Growing Pains

As I look back at 2023 with all of its ups and downs, I realize that I did not, as my daughter would say, ‘slay’ as a dad last year. (The word Slay in teenager speak means to do something spectacularly well.)

Back in May before school let out, Charlie wiped out on his bike. He had the usual road rash on his knees and elbows and what looked like a stab wound on his stomach. When he hobbled into the house, Jen did the mom thing of cleaning and bandaging his wounds telling him to take it easy. Thankfully, nothing was serious enough to keep him off his bike, or so we thought. I even saw him later that day taking off down the road.

Before seeing him back on his bike I thought he might be afraid to ride again, so I was relieved that I would not have to have the old getting back on your bike speech with him. Now fast forward all throughout the summer he would complain to me about how his knee or leg felt like it was locking up. I would check it feeling all around and ask where it hurt. His answer was always, “No. It only hurts when I can’t straighten it. After it pops it’s fine.” Not thinking it was anything to be concerned about I told him it was just growing pains and that he’d be fine. After all, that’s what my mom told me every time I had a phantom pain.

This happened periodically throughout the summer and as school approached, I noticed he was limping on occasion. I would ask him if he had a little hitch in his giddy up? He would say, “I told you my knee was locking.” I thought some of his locking leg syndrome was psychological because it seemed to me it was happening around chore time. He basically stopped telling me because by the time I went to check it was fine and he was in no pain, thus I would diagnose it as growing pains.

Then on Halloween he was in school and when the bell rang, he went to get out of his seat and his knee locked up tight. This time however, it didn’t pop and his pain was through the roof as he fell back in his seat, unable to straighten his leg at all. My wife Jen works at the school, so the nurse texted her to come to Charlie’s English class ASAP. She ran upstairs to see Charlie scared and in pain.

I was called to take him to Fairview Hospital because I am the pre-diagnosis emergency room parent. This is the parent that sits in the ER for the several hours between check in until test results are in, at that point I am instructed to contact the post diagnosis parent Jen. She handles the conversation with the doctor and the discharge, as if the doctor speaks a foreign language that I am unable to understand. I have been the pre-diagnosis parent for 18 years and I am beginning to think that Jen does not like sitting in the hospital but doesn’t trust me enough to relay information in its entirety.

After waiting for a couple of hours, the x-ray results came in. The diagnosis was a possible fracture near the growth plate at his knee. I said, “Fracture? As in broken bone?” The doctor said, “Yes. You’re going to need to see a pediatric orthopedic surgeon to get this fixed.” Surgeon?! Wait a minute, can’t we just cast it up? Surgery seems a little much!

Within 2 days, we were in Dr. Young’s office. After a physical exam and looking at the x-ray results, he looked at Charlie and said, “You have a pedunculated osteochondroma that has broken away from the stalk.” In unison, Jen and Charlie asked, “What’s that?” My initials being DR, I of course explained, breaking the word down using the ancient Greek origins: "osteo" means bone, "chondro" means cartilage, and "oma" means tumor. (Tell me I can’t be the post diagnosis parent now! HAHA! Ok, back to reality-) I looked at the doctor and asked him to explain it using less technical terms. He said, “It’s most likely a noncancerous abnormal growth that formed on the surface of his leg bone near the growth plate.” So, technically I was correct about it being a ‘growing pain’.

After talking to Dr. Young, we figured that the pedunculated osteochondroma most likely fractured when he wiped out in May and was flapping around occasionally catching a ligament. Then on Halloween it got stuck, making it impossible for him to straighten his leg without extreme pain. He would need to operate and remove it and file down the bone.

Charlie had to have an MRI rather quickly, because he had an opening in his surgery schedule on the following Wednesday. I walked Charlie to the car and Jen went to schedule the MRI. As we were waiting in the parking lot, she called my cell. She said we have two choices; wait 5 days for the insurance to approve the MRI or sign a financial responsibility form that we would pay it and have it done the following day. Now, as you can imagine after hearing that he would have to have surgery, Charlie was acting brave, but I know he was very concerned and nervous. Making him wait an extra week or two would not have been cool.

I explained to Charlie what an MRI was and what to expect. I told him that the magnets in the machine as they go off and on make a very loud hammering sound so be prepared. I said that I had had two, and I fell asleep both times (being able to sleep most anywhere is just one of my superpowers).

