Telegraphing
What are we saying to our children without any words at all?
One of the physicians who trained me was a baby whisperer. Dr. Gerardo Cabrera-Meza is a neonatologist, taking care of the tiniest and youngest newborn patients. One of the funniest things I remember about him was that if a baby was lying on his back with his hands above his head, he would point his finger at the baby, and say, “Your money or your life?” like it was a miniature robbery.
One day on rounds, Dr. Cabrera-Meza passed one of our patients, lying on a warmer, hooked up to monitors. I remember that she was a preterm neonate of about 30 weeks gestation. She was with us until she could learn to coordinate feeding with breathing, and suck from a nipple, and grow while doing so.
I was a resident at the time, and it was my job to present this patient on morning rounds. How much she had been fed in the past 24 hours, how much she had urinated. The range of her blood pressures.
“This young lady is trying to tell us she has a urinary tract infection,” said Dr. Cabrera-Meza, after he listened to my summary. He walked on to the next baby’s bedside in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU).
I stayed behind to order the bloodwork, a catheterized urine culture and antibiotic orders. How would he know she has a UTI, I wondered. Her vital signs were stable. She was tolerating her feeds. She was, in NICU terms, behaving.
The next morning, I saw that my patient’s urine culture was, indeed, positive. She was growing gram negative bacilli, or bacteria, in her urine. Untreated, this infection in a neonate can lead to sepsis and even death.
This wise teacher, a physician for many years and trained before many of the technologies of modern medicine were around, was able to diagnose a premature baby by sensing what she was trying to tell him.
It’s like she was telegraphing to him that she was sick.
Recently I was talking with a friend. “I need to do better,” she said about her relationship with her teenage daughter. “I am trying to pay attention to the messages I’m giving Lucy, said or unsaid. I’m worried I’ve been telegraphing that she is not good enough.”
Since she said that to me, I’ve been pondering: what am I telegraphing to my kids?
From the time our babies come into our lives, they are communicating with us. Most are not able to say words until after 12 months, but when I enter the exam room at my pediatric office, an older infant will look to his parent’s face to see if I am someone he should trust or fear.
A parent can communicate with a child by her posture, her facial expressions, her energy. We communicate with our children, and they with us, with both helpful and hurtful words. But what are we communicating to them when we are not using words?
Standing at the fence watching the baseball game, arms crossed, disapproving look on my face as my son strikes out. Am I telegraphing that his effort is not good enough? That he is not good enough?
Responding that a “C” will bring down her GPA when my daughter comes to me with a 79 on a test for which she studied and prepared. Am I telegraphing that my child’s worth is, at least in part, determined by her grades? Instead of who she is as a person?
Rushing in to solve his problems telegraphs that I don’t think my child can solve his own. Rushing to intervene with a teacher or coach, especially with an older teenager, telegraphs that I don’t think my child is smart enough or has the communication skills to navigate her own educational process.
“Don’t be a baby — you’re crying like a girl. Suck it up and get your shots!” This telegraphs that fear and nervousness are not emotions that are safe or allowed. That males aren’t allowed to show fear. That I, as an adult, do not accept fear or anxiety, and that it needs to be stored away instead of expressed.
My response to their mistakes or missteps – or when they do or say something with which I don’t agree – will telegraph whether I am able to handle my children telling me the truth about their life. I cannot help my child regulate her emotions unless I am able to regulate my own.
Being distracted by my phone when my child tells me something telegraphs I’m only half interested in what he has to say. Forcing my child to hug a relative when she doesn’t want to telegraphs her boundaries don’t matter. Explaining away that my child is shy, or boisterous, or anxious telegraphs that his personality is flawed.
And most importantly, the way I treat the crossing guard, or panhandler, or waiter can telegraph that I think I am a more valuable human being than someone else.
Think about what you might be telegraphing to your children. It takes conscious work every day, but there are only four things I want to telegraph to my kids.
I am proud of you. I trust you. I love you. I am here.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.