As a pediatrician, I spent many years in a busy, at times hectic, mostly enjoyable practice before retiring and segueing into teaching. Now as an adjunct professor in pediatrics, I aspire to help future health care workers pursue a career in pediatrics.

I have often asked myself: Have I missed anything about the day-to-day of practicing pediatrics?

My answer was what I truly missed were the interactions I had with the children: The ability to care for them, and not just in the diagnosis and treatment way, to truly care for them. I only recently realized this was a skill, maybe I had, for lack of a better term. It was only going forward that made me look back.

Let me explain.

The art of caring

There was an art to taking care of children. An ability that I only realized I had when I began trying to reach my elderly mother with dementia.

The words I used to allay her fears were strangely familiar. I heard this kind voice, felt this patient demeanor and gentle redirection, all done with a reassuring smile, and it was coming from me. Something clicked.

I often used light humor with my pediatric patients to help in many a stressful moment. Perhaps before they were about to get an injection, I found myself saying, “It hurts me more to do this than it will hurt you.” And here I was when my mom said, “Maybe I just shouldn’t be around anymore; maybe it’s time for me to die,” responding with that soft humor: “Maybe have lunch first.”

In both situations, the tenseness in the air subsided. The children would respond, “I’m not so sure about that,” and my mom would say, “OK, I’ll have lunch first.” Both responded with a smirk, but the moment was much eased.

Perspectives and reassurance

I realized I had the ability to help put things in perspective for a teenager when they felt their world might be falling apart, as many this age might do. The pressure of school seemed to get to them. They would have true angst about an upcoming test and the fear of not doing well. I remember saying, “What’s the worst that can happen? You fail; we all fail.”

I would tell them about a test I had failed and I still became a doctor. The panicked teenager smiled and took a calm, deep breath.

It was the same with my mom when she realized she wasn’t remembering things. How old am I? Where did I live before this new place? She had the same fear. I would let her know it was alright that we all forget things and our memories fail us. She would smile and the worry would be lifted.

Reading the signs

A child cannot speak when they are young. They can only give clues that you have to interpret. Are they tired, hungry, or sick? Years of pure observation made their needs clearer to me.

I believe as the dementia progresses my mother’s ability to use words may fade, but I will use what my lifetime of caring for children taught me. Read the signs as I did for many years with my patients.

All of these pearls of practicing pediatrics have helped with my mom. I realize these skills transcended. They came with me. They were in my being. Maybe this is the intangible of being a pediatrician. They are untaught gems to care for children, and it is the same now to comfort my mother.

What I believed was my journey in my practice actually prepared me for this uncharted journey with my mom. But maybe I had the map after all. And as I held my mother’s hand, I realized it had all come full circle.

Loretta Cody is a pediatrician.