Ms. Lainey Alderman and some members of her fourth grade class at John Swett Elementary School in Martinez.
By Dr. Kate Scannell, Syndicated columnist
First Published in Print: 05/28/2011
LAST WEEK, I visited Lainey Aldermen's fourth grade class at John Swett Elementary School in Martinez with two related goals in mind. The first was to demonstrate how writing could be fun and exciting, how it could lead to adventures and experiences in bigger worlds that existed "off the page." My second objective was to gain a better understanding of what young people think about doctors and health care -- their important perspectives are virtually absent from mainstream polls and surveys.
My overarching plan was to merge both goals by teaching the students how to write a structured essay, and asking them to focus it on their experiences with doctors or hospitals. I told them I would include their opinions in this newspaper column, hoping to provide them a concrete experience of witnessing their words being carried beyond the classroom into a larger public conversation.
And, of course, I learned many amazing things during my visit.
Most surprising to me was the students' sparkling enthusiasm to discuss health care and writing. Our visit ran 45 minutes beyond its scheduled time (Thank you, Ms. Alderman!), and, still, many students' hands remained waving in the air.
I also learned that fourth graders often hold strong opinions about doctors. For example, several students claimed that doctors looked "too freaky" when they wore their traditional white coats. Expounding on that claim, one girl added that the white coats made doctors appear "real scary -- like mad scientists that were going to come after you." Another passionately inquired, "Why do they even have to wear them in the first place?"
Suffice it to say that I was happy I had chosen to wear my street clothes for our visit. But memo to my pediatrician colleagues: The "white-coat syndrome" we know so well in adult medicine circles might sometimes adversely affect patients of smaller sizes as well.
Apprehension about doctors also included fears about their use of "really long needles" and "big shots." One child threw his arms wide open to indicate the appalling length of the syringes he'd seen in his doctor's office. Another sternly asserted, "There should be no shots at all!" -- and everyone seemed to agree.
A shy child's small hand slowly rose, and I invited him to speak next. He began haltingly but soon found his stride, solemnly describing the menacing atmosphere within his doctor's office. "Sharp things are just lying all around the counters," boxes of needles are stacked behind the glass doors of overhanging wall cabinets, and doctors' machines with a capacity to hurt too-closely surround you. He sometimes had to wait "a long time" in that office, in the midst of its ever-encroaching menace, all the while his fears escalated. "Can you please tell doctors not to put us in rooms like that?" he asked. (Note to my colleagues.)
His poignant comments about feeling threatened seemed to raise the emotional temperature in the entire classroom. The group's collective gaiety subsided for a moment, and several students sympathetically attested to the inhospitable atmosphere of medical environments for people of their age.
To help allay some of their anxieties about visiting doctors and hospitals, the students suggested that all intimidating medical equipment be put out of sight. The hospital and clinic rooms should be painted "happier colors" and the walls should be "decorated prettier." Being surrounded instead by "sad drab" colors and wall boards that brimmed with pictures and information about being sick -- well, it was downright disconcerting.
As a welcoming gesture, the clinical environment and waiting rooms also needed to better accommodate the aesthetic sensibilities of older children. They should provide "toys and stickers" that were more age appropriate for them. They also needed to get rid of those "baby bandages -- you know, like with Looney Tune characters on them" and instead opt for wound-dressing artwork appealing to more mature tastes. There was general agreement that lollipops and "small glasses of lemonade" ought to be readily available in all waiting rooms.
Despite these collective apprehensions and critiques, most students reported having positive experiences with doctors. Many were appreciative of doctors who had been "nice" to them and their families. Several commented upon the importance of knowing that their doctors genuinely cared about them. One girl recounted feeling "so happy when I was sick and the doctor told me that I was going to be OK."
Another was relieved of worry because she knew her doctor was working hard to prevent her from getting sick again in the future.
But one student hoped that some doctors would read this column so she could ask them to "work faster when people were hurting." She once had to wait "over an hour" in an emergency room with her sibling who "was in a lot of pain," and it was difficult to watch him suffer, difficult for her and her family to feel so helpless.
Another student wanted doctors to know that "they should explain things better" to kids, especially before "they just go ahead and do some test on you." She said, "Once I was told to just get inside some big machine for an X-ray, and I didn't know what it was, but it was scary to me."
Other moving advice to us doctors included wishes that we "try harder to cure all patients" and "get rid of cancer." That "medical care should be free for everyone," and doctors should always offer help "even when people don't have money to pay them."
In more pointed recommendations to physicians, one student exclaimed, "Doctors should tell you to be careful after you get stitches put in." Another (probably based on my appearance) added, "And they should get more sleep." One girl wistfully declared, "It would be nice if they could help with pets."
On a concluding personal note, I want to thank Ms. Alderman's students for sharing with me and other doctors their insightful opinions and suggestions about health care. I am also grateful for their help in writing this particular column. And to each student, I wish you a lasting and loving relationship with words -- ongoing adventures through reading and writing that continually transport you, amazed and eager, into ever-expanding galaxies.
Ms. Lainey Alderman and some members of her fourth grade class at John Swett Elementary School in Martinez.
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Kate Scannell is a Bay Area physician, syndicated columnist, and the author of "Flood Stage."
Copyright 2011, Kate Scannell