From Thought to Verse: The Story behind Dr. Mom

The Opposite of What I Wanted

When I was a child, my dream was to be a cashier. I kid you not. My parents once bought me a receipt maker for my birthday, and I sold my toys to my friends for real money just so I could print receipts. I was going to be a busy cashier mom—sometimes I’d even check people out with my baby doll on my hip!

Medical World – Never!

The medical world changed for me when I was 15. I was misdiagnosed with depression—a “body-altering” depression—when in fact I had severe Lyme disease. Because my Lyme presented in an “unconventional” way, doctors dismissed it. After that, I never trusted the medical world. My little high school self thought I knew everything, and the idea of becoming a nurse or a doctor would have never crossed my mind.

You know what they say: “We make plans and God laughs.”

“The doctors, they come…”

Fast forward to March 2023. I was sitting in the staff section of the Texas Children’s Pediatric Unit, across from the Fellow and Resident on Paigey’s case, discussing the pros and cons of a g-tube versus an NG tube. I wore a name tag that said “Visitor,” but the doctors treated me as though I were part of the team. Because, frankly, I was.

I’m the mom who showed up for every morning round. Coffee in hand, leaning against Paige’s ICU room door, I listened to every detail, sometimes even taking notes. I had gone from being the mom who was shaking, sobbing, and in utter shock, to the mom who wasn’t afraid of anything. Or at least, that’s how I felt when I was in my “Dr. Mom” mode.

“I see when she holds her breath.”

That name—Dr. Mom—came from Texas Children’s Hospital. It was the day after one of my worst days, when Paige went into respiratory failure again. There were two doctors and one nurse in the room, but I was the first one who noticed she wasn’t breathing. She doesn’t turn blue immediately; it’s far more subtle. From across the room, I saw it happening. At first, I didn’t know if it was a seizure or something else, but I knew something was wrong. The next day, the resident on shift gave me the nickname “Dr. Mom.”

Writing the poem Dr. Mom was never about proving myself to the doctors, nor was it out of disrespect for their years of training. It was about me—about accepting that I wasn’t going to be a “normal mom.” I wouldn’t be a cashier. I would be a medical parent, and I needed to embrace that role instead of run from it.

“There’s something about a mother with her baby.”

There’s something about the bond between a mother and her baby. In many ways, she is the greatest expert there is. Of course, as you all know, this isn’t always true—that’s why I wrote it in poetic form. I don’t always know what’s best for Paige (please read my advocacy series!), but I know her. I know how she sleeps, the way she smacks her lips, how she suckles her milk. I know what bothers her. I know when she’s in pain. And now, unfortunately, I know what central apnea looks like when it begins to overtake her brain.

“Don’t be ashamed to be Dr. Mom”

“Trust yourself—you know your baby best.” That’s been my mantra. It’s a constant emotional struggle, especially in the hospital. I remember one time when doctors thought she might be having cluster seizures. They wanted to give her a loading dose of seizure rescue medication, but I didn’t believe that was the case, so I didn’t give permission. My heart was pounding. What if I was wrong? But I ended up being right—and returning to this poem helped remind me that I don’t have to be ashamed of being Dr. Mom.

Being a medical parent is possibly the hardest job in the world. Yet, it can bring growth if you let it. I’ve realized that I make a pretty great nurse—and when it comes to Paige’s condition, I could almost pass as a doctor (just don’t ask me about anything else, ha!). So no, I’m not an actual doctor. I’m just a mom. A medical mom.