I Tricked My Daughter
Confessions of a parent of a child with chronic medical needs
I deceived my daughter. I did it on a regular basis, time and time again. I meant no harm, in fact, just the opposite — I wanted to spare her anxiety.
Emily had, what eventually, over time, seemed like a phobia of having medical procedures. She would immediately say no and furrow her brows when I, or a doctor, mentioned that she needed to have an MRI/surgery/lab draw/procedure. And then she cried. Complete with crocodile tears. And in case you have never experienced it, it is very difficult to watch your seventeen-year-old daughter who was the definition of loving, sweetness, and innocence, have an emotional breakdown.
She wasn’t always like this. In fact, I never had to beat around the bush about going to the doctor’s or hospital when Emily was young, diagnosed with a brain tumor. I just had to announce, “It’s time for your MRI, hop in the car,” and she would grab her markers and run to the car.
We never made a big deal about a trip to the hospital, and she would just endure it, like it was a trip to the grocery store. Once there, Em would joke with the nurses and doctors, do whatever procedure was necessary — get an IV, sit through an hour-long MRI of the brain, pee in a cup, have EEG electrodes hooked up to the scalp, sit in…
