Bring a Friend to Medical Appointments

I’m the Little Red Hen all over again, except unlike that gutsy bird, I bypass the ask-for-help stage and, unless I truly can’t, do it myself. But even harder than asking for help has been asking for time—a couple of hours, half a day, even—to see me through the thrill of surgery, a painful lab procedure, or portentous doctor’s appointment. These are not, after all, invitations to a party.

Thanks to breast cancer, however, I have learned to take someone with me to important medical appointments. Instead of worrying that she’ll find out what a chicken I am—I used to scream at the sight of a needle; now I just cry—I’m happy to have someone hold my hand, or, as happened while my breast was shot up with a painful radioactive substance prior to my sentinel node surgery, my toe.

I also need someone to listen for me. My brain behaves like a puppy during medical conferences. I get ahead and forget to ask important questions or don’t think of all the pertinent ones. I interrupt. I need an extra brain and pair of ears to squeeze everything I can from those precious minutes with a doctor.

And finally, I need more eyes. Bad things don’t happen as often when someone else is there to observe, but even then, as is clear from my Three Cases blog, disturbing things do happen. Hospitals, clinics, and labs are stressful places. If a mistake is made, I have discovered, I’m far more likely to to be taken seriously if I mention a witness.

Because I don’t have a partner or nearby family, knowing who to call is dicey, too. Like Cancer Vixen, I have a formidable mother, but she’s a thousand miles away. For one of my surgeries, my ever-caring brother made a six-hour round trip just to get here. And although my many friends have said, “Call me if you need me,” most of them work 9 to 5.

Thank heaven for a couple of angels with flexible work hours who are always there for me. I am sparing in my requests, dealing with checkups and mammograms and most lab stuff by myself. But I’d never do surgery, the early radiation work up sessions, or chemo without one of them with me. Not ever.

To insure that I don’t chicken out, I make sure I’m there for my friends in trouble, too. I won’t let them brave serious appointments alone, even when, like me, they insist.

And I treat myself as if I were my daughter. I carry a picture of myself taken when I was nine—a radiant, vulnerable child in the foothills of the Himalayas. She reminds me not to make myself tough things out. I’d certainly never sent her into the med zone alone.

More on When to Rely on a Friend:

- A First Visit with the Medical Oncologist
- Chemotherapy: Let's Get It Started
- Just Diagnosed? The First 48 Hours

More on How a Friend Can Help: