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Mothers In Medicine details
Listing ID: 1453
Title: Mothers In Medicine
Description: A group blog by physician-mothers, writing about the unique challenges and joys of tending to two distinct patient populations, both of whom can be quite demanding.
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listed on: July 24, 2008 09:10:48 PM
Number Hits: 3 times
Recent Posts:
| Adventures in dentistry - Tue, 27 Jul 2010 13:22:00 +0000 |
| Recently, we took Melly to her first dental appointment. I was told that three years old was the age they're supposed to go, so I made her an appointment. She was pretty excited because they hyped up dentist visits at her daycare. I took her to a large local pediatric dental practice. They had a child-sized dental chair and let Melly pick out what flavor toothpaste she wanted to have her cleaning with (bubblegum was one of the options, of course). They taught her about the machine that sucks water out of her mouth and the little whirly machine that cleans the teeth. When they gave her a little pair of sunglasses so the light wouldn't hurt her eyes, I almost died of cuteness. One thing I wasn't impressed with was that there was nowhere for parents to sit in the room. There were no chairs around, so I was just kind of hovering over her uncomfortably. I know you surgeons stand in place for hours, but I can't. I finally asked if I could borrow the dental chair that was empty next to me, and the hygienist told me quite snootily that I could, but I'd have to get up immediately if someone needed it. She acted like wanting to sit during this hour long visit was a totally ridiculous request. The dentist finally came in. He was very young and handsome and I liked him right away. He counted Melly's teeth as I ogled him. I thought to myself, "This is the best dentist's visit EVER!" Dr. Cutiepie straightened up and faced me. "She's got some decay on her two upper molars." "What?" I said. "We can just fill them in for her," he said. "We'll give her a little nitrous gas and she won't feel it at all." "What?" All of a sudden, I wanted to throttle Dr. Cutiepie. I despised him. How could my three year old child have cavities? Was that even possible? Dr. Cutiepie was... what? Twenty five years old? He didn't know what he was doing. They didn't even have chairs in this goddamn place. Obviously he was making this up to get money. I don't know what kind of monster would do something like that, but I haven't trusted dentists since two of them tried to high pressure me into getting my wisdom teeth out. (My family dentist assured me I didn't have to.) The dentist visit ended with the hygienist snapping a Polaroid of Melly and Dr. Cutiepie, which I promptly burned the second I got home. My parents both had friends who were dentists, so I spent the night trying to figure out what to do. They said if she had cavities, it was better to get them filled. I felt awful. Why did my preschooler have cavities? I thought about her diet and started to blame myself. Maybe I let Melly have too many treats. But we don't give her any candy or fruit juice. Maybe we hadn't enforced toothbrushing well enough (or at all). My husband and I decided to initiate a fascist toothbrushing regimen. But still, how could a three year old have cavities? I'm in my early thirties and I've NEVER had a cavity. Not even one! And believe me when I say my parents were not big enforcers of toothbrushing. I decided to get a second opinion. There was another pediatric dental practice a few blocks away that had come highly recommended. I actually meant to book an appointment with them in the first place, but I got confused on Google Maps because the other practice was only a few blocks away. Why the hell were there two large pediatric dental practices three blocks apart? Who designs this stuff?? The new dentist was older and much less cute, and I was happy. And guess what? It turned out that Melly didn't have two cavities after all. She had three. The dentist explained to me that her back four molars came in without any enamel on them. He said she might have been ill when they were growing in or maybe it was genetic. He assured me it absolutely wasn't from anything I did wrong. I later discovered from my father in law that my husband required sealant on some of his teeth when he was a kid. So her cavities needed to be filled and the back four teeth sealed. I decided to go with the second practice because the dentist was older and could make the Donald Duck voice. Also, he said that we didn't need nitrous, which I thought was bullshit and our insurance wouldn't even cover. We got the cavities filled and Melly was a rock star. Afterwards, she said, "It hurt a little, but not a lot."  |
| Putting it in perspective - Sat, 24 Jul 2010 16:33:00 +0000 |
