Respect, Routine, and the Grey Space of Medical Touch

We recently took our three-year-old daughter for her routine checkup—just the usual height, weight, ears, lungs, and heart. The doctor, someone we deeply respect and genuinely admire, someone our daughter has previously liked and been excited to see, tried to begin the examination. But this time, she said no. She pulled away, crossed her arms, shook her head, and clearly, firmly said, “No thank you.”

And that’s where we paused.

We’ve always taught her: your body, your choice. If someone asks to hug you and you say no, that’s that. If you say yes, wonderful. If you say no, even to a grandparent or a close friend, we back you up. And we’ve celebrated that. We’ve said we’re raising someone who understands her body is her own.

But when it came to this medical situation—this necessary, important-but-not-urgent checkup—her refusal hit a strange space. Because the truth is, it would have been helpful for the doctor to check her. But we tried persuasion, not force. We tried gentle encouragement, not pressure. It didn’t work. And that’s okay. She left with her bodily autonomy fully intact.

Should we have insisted? Should we have made her?

Navigating the Line Between Safety and Consent

What happens when a child refuses care that feels, from the adult perspective, essential? Not brushing teeth for a night is one thing—but what about a suspected infection? A concerning lump? A potential emergency?

There’s a harrowing number of stories online of parents forcing their children through medical procedures. Stories of little bodies pinned down under adult knees, mouths pried open while they scream. Teeth brushed by force. Vaccines given while children flail. Some people write about it as if it’s just part of parenting—as though distress is a necessary trade-off for health.

To me, that’s a form of trauma. And it plants the seeds of mistrust early. We teach them to say no, and then—when it’s inconvenient—we ignore them?

Is that really the lesson we want to reinforce?

The Long Game: Teaching Autonomy To Children Builds Trust

Children may not always know what’s best in the moment. But autonomy doesn’t mean letting them run wild; it means giving them choices that are safe and age-appropriate. It means showing them that we respect their voices—even when it’s hard.

Because here’s the long-term payoff: a child who knows they have a say in what happens to their body is far more likely to tell someone when something feels wrong. They’re more likely to come to you with problems. They’re more likely to trust the adults who don’t force themselves on them.

“Because I Said So” Shouldn’t Be the Standard

When something is urgent—when we must intervene to protect them—we can still do so with care and clear communication. We can explain, gently, what is happening and why. We can hold their hands instead of their limbs. We can narrate the process, seek their agreement, and offer them some control.

“Would you like to sit on Mama’s lap or by yourself?”
“Should I count to five before the doctor starts?”

Giving small, manageable choices allows children to participate rather than just endure. When done thoughtfully, we can uphold their dignity—even when we do have to act in ways they didn’t choose.

My Own Experience With Medical Consent

Even as an adult, I’ve seen what good consent culture in medicine can look like.

Before my vasectomy and my colonoscopy consultations, both clinics asked if I wanted a chaperone. I declined—comfortably, confidently—but appreciated the offer. Not just for the safety or professionalism it suggested, but because it reminded me that even in these clinical spaces, consent matters. It matters always.

This shift in awareness is growing, especially with newer generations of healthcare providers. Chaperones are becoming more normalized. Communication is improving. Patients are being asked if and how they want to proceed.

And that’s good—for all of us.

So Where Does That Leave Us as Parents?

We’re caught in a space where two truths co-exist:

• We want our children to be healthy, cared for, and protected.
• We want them to know that no one gets to touch them without their permission.

These truths don’t cancel each other out—but they do require care and balance.

So I pose these questions to you, dear reader:

Deeper Reflection

• Have you ever overridden a child’s “no” for what felt like a good reason? How did you feel afterward?
• How do you model bodily autonomy in your home?
• When was the last time you let a child say “no” to a hug or a kiss—and backed them up?
• How do you prepare your child for medical appointments or uncomfortable procedures?
• What messages do your actions send about trust, choice, and respect?
• If a child says no, do you see it as something to change—or something to understand?
• In an emergency, how can you preserve a sense of safety and dignity for a child who’s scared?
• And for yourself—how would you feel if someone ignored your “no” in the name of care?

There’s no perfect answer here. There’s just a series of imperfect moments where we try to honor the people our children are becoming, while still protecting the people they are now.

All we can do is show up with curiosity, with compassion, and with a deep commitment to being the adults they can trust.