BLOG: My patients, my heroes — a mother/daughter bond
“My patients, my heroes” is a special series in my blog that I dedicate to my patients, first launched in May 2020. As I stated in that first post, “Beating the Odds,” I believe every patient I have encountered has a special story that goes beyond the boundaries of the regular doctor-patient clinic visit; beyond the boundaries of EMR clicks, templates, macros and box-checking.
Today’s story is about a patient I saw many years ago. I do not recall the patient’s name, but I do recall her story vividly. Her story exemplified a unique example of motherhood. A mother who had utmost love and bonding with her only daughter.
The mother was a patient with type 1 diabetes who I was managing in the clinic in the late 1990s, in a different location. She was a single mother in her mid-40s. She was very self-sufficient, working long shifts in a restaurant. She raised her only daughter alone, a smart student all the way through high school and college.
A few years earlier, the mother began to save money for a project.
One day she came to clinic for a follow-up visit with a big smile on her face. She opened her purse and pulled out a large stack of money. She handed the money to me and said:
"Doctor, here is the $4,000. Put me on the insulin pump!"
At the time, Medicaid and most commercial insurance companies did not cover insulin pumps for patients with diabetes.
I knew what her motivation was: her only child. At age 24 years, her daughter was a graduate student at a prestigious college. She wanted to take good care of her health and optimally control her diabetes so she would stay healthy for her daughter and for her future grandchildren.
I asked her to take the money to the medical supply pharmacy to pay for the pump, and on the pump she went, as happy as happiness can be measured. She was willing to pay for the pump supplies from her own money.
Subsequently, her diabetes management improved.
Then one day, about a year later, the mother returned for her clinic visit, sobbing. She brought the pump and its supplies in a big box, and she handed the box to me.
"I do not want the pump anymore," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"She is gone, my daughter!" the women replied.
"I am so sorry to hear that. What happened?" I asked.
"I lost my baby; she was killed by a drunk driver,” she said. “There is nothing more for me now to live for.”
I do not recall if she returned to the clinic after that last visit. A few months later, I relocated to another town.
I felt so sad for months afterwards. I still remember her face. I will never forget her.
I did not meet my patient’s daughter, but I knew how strong their bond was.
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