This afternoon I took my 15-year-old daughter, Miss E, to an oral surgeon for a wisdom teeth extraction consultation. Our appointment was at 4pm, and we were stuck waiting in the examination room for a good 40 minutes before the doctor came in to see us. Not a surprise, or a big deal, as we were the last appointment of the day.
We had been to the practice before, as had half of my neighborhood, but the doctor my other daughter saw didn’t have any appointments. I said we didn’t mind seeing someone new. So, at 4:40 on a Friday afternoon, Dr. Z walks in.
At first the meeting went as expected. He looked at her x-rays on screen and we talked about how she was feeling. Talked about how the teeth were coming in and what they would do during the surgery. Talked about the recovery process. A bit rushed, but all normal.
Dr. Z then grabs his iPad and starts to go through her medical history. Adenoid surgery? Check. Allergies? Check. Medications? Ugh, I stumbled for a minute and so did Miss E. She’s been on and off almost a dozen different ones over the years between the ADD, the depression, anxiety and anemia. We got two right, but couldn’t come up with the third. I said I would call them back with the information.
Dr. Z persisted. “Is it Zoloft?” he asked.
“No, nothing you ever hear about. I can’t think of it. I’ll get back to you.” I said.
“Is it Lexapro? Xanax?” he continued.
“No. It’s really a long, odd name. I’ll call later.” I say again, unsure why he’s pushing so hard on this.
“It’s probably an SSRI.” he goes, suddenly an expert on Miss E’s antidepressants after a whole five minutes together.
My daughter chimed in, “I know it’s not an SSRI. It’s an unusual name.”
“They’re usually SSRIs, ” he continued. I can see the frustration on my daughter’s face. (As it turns out, she isn’t on any SSRIs at all…)
Dr. Z lowers the iPad to his lap and turns to me. “What do you do for a living?”
It seems an unusual question to jump to, and an uncomfortable one since it’s sort of linked to me being a widow, but I have no desire to get into that. I give a general answer, thinking he’s just trying to get to know us better.
“I work for an accounting firm,” I reply.
“That explains it.” he responds. Wait, what? I think maybe he’s joking that it’s tax season and I’m tired, or I’m not remembering her medicines because I’m not one of the million people who work in the medical field around here, but I’m not entirely sure. I look over at the young assistant in the room for clarification but she just laughs awkwardly. It was just weird.
I let it go because he’s talking fast and by now he’s got his fingers in Miss E’s mouth, trying to feel for the teeth.
“What does she take these medications for?” he asks me over his shoulder.
“Well, she has depression, anxiety, and ADD…” I begin.
Then he says “Oh, every kid has ADD. We all have some of it. It’s just part of growing up.”
He still has his thumbs resting on Ella’s lower wisdom teeth, and she shoots me a fierce glance and for a split second I’m thinking she’s about to bite this guy’s fingers clean off.
Before I can say anything about him completely invalidating my daughter’s mental health disorder in front of her, and inquire as to how he knows more about ADD than the psychiatrist, therapists, general physicians and mental health experts at Shepperd Pratt Hospital, he’s wheeled away from her.
“Okay, all looks good. Most important thing is no food or water after midnight. Any questions?” he asks.
I shake my head no. “Okay,” he closes, “I’ll see you in a few months.””
And he walks out.
The assistant hands us our papers and we follow her to the front desk. It was such a short appointment, but it takes me a few minutes to process all the things he said. I schedule her surgery for July, and joke with Miss E that we’ve just been “mansplained” about mental health from a dang dentist. On the car ride home, she says that, sadly, she’s gotten used to that sort of invalidation about ADD from teachers that think it’s an excuse to not pay attention or do work, or from other adults who just don’t believe ADD or depression actually exist as clinical diagnosis. But hearing this from a medical professional? That really irked her.
I told her we would switch surgeons. It’s not a big deal. It’s her surgery and I want her to feel comfortable with whomever is doing it. By now it was after 5pm, so I figured I would just call after the weekend.
And clearly, I’ve been thinking about the whole exchange all night.
I googled Dr Z, the way that only moms can, with FBI-level skills. I was looking for reviews, but only found one. (I also found his home address and photos of his wife and children, but that’s not important) Turns out he graduated from Loyola, my alma mater, and had an impressive enough resume after that, but it seems like he really hadn’t been practicing for that long.
