a plan but when limited progress persisted, they questioned the options, consulted and revised.

My husband retired as an accomplished automobile technician. Numerous times I overheard him say, “I think the problem is . . .” Then he replaced a part usually solving the problem. However, at times he remained stymied, and needed a couple attempts to isolate the issue and complete a successful repair.

With the human body, it is difficult to replace parts and experimentation is dangerous. A quick test doesn’t always provide finite answers, so periods of observation are necessary. Like automotive technicians, doctors follow a similar process. Both practice their discipline as they implement the scientific method. This can be painful for the patient and caregivers because we crave immediate answers.

Beyond the obvious desire to bring Kari home, we endeavored to learn the skills necessary to support her at home. Watching diligently, I shadowed the hospital staff, attempting to imitate their actions. I internalized Kari’s responses and labeled myself a failure if her expectations remained unsatisfied. When questioned, I felt confronted and saw it as an assault on my abilities and efforts forgetting my own mantra that questions have value. Wow! Now I see why life remained in a state of emotional turmoil while she lived in the hospital.

Once I learned to relinquish responsibility the trauma became easier to handle

Let the nurses fill the water, dispense the medication, and bathe the patient. Allow the doctors to investigate and accept sometimes they don’t have the exact “right” answers. But all the while be a part of the narrative. At scheduled family meetings with representative of the medical staff, we felt heard and considered. St. Luke’s Rehabilitation included family and the patient in the process. They eliminated the mystery by welcoming input and questions. We became members of her team.

I specifically remember a consult with a doctor after Kari completed an angiogram. The doctor spent excessive time reviewing all the images from previous Cat Scans and tests. We sat and discussed her case for close to an hour. Dan, Kari’s husband, listened and asked probing questions fostering an intelligent conversation.

I simply asked two question. First, “As a caring and over-protective mother, should I be relieved?”

“Yes.”

“What are the chances of a re-occurrence?”

The answer, “Slight to none.” Now, we all know a doctor cannot give complete assurances, but he answered our question with the intellect of a scientist and the compassion of a parent.

The day before Kari’s scheduled discharge, she thought of nothing else. She planned to hug her children, cuddle the dogs, relax in her favorite chair. When it dawned on her she had no therapy scheduled on the following day, she also realized there was no reason to stay in the hospital another night. She asked, “Why can’t I go home tonight?”

Nobody had a good answer so on November 13, 2018–43 days after her stroke, she slept in her own bed.

Read more of Kari's journey of survival and determination.

Uniting Science and Emotions to Promote Healing

When It Feels Like You May Drown, Just Keep Swimming

Learn to Accept Yourself by Making Room for Others