There are moments in motherhood when everything you thought you knew about systems, rules, and processes collapses. Suddenly, frameworks and theories that once felt important become invisible, and what matters most is clarity, trust, and simply being seen.
Recently, our four-year-old daughter had an emergency that no parent ever wants to face. It began innocuously: a little sneezing, a runny nose, and the usual nightly coughs she sometimes gets. But by midnight, she was complaining of tummy pain. Shortly after passing stool at 4.00 a.m., she went back to bed. When we performed our regular home monitoring, alarming oxygen readings appeared. Thankfully, my husband and I were awake, and we rushed her to the nearest hospital for emergency care.
The First System: Compliance Without Context
At 4.30 a.m., on arrival, our daughter was active, responsive, and not in visible distress, yet objective findings soon told a different story. She developed a fever, required oxygen support, and chest imaging suggested a lung infection.
From a compliance standpoint, many things were done correctly: She was assessed promptly, nebulisation was initiated, investigations were ordered, oxygen therapy was provided, and antibiotics were started – On paper, the system worked. And I supposed all the right checkboxes were ticked.
Yet, as the hours passed, what became increasingly difficult was not the medical treatment itself, but the absence of a clear narrative. There was no consolidated explanation of what we were dealing with, what the working diagnosis was, or how decisions would evolve over time. When we asked about the treatment plan, we were told that clarity depended on historical medical records that had yet to be gathered. When we asked when she could go home, the answers ranged from indeterminate to open-ended.
We found ourselves in a strange and exhausting position. We were expected to supply comprehensive medical history while being excluded from meaningful clinical reasoning. At times, we felt interrogated rather than consulted. As we sat in the ward, watching monitors beep, I realised something that had been true in my professional life but felt different now:
“Compliance without communication is hollow. It can protect institutions, but it does little to protect the people inside them.”
Stakeholder Management in Real Time
In organisational terms, a hospital environment is a complex stakeholder ecosystem. Doctors, nurses, specialists, administrators, insurers, and families all operate under different constraints, incentives, and pressures. And parents, we discovered, are stakeholders too — high-stakes, emotionally invested stakeholders.
At one point, we informed the team of our intention to transfer her to another hospital, where her primary pediatrician and past records were accessible. Immediately, caution was heightened. Concerns about her stability were raised, insurance processes were discussed, and the discharge process slowed. During that moments, we were told:
“If you’re more comfortable there, you are free to go…”
“You cannot expect same level of explanation coming from two different hospitals – because our workloads are different”.
I remember sitting there, processing those sentences, quietly, in my head. Our concern was never about comfort. It was about clarity, continuity, and confidence in decision-making. The invocation of workload — while real — shifted the conversation from care to defensiveness. It was a reminder that:
“Compliance alone, even if done well, does not build trust. Communication does. Empathy does.”
This pull-and-tug game left us confused about the hospital’s primary concern — was it patient care, or something else?
Making a High-Stakes Decision
Transferring our daughter was not a light decision. She was still on oxygen support, and any movement carried risk. Yet staying without clarity carried its own danger — prolonged uncertainty and anxiety that could affect her care and our ability to advocate effectively.
We coordinated with the receiving hospital, the insurance provider, and ambulance services. Everything aligned, technically. What remained uncertain was whether the originating hospital would release her. We were tired, anxious, and carrying an invisible weight — the responsibility of making high-stakes decisions with only partial information.
We prayed hard to God for ease, for the best care for our daughter, and for clarity so we could be better parents to her.
Eventually, our daughter was discharged and transferred by ambulance late at night. My husband accompanied her in the ambulance, while I followed in our car. He remembers sitting next to her, holding her hand, whispering encouragement as the vehicle navigated quiet streets. The night was cold, the lights blurred past, and yet there was a strange sense of relief….
The Power of Clarity and Communication
At the receiving hospital, things felt different immediately. Our daughter – is back to her original self – active, responsive, and not in visible distress, and thankfully it reflected the same in the monitors. Her oxygen stabilised between 98–100 percent. BP was slightly high, but we were told its normal considering what she has been through. The hospital ordered a repeated blood test for caution since the initial hospital didn’t share any significant report. Imaging, however, was deemed necessary because she wasn’t coughing on arrival. They did Covid and Influenza to rule out other common infections. Our daughter settled that night, sleeping peacefully in her ward upon admission, without requiring oxygen support.
The next day, in the morning, first thing first, we met the specialist overseeing her care.