Which *might* explain his ignorant/inappropriate remarks. I’m sure he’s a perfectly fine surgeon, and I’ll cut the guy some slack for being tired on a Friday afternoon. The fact is that he doesn’t know us, how could he? He doesn’t know that it’s not my job that prevented me from remembering Ella’s third medicine, or that I’m a bad mother. It’s that after spending two years doing some *very* medical things for my husband before watching him die, and after Ella’s severe depression and mental health issues kept her in a scary loop of therapy and new medications, I just can’t remember everything. My brain is still foggy except for the really important things, and I knew that I had months before her actual surgery (during which time her medications might change again), so really, it wasn’t imperative that I remember.
And he clearly doesn’t understand ADD, and what the last D stands for. It’s for disorder, meaning that if everyone had it, it would be normal. But they don’t. So it’s a dis-order. Get it? Sure, we could all have a few ADD-like symptoms at some point, but that doesn’t mean we all have ADD. Same goes for depression – we all feel symptoms of depression once in a while, but that doesn’t mean we are all clinically depressed. There are other requirements to be diagnosed with true ADD or depression, that a psychiatrist determines. You can’t just ignore a psychiatrist’s diagnosis because you don’t believe it. That’s not how that works. That’s not how any of this works.
I don’t think Dr. Z is malicious, or a bad surgeon. I do think he’s perhaps a bit clueless, and needs to stay in his lane regarding mental health issues.
So if there is any lesson out there for any medical professionals, it’s please don’t assume all patients are the same. Don’t assume you know more about their health than other doctors in their lives, especially if it’s not your field. And just like when you meet a stranger outside of your office, don’t assume you know *anything* about their home life. Particularly in a five minute visit. Maybe just listen more.
This turned out to be a teachable moment for my daughter – a moment of wisdom, if you will. (sorry, I couldn’t resist.) About recognizing when a doctor makes you uncomfortable, and what the choices are. In this case, the choice to switch doctors is easy, and the least stressful for us. In other cases it might make sense to speak up to the doctor or their supervisor.
It was also, I believe, her first experience with “mansplaining.” I think how the appointment might have gone differently if it was a father and son. Could I be reading too much into his comments? Perhaps. Which is why I didn’t react on the spot, lest I be labeled a Karen. Do I think he would have asked a father what he did for a living if he couldn’t recall his son’s medications? Probably not. There are all sorts of TikToks out there with quick responses to mansplaining, but unless it’s obvious, I generally give the guy the benefit of the doubt and blow it off. (and then keep myself up until midnight replaying the conversation in my head…) So, did I teach her anything useful? I don’t know, maybe. I’m hoping by at least pointing out when men say inappropriate things, my girls learn that they don’t need to tolerate this behavior and that they have choices.
And now that I have this off my chest, I can go to sleep. Let me know if you’ve ever had a similar experience!
Laura we went for an orthodontic consult when Sophia was 11 or 12 and the orthodontist said in front of her she needed a chin implant not just braces because it’s all about aesthetics. We left and in the parking lot Sophia said to me, “I thought my chin was fine.” His comment caught me so off guard I never said anything but I wish I would have spoke up. Needless to say he was not our orthodontist!
Yes I had a similar experience with the neurologist I saw after my “transient global amnesia” experience last August. He was absolutely CONVINCED I’d had a seizure & wanted to repeat numerous tests that had already been done at the hospital in Cincinnati. But he didn’t trust THOSE tests because he was “God” & knew better. So since I’m old & cantankerous, I left & never saw him again. Idiot. I’ve been to too many docs who think they know everything & don’t listen. Enough. I would not go back to your dentist. You have bad feelings toward him & his ignorance. He’s an idiot. Love you sweetheart!💕
I’m sorry that this happened to you and Ella, but I’m glad that you were able to use the episode to teach her that we don’t have to put up with this kind of behavior from anyone, even “authority” figures. We all (especially women) need to stand up for ourselves and our loved ones and assert our basic rights and dignity as human beings. Someone who doesn’t treat you well doesn’t deserve your time and money.
When you call the office to cancel the appointment, you should tell them that you didn’t appreciate the way you were spoken to. Maybe that will give him something to think about.