A one year-old at the Ramada was
fussy and congested, but my exam was normal. She had a cold, I explained. It
was not serious but might last a few days. Staying in bed wouldn’t make it go
away quicker. The parents should encourage the child to drink, but it was OK if
she didn’t eat. They were already giving Tylenol for the fever, and that was
fine. They should try to enjoy themselves.
“So she doesn’t need anything,”
said the father. I assured him she didn’t.
I gave them my phone number and
promised to keep in touch. They thanked me effusively as I left, but I was not
fooled.
Understand their point of view.
They were in a strange city on an expensive vacation, and their child was sick.
Naturally, all fun was cancelled and the doctor summoned fix things.
Had I written a prescription, I
would be doing what a proper doctor does. They would have given the medicine
and waited. Not giving “anything” meant that I considered the illness trivial. That
was clearly wrong.
Mind you, obeying long and sad
experience, I had carefully explained that the child might feel under the
weather for several days. They had listened and nodded, but their
yearning took priority.
I intended to call in 24 hours,
but the following morning their travel insurer phoned to say the parents were
requesting another visit. I explained that that wasn’t necessary. I would call.
“She’s the same. The fever
hasn’t gone away,” said the mother.
I repeated that this was to be
expected and that she should wait. She agreed and thanked me for calling.
No one answered when I phoned
the next day. The insurance agency dispatcher explained that the mother had
called earlier to demand another visit, so he had sent her to an urgent
care clinic.
The child had barely swallowed
the first spoonful of Amoxicillin when she began to improve. By evening she was fine, and the parents were congratulating themselves. Who knows
what might have happened if they hadn’t found a competent doctor?
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