Lately, I’ve had to take some of my own medicine.

By “medicine” I mean “advice,” not “pharmaceuticals.” I have been thrust into a situation where I’ve had to both consult medical professionals and at the same time take responsibility for my own health and make my own decisions, even when—make that, especially when—those decisions go “AMA” (against medical advice) and buck the status quo. And in doing so, I’m feeling very much like a fish swimming upstream.

It’s been a long time since I have personally been in such a situation. I’ve been here before, but not lately. And so when I have counseled clients facing opposition from others for choosing a natural homebirth rather than the status quo (i.e., a drug induced hospital delivery), I have counseled them as one having some personal experience in bucking the medical system, but it was experience long past. Well, as of a week ago, that changed; I just had an unwanted refresher course in going AMA. Here’s what happened.

This time last week, we were at a family gathering at Jessica & Chris’ house (Jessica is my youngest daughter). My oldest daughter Kassy had come down from Sugar Land with her girls (her son and husband were at a Boy Scout function out of state). My son-in-law Chris decided to cook burgers, hot dogs, sausage and shrimp on the grill. Some of Chris’ family was also there, including his Aunt Debbie (more on her in just a moment).

While there, I began to feel heart palpitations and an irregular heart beat. I had Jessica check me out (In addition to being a midwife, Jessica also has had emergency medical training and experience). After that, Jessica got my husband, Larry. We talked, and agreed to let Debbie take a look at me. Debbie, Chris’ mother’s sister, is a nurse with decades of experience in cardiology. She talked with me at length, and advised me to have this checked out.

The hospital of choice in Corpus for heart health care is Spohn Shoreline. It is just a few blocks away from our house, but clear across town from where Chris & Jessica live, where we were when this episode took place. Jessica suggested we drive to the nearby fire station. Jessica had done some of her EMT training there, and knew that we could walk in and ask them to do a test on me. So my husband drove me to the fire station with Jessica and Kassy coming along to help.

Jessica took me inside. As it turns out, a personal friend, Scott Marsh, worked at the station where we went. Their testing showed that I was having a lot of “Premature Valve Compressions” (PVC). So they recommended that I go to the hospital and have it checked out. They offered to take me by ambulance but I wanted my family to drive me. So we drove straight from there to Spohn Shoreline.

We got to the hospital around 5 PM, and we were there until nearly midnight. They did an EKG and ran a series of blood tests as well. They also kept me on oxygen and hooked up to monitors. Mostly, the reports were good: no evidence of damage to my heart; no evidence of restriction of blood flow to my heart; no congestion around my heart; my thyroid was in normal range. My cholesterol was high, and the tests they had done could not explain my irregular heart beat. They released me with a referral to have a stress test done.

The following morning, I went to see the doctor to whom I was referred. He did not have much new information for me; he had just received my records faxed to him from the ER trip the previous night, and was setting up the stress test through his office. After a pleasant but brief visit, he turned me over to his subordinates. It wasn’t until they were scheduling my “stress test” that I found out they wanted to do a “nuclear stress test.” I thought to myself, “Wait a minute! What do you mean ‘nuclear’? Why not do a standard treadmill test?” Suddenly I wasn’t so comfortable with the situation; I had lots of questions. But my doctor’s appointment was over. This piece of news had not been told to me until I was on my way out the door. It was presented to me matter-of-factly as if I should have no questions to ask.

As we drove home, I realized I had many unanswered questions and wasn’t sure what to do about my questions. The test was scheduled and if I wanted to cancel, I had been told to give them 24 hours notice or they would charge me $270. That meant I had less than 24 hours to reconsider. My whole family was so worried about me. They were worried that I wouldn’t take care of myself. They had been afraid I would not cooperate with the doctors. They had been so relieved when I had scheduled this appointment. I felt enormous pressure and I didn’t know what to do.

I spent the rest of my day trying to research this “nuclear stress test” to see what it entailed, but I quickly realized that one afternoon wasn’t going to be enough time to thoroughly investigate my options. I was dreading telling my children that I needed more time to decide. I was dreading telling them I might decide to cancel the appointment for the test. They are terribly concerned about me. And I understand their concern. But I also know that I must be sure I’m not blindly accepting some procedure just because some doctor says I need it, especially when that procedure might have potential risks of its own.

As things stand now, I’ve made another doctor’s appointment, this time with a different doctor. But I can’t see him for two weeks because he is on vacation. I decided to go see this second doctor because I want a second opinion and because I feel like I can talk to him. You see, I’ve known him for a long time. To many of his colleagues and most of his patients he is “John E.” To me, he’s “Johnny.” Our friendship goes back to Jr. High school. I probably would have seen Johnny before now except that it feels a little awkward going to see an old friend for medical care. But going through this experience made me realize that I needed someone who could be more like a midwife to me than a doctor. I needed someone who knows more about me than just what he reads in a chart. So, I decided to go see my friend Johnny.

Now, I have a little more time to research the various testing procedures available for the heart. I also have time to think about what questions I need answered before I agree to any of the more invasive procedures. And I’ve already told my children about my plans. They were more understanding than I expected. They are still concerned about me. But they didn’t freak out near as much as I thought they would when I told them. I just explained that I needed to research my options more before making the final decision on testing. I believe they will support me and respect me in the decision I make. I think the biggest thing is they needed to know that I wasn’t just ignoring my situation. They needed to know that I am taking it seriously and not just treating it like it doesn’t matter.

What I’m going through must be similar to what women face every day when making decisions about childbirth and prenatal care. Perhaps, it’s easy take the path of least resistance and just follow mainstream thinking. You know, the status quo approach of going to a doctor and accepting whatever he or she tells you without question. I have to admit, I’ve been tempted to do just that in my situation. But I know that isn’t really the best thing to do, and it isn’t really what I want. Taking responsibility for your own health care decisions isn’t easy. But it’s still the right thing to do.

And I believe this recent experience, this “taking some of my own medicine” is going to help me to be a more empathetic midwife.

Click here to read the follow up report in my next blog entry.