Mother Vs Doctor

When our kids fall sick, my husband dreads having any illness-related conversation with me. That's because I nag him to death. He's a doc and so I call him every 30 seconds and accuse him of not being sensitive to a laywoman's reasonable anxieties if he tries to tell me to stop being a pain.

First, there's the issue of the dosage. The only one I can remember is 10 mg per kg for Paracetamol. Even for that, more often than not, I ask him to compute the exact dose for me so I don't need to do it myself. Self-reliance is, after all, one of his strong points.

Then when the medicine is being administered, if the child is supposed to get 4.5 ml but her sister bumped into me when I was giving it and I spilled some, how much more should I give? And what about when the baby spits some of it out and there's nothing more in the bottle?

These are huge deals as far as I am concerned and so I think nothing of calling him up when he, an orthopod, is on his way to Casualty to attend to a broken femur or tibia. When he answers my questions with a “Use your commonsense!” I feel my hackles rising. But sensing his irritation, I try not to lose it, and ask him, very slowly, and making sure that I do not raise my voice, if I can give the rest of it after he comes home – as in, under his supervision. “What the hell... yeah, whatever!” Click.

I can't understand how we get to this point every single time.

Antibiotics – to give or not to give; I wonder how many marriages are on the rocks on account of this extremely argument-friendly topic.

Him: “How long are you going to make her suffer?!”

Me: “It's not like I made her ill, for Christ's sake. Why do you want to keep pumping her with pills? She'll never have strong immunity if you don't give her body a chance to recover. We never used to take antibiotics when we were kids and we managed FINE!”

I don't know how we worked through that one but we did. My piece of advice: Win some, lose some.

And then there's the modern medicine vs. traditional medicine thing. Now, after many years - when my folks – mother, grandmother, aunt etc - come up with suggestions, I sort of give it a pass for the sake of peace. And in moments of desperation, he says resignedly, “Anything but homeopathy.” 

One thing that really bugs me is the flat refusal on my husband's part to answer my questions with a yes or no.

“Will she get better by tomorrow?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know? You're a doctor.”

Same reply with a different intonation to the words.

“Is the baby also going to come down with a fever?”

“I don't know.”

“What about the dogs?”

“I don't know.” (accompanied by a theatrical raising of the eyebrows)

I don't know what he has to do that for. After all, they are pups.

“Is it okay for her to go to school?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“What do you mean you suppose?”

“I think it should be okay.”

“Is she going to be sick in class?”

“I don't know.”

And then, placating, “If you feel uncomfortable about sending her, don't.”

“You think I'm hyper about this?”

Grinning, he walks out of the room and the conversation.