From the first moments, he synthesised her history, prior admissions, and symptoms with confidence and clarity. He explained that what our daughter was experiencing was consistent with asthma: not just narrow airways, but an over-reactive defence system. In some children, the breathing tubes are more sensitive than usual. When exposed to triggers — viral infections, cold air, allergens — the body reacts too strongly. The airway walls swell, muscles tighten, and mucus increases, making breathing harder, especially during sleep. He explained triggers, night-time patterns, and the importance of both reliever and preventive medication. Most importantly, he framed uncertainty rather than dismissing it.
For the first time since admission, we were not just receiving care. We were receiving understanding.
And during this hospital stay, compliance was still present: documentation, counselling sessions, careful monitoring, and discharge planning. But compliance was paired with explanation. When our daughter experienced a brief episode of respiratory discomfort at night, discharge was delayed — not as a default, but as a conscious clinical decision, fully explained to us.
We also met asthma counsellors who walked us through triggers, inhaler technique, warning signs, and long-term expectations. Through this, I realised that:
“Compliance alone cannot replace clarity. Rules and protocols can exist, but stakeholders, need context, guidance, and partnership. Most importantly, they need humane interactions.”
Reflections Beyond Healthcare
This experience stayed with me not because of one hospital or another, but because it revealed something universal. In any system — healthcare, education, governance, or corporate environments:
“Compliance without communication breeds frustration. Stakeholders do not resist rules; they resist opacity.”
Workload is real. Constraints are real. Systems are under pressure. But when those realities are presented without empathy or context, they alienate the very people the system exists to serve – THE STAKEHOLDERS.
As leaders and professionals, we often ask stakeholders to trust the process. Trust, however, is not demanded. It is built — through transparency, shared understanding, and respect.
Our wish is simple. We wish that the first hospital had been upfront with us:
“Your child’s history is critical. Would you like to transfer to a hospital where records and her pediatrician are accessible?”
Being upfront would not have bypassed protocol. It would have been humane.
In this context, as parents, we are expected to know everything, but in that moment, all we knew was that our child was sick, her oxygen levels were unstable, and she needed help. That is when we rely on the system — and the people within it — to guide us.
Being humane does not mean bending rules or bypassing protocol. It means recognising that parents in crisis are already overwhelmed and that clarity is a form of care.
Parents do not carry clinical expertise. In moments of crisis, they carry anxiety, exhaustion, and responsibility for a child who cannot advocate for herself. Medical professionals, on the other hand, carry knowledge, pattern recognition, and decision-making authority. When those two roles are not intentionally aligned through communication, parents are left to shoulder decisions they are not equipped to make alone.
Being humane, in this context, does not mean abandoning protocol or bypassing governance. It means recognising that clarity is part of care. This is where stakeholder management becomes real.
In theory, stakeholders are parties with interest, influence, or impact. In my story, parents are the most emotionally invested stakeholders in any paediatric system — yet often the least empowered.
“Managing stakeholders well does not mean appeasing them. It means engaging them appropriately, with respect for their capacity and their limits.”
What stayed with me from this experience was not a single decision or outcome, but the reminder that expertise without empathy can feel isolating, and empathy without structure can feel unsafe. When both coexist, systems function not just efficiently, but humanely. When one is prioritised at the expense of the other, the cost is not always clinical — sometimes it is relational, psychological, and long-lasting.
Lessons in Motherhood
Being a first-time mother, I have come to realise that motherhood is not just about feeding, teaching, or soothing. Sometimes, it is about navigating complexity, advocating fiercely, and learning lessons from the most unexpected places.
Through this experience, I learned, as a mother, that your voice matters. In situations that feel overwhelming or high-stakes—especially when your child’s safety and health are involved—it is essential to speak up, ask questions, seek clarity, and advocate for alternatives if something doesn’t feel right, while making sure you have the right resources and support to care for your child effectively.
As a professional, I learned that clarity should take precedence over compliance, communication over procedure, and partnership over hierarchy. Ultimately, a system built for humans must be treated with humane rituals and feels; it is through empathy, understanding, and intentional care that systems truly serve those they are designed for.
Today, our daughter is stable, cheerful, and adjusting to her new asthma management plan. She plays, sleeps, and laughs as she always does, blissfully unaware of the anxiety-filled nights we endured. And I carry with me a quiet gratitude for the healthcare workers who met us with clarity, empathy, and responsibility across two very different systems.
Alhamdulillah.
“Compliance without compassion is incomplete governance. Good systems anticipate human limitations. Great systems actively support stakeholders through them.”
That, perhaps, is the highest standard of a system I aspire to build one day.
