Except, their definition of baby brain was apparently different than mine. Someone out there apparently believed that the act of getting pregnant or having a baby actually made women stupider, rather than just forgetful.
This was worth a study?
My childrens' school is collecting money for Haiti - milk dimes, errant quarters, toonies and loonies and paper money shaken from piggy banks and caged in return for chores. It's a lovely thing that our kids are so concerned for other children so far away.
It's hard to know what is just-enough-and-not-too-much to tell my young'uns so that they'll grasp the situation and yet not be horrified into bad dreams. We've talked about how the people that were struck hardest by this disaster were the ones who really didn't have anything to begin with, how we, who have so much, can help these people that we'll never meet by sending a little money so they'll have things like fresh water. Or something to eat. Or maybe a pillow and a blanket.
My daughter's class is young and confused by how someone's house could just disappear. They've been drawing pictures to send to children in Haiti, full of rainbows and smiling faces and birds holding hands. So, she explained, they'll have something beautiful until this is all fixed. Until this all goes away.
As parents, we want the best for our kids so we shower them with toys and trips and dinners out. As a child I had ample in the way of material things but that is not what I remember when I think back. What I do remember is that I always knew how very much I was loved and accepted by my immediate family. That love was wrapped around me permanently, always there, always keeping my heart safe.
The world is full of 11 year old girls who decide one day that they will stop speaking to you just because. But in the grand scheme of things, their pointless betrayal didn't matter because wrapped around me like a cloak, forever reminding me that I was loved, was that security provided to me by my family. And when I exited the bus after being ignored for the duration of the school day and bus ride home (what kind of karma is that they were also on the same bus route as me?) by those who I thought were my friends, there was my mom, waiting to envelope me in that love and security.
Continue reading "The Most Important Thing I Can Give My Kids " »
I think sometimes it's easy for us as parents - or just people in general - to underestimate the amount of compassion a child can express. Children, as a rule, are selfish creatures. I don't mean that as a judgment, I mean it as a general observation. They think of their needs, their wants, their happiness. Over time they learn more and more to think of others ("How would you feel if your friend said that to you? Sad? So how do you think she feels now that you said it to her? Exactly!") but it's a work in progress.
All I have to do is observe my oldest daughter with her younger sister and I can easily assume that there's not much in the way of compassion or empathy there. The amount of bickering over "don't touch my stuff" is unbelievable. And also headache-inducing.
Continue reading "The surprising nature of compassion from kids " »
Like Shannon, I read and was horrified by the Globe and Mail article "Time to End Pelvic Exams Done Without Consent." My first reaction was that this article was written quite inflammatory and I began to search for a semblance of truth behind the article, or something to prove otherwise.
Collectively,
we have a powerful voice. Our messages and stories of aid, sadness,
fear, shock and even hope made its way through the internet and social
media tools upon learning about the devastation in Haiti. We want to
help and let the Haitians know that they are not alone. In both small
and large ways, the blogging community is here, getting the word out
and using our united voices and sites to share love, concern and
messages of hope.
I have a story. Let me tell you it.
A few years ago, my husband and I were having trouble conceiving a child. In Ontario, they have people who can help you with these sorts of things so after the requisite time, we toddled off to the fertility doctor in order to get checked out. For those of you who've never been down this route, first of all thank your lucky stars, but secondly, realize the tests they do are of the necessary but rather highly embarrassing kind: transvaginal ultrasound.. on the first day of your period. Sperm analysis. Invasive questions. It's the kind of thing these doctors see every day, so they are thankfully very professional about it. I, however, do not talk about these things every day, nor do I make a habit of showing up for vaginal exams just for fun. As a result, I was less comfortable than my doctor or the medical team that I worked with. It's embarrassing. It's your privates, you know. They're meant to be.. private. But this all had a purpose: To find out if our bodies were working properly, or not. So I gave myself a little "man up, nancy" talk and bravely forged ahead.
During one of these exams, my doctor discovered something odd. Something that would take a surgical investigation to resolve fully. The surgery was scheduled, and on the designated day I reported to the hospital, anxious and nervous. I knew this was a simple, routine procedure, but I was still feeling skittish. I would be going under a general anesthetic, and that fact combined with the private-parts nature of the work being done left me feeling vulnerable. My doctor, a kind, intelligent man about my age, spoke to me in reassuring, professional tones. He introduced everyone in the room and described their roles and the procedure. And when it was time to go under, seeing I was nervous, he stood by my side until they gave me the good stuff and my eyes slowly closed. When I woke up hours later in recovery, I went home feeling groggy, but relieved to find out the issue was, as expected, nothing. And ever since that day, I have been grateful to my doctor for being so professional, so compassionate; thankful that he was taking such care to make me feel reassured.
