"Rub a nickel on it:" Can a mother be sued for medical malpractice?

 I glanced with irritation at the picture my daughter had sent of her eye. "It's just a sty, Savannah," I said in exasperation, "Just rub a nickel on it and get on with your life." She dutifully applied heat compresses and tea bags to the area while I did my part by checking in with her daily and mocking her ailment. But a week later, it wasn't so funny anymore. The "sty" was now accompanied by pain and blurred vision. A trip to the doctor...almost unheard of in the Land of Mosiman...was in order and suddenly a surgery was scheduled with medical personnel using the word "mass." Not mass as in an assembly of people or things. Not mass as is a body of matter. Not mass as a religious service.

And naturally, whenever faced with any type of crisis...large or small...I immediately became hysterical. "You're off from school still," my husband said reasonably, "We can book you a flight." "I'm fine," I stoically sniffled, curled into the fetal position in my chair. He had my reservations arranged within fifteen minutes.

Savannah was, of course, delighted. "I am going to stop telling you things," she threatened. "I don't need you here," she complained. "I know YOU don't need me there," I answered, "I need me to be there." Brad couldn't wait for me to leave. Sleepless nights. Crying through my assigned church reading...Luke 12:25~"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?" I choked out, glaring at my pastor. The usual Dropping Amy Off at the Airport Event evolved from the typical stream of tears to rivers. "She'll be fine," Brad reassured me. "I know," I said, shakily.  But I didn't know.

Turns out, not surprisingly, I didn't know a lot. For instance, I didn't know, as I cried my way through four airports,  that Savannah, who had scheduled a second-opinion appointment, was being seen, diagnosed, and IMMEDIATELY treated before I even stepped foot on California soil.  While I was busy dealing with a second grade seat kicker between Detroit and Los Angeles, while I was begging my seatmate to eat a Rolo rather than taint her taste buds with a bag of baked carrot sticks, while I was busy explaining to the ticket agent that, numerically-speaking, Gate 21 should lie BETWEEN Gates 20 and 22 instead of in some weird airport round-about AFTER Gate 24, while I was busy asking a woman about the practicality of her furry flip-flops as we waited in line for the restrooms, while I wandered into the "Dining Terrace" of LAX and wondered if I'd accidentally stumbled into a sci-fi horror movie where all the food has been replaced with nutrient drops, while I was busy offering to write up a brief dissertation synopsis of the second season of "Big Little Lies" for a fellow passenger...while ALL THAT was happening~~Savannah was busy having surgery.

"It's over?" I asked, stunned as I attempted to navigate my way among LAX's frickin' THREE multi-level terminals. "They removed the mass," my husband told me as I leaned forward on the shuttle bus to see why we'd stopped. "We typically yield for planes," the driver told me. "The results of the test will be back in two weeks." "Savannah's dog Jack-Jack's kidney test results only take TWO days," I told my husband while the bus paused again, this time for a luggage train. I raised an eyebrow at the driver who shrugged. I only had a plane to catch and a child to comfort.  "Are you saying you want to send Savannah's specimen to a veterinarian?" Brad wondered. I huffed as we paused yet again for some sort of golf cart.

The ride from Los Angeles to San Diego was agonizing...I was a bundle of nerves. Relieved, of course but anxious. Savannah's second-opinion place was a specialized eye institute  and belatedly, I feared that I may have, unintentionally, come across on the phone to them as a bit off-putting, implying that I don't trust California medical care; that I would prefer my East Coast daughter NOT be treated by a bunch of holistic hippies burning incense and applying CBD oil. "As opposed to YOUR telling me to rub a nickel on it," Savannah said. Fortunately, it appears that the sins (in this case: obnoxiousness) of the mother were not taken out upon the daughter.

I finally made it to Savannah who was resting comfortably. I demonstrated my love and concern in my usual fashion...by yelling at her, lecturing her, and making fun of her. When I noticed that my abundance of love was tiring out my eldest, I turned on Sydney. Being a mother is exhausting.

There are times now...with two adult daughters living so far away...that I occasionally find myself inhabiting a rare role of individuality. For almost two decades, my entire identity was Savannah and Sydney's mother. A role I cherish. But Amy has been appearing more and more often...sometimes fearful and hesitant...but she's there. But with one phone call, Savannah's mom appeared...with pounding heart, burning lungs, all claws and teeth and tears. I could not BREATHE until I could see her, hear her, touch her...my daughter. My life.

I am thankful to my husband who will move heaven and hell to ease my pain and calm my fears. I am thankful for daughters who allow us to still dwell in both the shadows and sunshine of their daily lives. I am thankful for decisive, expert medical care, the prayers of my friends, and most of all, the resounding and comforting presence of my Lord and Savior...thank You for all of my good gifts.

8/30/2019
Test results are back and the Mosimans are breathing a BIG sigh of relief! All clear.