Spongiform Encephalopathy

It seems the big news this week is that Sponge Bob turns young brains to mush. I tried to ignore it when I first spotted this article. After all, there wasn't much about that statement that struck me as surprising. Sure, researchers have long been asking questions about how much television is good, bad, or has no impact at all. When Sesame Street debuted in 1969 with the goal of helping young children learn, studies were designed to look at test scores of children who would have been exposed to the programming compared with children who were not.

What do the studies tell us? Well, while there are certainly fascinating tidbits to be found here and there and that will amuse developmental specialists for decades to come, I would venture to say that the bulk of the literature echoes what common sense should have clued us into from the very start. Certain television, aimed at keeping your children entranced and slack jawed on the couch, is probably not boosting their IQs. Other shows, ones that reinforce simple concepts and encourage audience participation, are probably not so bad. You might want to turn them on, for example, when you hop into the shower or fold the laundry. No harm, no foul.

Should you park your child in front of the television all day? Should you depend on television to teach your child to count or to be kind to strangers or spell his or her name? Of course not. Do we sometimes turn on television that we know is not necessarily educational because we just need a break? Yes, and that's absolutely okay.

At the park this last weekend Emmaline saw a horse she has seen many times since we moved to our new neighborhood. Usually she yells, "Horsie!" Or she squeals what is meant to sound like a neigh. This time, however, she said "Yee haw!" because that is what Jessie from Toy Story shouts. It's a movie that she doesn't really understand and, yes, she does get slack jawed sitting in front of it.

But here's where I think it differs from Sponge Bob, if we've reached the part of this post where I defend my parenting choices. I enjoy it as much as she does. That means that as much as the movie is entertainment and not education, it is something we share, that we discuss even when the television is off. The stories we love can define us just as much as how quickly we learn to read or write. In fact, I think that one inspires the other.

In healthy moderation, as with all things. But then, I didn't need a study to tell me that. It's something my mother taught me a long time ago.

Bite Me Michelle Bachmann

It's been made clear to me during my years of training and practice that pediatricians are meant to be happy, comforting people who love to cuddle babies and who want to fix boo boos and all sorts of other adorable things. So fine, I wear socks that have sheep and teddy bears on them because, let's be honest, they are what I would choose to wear anyway. And I try to be a nice person. I try to smile at work and even just out on the street. I try to pick up trash when I find some. I open doors for people. I give up my seat on the T to older people or women who are burstingly pregnant.

I try to be a good person. I try to behave.

But then Michelle Bachmann went on national television and said that the vaccine for HPV, a vaccine that prevents cervical CANCER, causes mental retardation.

The words that I have in response to this heinously irresponsible statement are not words I'm allowed to say in front of my daughter. In fact, those words, those dirtiest of insults that I have at my disposal, are not dirty enough for the venom I feel.

To be in the public spotlight, as Bachmann and other politicians are, brings with it a certain responsibility. It is a responsibility that should be akin to the one that I accepted when I became a doctor. You should promise to be nice. You should promise to do what is best for people and not what you think will be politically advantageous. You should promise to make sure that the things you say, things people will rely on to make important life decisions, are actually true.

Bachmann has failed in this before and she failed again and again this week as she continued to spout completely false allegations. So just to be clear. Women DIE from cervical cancer. There is now a vaccine to PREVENT more women from DYING. And to say that the vaccine is dangerous before a national audience because "a woman...said her daughter...suffered mental retardatio as a result" (of the vaccine) without ever looking into the credibility of such a claim is atrocious.

What sort of executive leader would this woman be if someone told her that Canada was evil and was planning to invade Buffalo and so she ordered a military offensive based only on hearsay? Have I gone to far? No, I don't think so. But she has.

What can I do about it? Not much. But I did just write a check to Planned Parenthood. I guess that's a start.

The Pregnant Pause

I was barely pregnant with Emmaline when a colleague asked me to evaluate a patient he believed needed to be transferred to the ICU where I was working. Chatting with the family about how moving their child to another floor would allow her to have a nurse and team of doctors watch her more closely, I did not think to move out of the room when the portable x-ray machine rolled in. The friend who had called me in motioned me violently into the hall.

"Don't you want to step out?" he asked. Then, after a pause, "Congratulations."

News, it seems, spreads quickly in a hospital where pregnancies (even in those first delicate weeks when miscarriage is entirely possible) must be protected against radiation, certain chemotherapeutic or radiation therapies, and the variety of other hazards our young patients carry. Also, and this quickly became apparent to everyone I worked with, it was impossible not to throw up after being awake for more than twenty-four hours straight.

Being a resident and being pregnant are both enormously draining and doing both at the same time was exhausting. Generally, however, I found comfort in the fact that nearly every other married female in my program became pregnant within months of each other and approximately 9 months before we were scheduled to finish our training. So as awful as it seemed during certain overnight shifts, we were in it together and the end was in sight.

This time, planning a pregnancy was somewhat less complicated. Yes, Emmaline would have a serious transition to endure from she-who-is-adored-by-all-and-receives-undivided-attention into Big Sister and one-who-must-learn-to-share. Yes, my husband has just (at the request of his employers, who are footing the bill) just started attending law school in addition to real work. Yes, I still work with snotty nosed children who carry horrible viruses like CMV and (soon at least) influenza and pose a real risk to the future child it is my job to protect.

Yes, I am still a little bit crazy and, yes, I use a lot of hand sanitizer.

But I was also feeling a lot more level headed about the whole enterprise. Did we get pregnant the first month we tried? No. Did I freak out? Okay, maybe a little. But I got over it. And then we did get pregnant and I thought to myself, I can handle this maturely, coyly even. I can play it cool and not make a big deal out of it until people start to ask me why I'm so fat.

That was the plan.

Then I had to do a sedation for a nine-year-old with a broken arm that needed reduction and it was just me and the orthopedist and the nurse and the kid in a room with the fluoroscopy machine and no lead drapes in sight.

"I guess you should leave if you are prengnat," the orthopod joked to us before shooting the film.

The kid did not move, since he was sedated. The nurse chuckled wistfully. I froze for one single moment and then I ran.

In the end it worked out for the best since I am not actually coy or cool or even mature. And having an ER full of nurses know there is a potential baby in your belly and an ultrasound idling in the hall means a whole lot of extra chances to take a look and say hello.