In the mid-1980s, when I was 32 years old, I experienced a slight hearing loss on my left side. I thought it was a minor thing and went to see an ear-nose-and-throat doctor about it. His diagnosis stunned me. After running a few diagnostic tests, he said I had an Acoustic Neuroma, a tumor that had originated from one of the 12 cranial nerves adjacent to my brain. While benign, it could create serious problems for my brain structures if it grew too large, and I would have to have it surgically removed as soon as possible. Although I am a Registered Nurse, I had never heard of an Acoustic Neuroma (AN) – and neither had any of my health care colleagues. As I no idea what it might mean for me, I was upset and scared, to say the least.
I decided to get the opinions of several neurosurgeons and eventually chose a doctor at a large, prestigious teaching hospital. He had the best reputation and had operated on a number of these cases, which aren’t all that common, even today.
The day before my surgery I found myself in the X-Ray Department waiting room, alone with stacks of well-worn, dog-eared magazines (back then, patients were usually admitted to the hospital the day before scheduled surgery). As I sat there, fidgeting and anxious, my worst fears about my impending surgery started to hit me. At some point I got up from my seat and walked over to the main desk, where the patient charts were neatly lined up. On impulse, I took mine. No one stopped me.
I knew that patients have the right to see their medical records at any time, except for special cases, say, in the case of a patient who may be mentally ill. Most people – including me, until then – never exercise that right.