As we checked in, the nurse let us know that one of us could accompany Charlie into the room. I was informed that I would be the one, not because of my experience with the MRI, but as it turns out the MRI falls under the job description of the ER parent, because no diagnosis will be made by the technician.

Charlie and I were escorted to the changing room to put on scrubs and then into the room. As we walked into the room the technician handed us ear plugs and then asked him what type of music he wanted, that’s right he was allowed to wear earphones and listen to music. The nurse offered me a chair and I thought, “Oh no!” Remember my superpower? The truth is, I don’t have full control over it. Sometimes, ok, most times, I fall asleep if I stop moving. I decided I had better stand, at least until he is comfortable. And I did, for the first 10 minutes. After realizing he was as comfortable as you can be in the MRI machine, I sat down in my chair, and with the rhythmic sound of the machine my superpower kicked in and my eyes began to feel heavy, my breathing slowed and I kind of dozed off. So, I jumped up to my feet and stretched a little. As I did the machine began to slow to a stop. I looked at Charlie and I could see the relief and the stress fell from his face. Always the confident dad I said, “See, that wasn’t so bad.” Just as I was beginning to pull the earplugs out of my ear the door opened, in walked a very perturbed technician. I said, “That was a lot faster than the last time I had one.” She shot me a look and said, “It’s not over. You hit the emergency stop.” I guess I was a little too close to the machine during my stretch and my elbow brushed up against the emergency shut off. Turns out its very sensitive. Embarrassed, I tried to make light of the situation and said, “Well, at least we know it’s working.” My attempt fell short. On that day we found out that when the emergency button is pushed on an MRI machine, the test starts over.

I am very happy to say that Charlie had the surgery on the following Wednesday and was fully recovered in a short time. We were quite pleased with Dr. Young. This is actually the second time we were in to see him; he took care of Claire’s knee after a volleyball incident. I enjoy his bedside manner and his dedication to his patients. He spoke directly to Charlie, during the initial exam in his office, at the hospital before surgery, and follow-up appointments, and took the time that was needed to explain everything and put him at ease. Before surgery, the entire team came into the room and introduced themselves, making sure Charlie was as comfortable as possible.

As I watched them wheel him out of the room, we locked eyes, and I did my best to put on the brave confident dad face. I was not worried about the ability of Dr. Young or his team, I was concerned about Charlie and how he was handling being without Jen or myself. I was kidding around with him the night before after prayers about how I could get a knife from the kitchen and take care of it myself (after all my initials are DR).

My concern fell away because to my surprise we received text messages from the operating room; “Charlie did awesome going to sleep. He is so brave! His procedure is started now, and he is doing great!” Wow, what a relief! Then 25 minutes later, another text, “We are in our closing procedure now, Charlie is doing great!” Then the final one, “Charlie is headed into recovery please come to room M20-01”

We were in the recovery room for a while, and as he opened his eyes he sat up and asked for Chick-Fil-A. No kidding. It was the perfect ending. I wish I had recorded it, it would have made a great commercial for the franchise.

During Christmas break I thought more about those text messages and realized that those messages weren't just updates, they were reassurances during a challenging time. They demonstrated the power of effective client communication.

My experience at the Cleveland Clinic reminded me that effective client communication is not just about sharing information. It's about providing comfort, reassurance, and empathy. I have strived to be that reassurance to my clients.

Now picture this: I had a conversation with a fellow real estate agent that runs a big team from one of those big box brokerages in town. Imagine my surprise when he told me he let go of his call coordinator. When I asked who now handles his client communications, he nonchalantly said, "Chatbots." Yes, you heard me right, those computer programs that mimic human conversation.

It's almost comical that while the Cleveland Clinic, of the largest hospitals in the country, is ramping up its customer focus, he's heading in the opposite direction, leaving client communication with computers.

I understand that the roles of a real estate broker and a surgeon are significantly different, and you can’t compare selling a home to saving a life. However, it's important to acknowledge that for many clients, the sale of their home represents a major financial transaction, filled with strong emotions. The equity from this sale could be their only source of funds for retirement, or an inheritance for their children or grandchildren.

In my view, maintaining a personal and human touch in client communication is key. I firmly believe that relying solely on computer programs, such as chatbots, for client interactions is a step in the wrong direction. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it's disturbing that technology is replacing the human element in such a significant aspect of our lives. It's as if the world is going crazy.

If you would like an updated value on your home for taxes just send me an email.

Thank you for trusting me with your real estate needs. I hope you have a happy and healthy 2024.

Sincerely, Dennis Rath