| I had a rough week, to say the least. My tumor board presentation went fairly well, but I was called out by my attending for a mistake on my epidemiology slide. It was a minor point about the prevalence of a less common type of thyroid cancer than the type I was talking about, but it still wasn't fun being corrected at the podium. Earlier this week, I found out that a Friday night social event at a good friend's house is not open to me anymore if I have my kids with me. I understand the concept of wanting a childfree space, especially since many of the regular attendants are childless, but it still really stung, especially after the week I've had. The status conference over the custody of my younger son went better in some ways than I expected, and worse in some ways than I expected. I got to sit with my soon-to-be-exhusband in a waiting room for an eternity, and he spent the entire time doing the Dr. Jeckyll / Mr. Hyde routine that made my life miserable when I was with him. "I hope you're enjoying your rotations...Being a medical student means you're a bad mother...I hope you find happiness...Have fun at residency when you'll never get to see your children...I just want us both to be able to spend time with Z...You never loved me, and just used me as someone to watch your kids when you went to school...(Sorry, can't come up with another positive quote)...My next wife will make lunches for me to take to work; you didn't and that means you didn't love me..." and it went on, up and down (mostly down) the roller coaster while we waited for our paperwork. I left and sobbed in my car, and considered dropping out. I drove hundreds of miles this week in my car (and my piriformis and sciatic nerve are not forgiving me for that, yet). My rotation site is about 30 miles from my house on the highway, which is fine with me, and I put my older son in a camp at which I was a former counselor. It is near his dad's work and my mom's house, which is even farther from my house, and on ground roads (ugh). I also had to pick up Z from my ex's house, which is even farther away. Yesterday, after picking up Z at the ex's, then driving the opposite direction to S's camp, I turned around again and drove 70 miles from my house to go to the viewing for myclassmate who died recently. My sons came with me to the viewing. She is being buried in her white coat, and we were asked to wear ours. The kids were very understanding about going. We only stayed for a short while, and sat in the back of the room. I briefly paid my respects at the coffin and to her family up front. Z crawled into my lap when I came back to our seats, and I held him and kissed his head. As I sat there and listened to my classmate's mother wail with pain, and thought of her baby in the NICU, I thought how lucky I really am. Danielle wanted nothing more than to be a mother, to hold and nurse her baby, and to be a doctor. She never even got to meet her baby, and now her family is reeling from the sudden, heartbreakingly unfair loss. In a few years, this shitty week will be a distant memory. I can still hold my sons and kiss their soft hair. I am still (so far) going to achieve my dream of becoming a physician. I still have a strong social support system with loving friends, even though, sometimes, it can be more piecemeal than I would like. I am trying to keep it all in perspective. (Cross posted atMom's Tinfoil Hat)  |
| Confess. What's in your purse? - Thu, 22 Jul 2010 11:00:00 +0000 |
| I have a disease. LPS. Large purse syndrome. It's an affinity for massive purses that can double as laptop bags and everyday work bags. But it's also my primary purse. (Please note that this purse is very stylish but still enormous.) When I am forced to take a clutch out for a night on the town, I feel so constricted! There's barely enough room for my phone, a tube of lipstick and a credit card. The natural consequence of toting such a massive purse is that things go in and they never come out. It's also the cause of me not being able to find my keys floating around in all the debris --I once lost a pair of sunglasses in there for an entire week. It's also becoming heavier and heavier (but imperceptibly so on a day-to-day basis) from the constant accumulation. I'm waiting for my pinched nerve to develop. The natural benefit is that, if stranded in the wilderness, I could probably survive the longest among other-small-pursed women from the sheer raw materials a la MacGyver. I thought of this today as my hand blindly searched the cavernous innards of my purse, looking for my pager (yes, amazingly, I still have to carry one of those), and wondered if my purse (or contents thereof) was just an idiosyncratic collection of me or a sign of my profession (physician), my role in life (MiM) or perhaps my specialty (internal medicine). So, I took an inventory and found the following (please don't laugh or judge):
Okay. Your turn.   |