Mothers are wonderful. They never stop. Their stores of wisdom, guidance, kindness, and love are infinite. Their willingness to provide these benefits to their children is timeless. A mother’s child can never be anything other the child of that mother.
One of the blessings of working in health care is that we get to witness, on an intimate and frequent basis, the small miracles that unfold in our patients’ lives. Susan Swanson came to see me recently for her annual checkup. She is quite healthy other than mild hypertension. She is one of the few patients I especially love to see. She has few complaints, her meds are easy to refill, her labs can be ordered quickly, her data entry needs are minimal, and she usually brings in no agenda to her office visits other than her health.
At this visit, though, I could immediately tell she was a bit depressed. Something was up, and I asked her what was happening.
“It’s my son,” she said. “I fell like our relationship is starting to change.”
“Well, children’s relationship with their parents always changes as they get older,” I responded. “Did something happen recently?”
She explained that her son, who is married and lives in Alamo, California, had surgery a few months ago. She was concerned that he was overdoing things after his operation. “He had to be re-admitted to the hospital because he wasn’t taking care of himself. You know how kids are. I just feel like he’s not listening to me anymore. An I’m his mother!”
“Maybe he’s trying to figure things out on his own. I’m sure he loves you and still needs your guidance, but things change as kids grow older. He’ll find his way. He’ll learn from his mistakes. Perhaps he’s just reached that point in his life.”
Ms. Swanson got a bit tearful at that point, and seemed to be considering my words. “I know, but he’s never ignored me before. I guess it’s just hard for me to accept that he’s getting older now.”
“How do you get along with your daughter-in-law?” I asked.
“She’s a very nice girl. Oh, I know, I should call her a woman. She’s a very nice woman and we get along well.”
I told Ms. Swanson that her son may have ended up back in the hospital even if he had listened to her advice. Sometimes those things just happen.
She repeated that it would be hard to give up mothering him like she had been doing since he was born. But with some reluctance, she acknowledged that her son might now be reaching the point that he could capably manage his own life pretty well, with his wife’s help, of course.
At that point, it was becoming apparent that Ms. Swanson would be OK with letting go a little. “How old is your son?” I asked.
“He’s 70 now,” she said. “I can’t imagine it. Seventy! I can’t even believe it when I say it. He’s 70 years old.”
“Well, Ms. Swanson, you’re 94 now. Maybe your son feels he’s finally learned all the lessons you’ve taught him.”
“I suppose, but it still is hard to accept.” She then dabbed at one final tear on her cheek, cleared her throat, brightened considerably, reminded me to re-order her meds, instructed me to order her labs, asked me if I was OK, asked if my family was healthy, and concluded with, “So, next year at the same time.” It was a statement, not a question.
I feel a small glow inside when a patient starts getting all maternal on me. Maybe it’s the son in me. We humans are so deeply programmed to nurture each other, to play our roles, to be the son, the mother, the daughter, the father. These roles are hard, some might say impossible, to change.
As the visit concluded, I realized my own effort to remain above the humanity of this gentle mother was futile. It would be pointless to try and limit myself strictly to the role of being Ms. Swanson’s physician. So I concluded the visit with what my patient fully expected, as her maternal entitlement. I paused in front of her and gave her a nice long hug, while telling her that her health was looking good. After a moment, she patted my back, signaling it was time for me to be on my way so I could see my next patient.
On the way out the door, I leaned back and told Ms. Swanson her son was lucky to have a mother like her. She smiled, nodded, and said nothing more.
(July 2008)