That was a while ago. I've since had a beautiful baby girl and I have long put the thought of that day behind me. Until today. When I read in the Globe and Mail that during gynecological surgery, it's routine for a medical student to practice giving pelvic exams to women while they're anesthetized, without seeking prior permission from the patient to do so.
I read the article, and I froze.
I realized in an instant that it is entirely possible that after my procedure was completed, when there was no need for me to still be receiving potentially dangerous anesthesia, when there was no reason for anyone to be putting a speculum within 15 feet of me, my unconscious body was then very possibly used as a lab rat for a med student - possibly students- to "practice" pelvic exams on me. Without my permission.
What?
What???
I feel nauseous. I feel horrified. I feel violated. I feel frightened.
From the article:
The long-standing argument in favour of allowing these exams to be done on surgery patients is that it provides a unique opportunity for students to practice the delicate, invasive examination without causing the woman pain or embarrassment.
There is also an assumption that women would never accept pelvic exams by students while conscious so sneaking them in, while not ideal, is acceptable.
Let's let that sink in for a moment. So rather than cause me "pain or embarrassment", or give me the right to say "no", they instead simply can decide to do a painful and embarrassing (their words) examination on my unconscious body without my permission.
Can you believe this? Us ladies, us delicate dewdrops, (most of whom have had more pelvic exams than we can remember, for god's sake) are too fragile to be asked permission to let a student see our lady gardens! But don't worry about it, says the medical community, we'll get around it: WE JUST WON'T TELL THEM. Knock 'em out and stirrup 'em up, let's let the whole room see what's in there!
Think about this. Even dead bodies have to give their permission to let med students examine and practice on them. We are being given less respect than dead bodies.
But here's the kicker.
The concern among the medical community isn't whether it's ethical to carry out invasive examinations for 'practice' purposes without the patient first granting consent. The concern is how tough it would be to actually get that permission in the first place.
Talk about missing the point.
So, medical community, I have a few questions for you.
1. Does this practice actually occur? Do you allow medical students to carry out pelvic examinations on unconscious patients without informing them first?
2. If this practice does take place, are these examinations that are necessary as a routine course of the procedure being carried out and are simply being done by the student, or are these examinations that are being done outside of the required procedures (and thus exposing the patient to extra anasthesia and extra risk from having an extra invasive procedure)?
3. If this does take place.. have you never stopped to think whether or not it *should* happen without your patients' permission?
4....
And this is the most important point...
4. If this did take place in my OR that day, had I been asked to give consent, it's more than likely that I would have given it. But because you didn't ask, you took away my own power over my own body. You treated me like an object. You put your needs over my right to have sovereignty over my self. If you'd drugged me and let someone probe my vagina outside of an OR, it would have been called rape. And it's unforgivable.
This is an original post to Canada Moms Blog. Shannon blogs at ThreeSeven.ca and saves the world at ecochick.ca.
If you're outraged about this, and want to send a message to the Canadian medical establishment and Canadian legislators that this is NOT okay, please consider lending your signature to this open letter/petition. Thank you!
Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:
This is not a paid for post. The publisher of this book did provide free copies to Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers to use for this book club.
If anyone reads my Wet Coast Women site, I tend to use it as a bit of a platform for my..um..er..rants about the issues that really tick me off. These issues are usually local, Vancouver centric issues that I feel affect my family.
I have ranted about the Olympics a fair bit and the city is now really bracing for the impact.
To be honest I think the games will be great. I think the big issues around the games will be what VANOC has been worried about in the first place..and that is getting around. I also think they are MENTAL with making VISA the only credit card accepted at their venues, but not my decision AND since I am just a poor citizen of the city, I won't BE attending any of the events...too rich for my blood.
My other BIG rant is a personal one. It is housing affordability. Vancouver has just been listed as one of THE most unaffordable cities to live in. Meaning the cost of housing vs. the median income is totally out of wack.
I am amazed if this is a surprise to ANYONE living and working in the Lower Mainland.
Vancouver has no industry. No big head offices. No specialized economy. Nothing draws people here except the weather and the scenery. Except for real estate and the ease to avoid taxation etc. Real Estate Development IS the economy of Vancouver. Condos are bought up site unseen over and over by offshore buyers.
I was talking to our mortgage specialist at the bank the other day, and she says she has many clients who have never stepped one foot into Canada, yet own multiple properties.
This not only keeps the real estate prices high, but the rental rates too. Vancouver has an almost zero percent vacancy rate and renters are constantly fighting to maintain FAIR rents.
I admit, I am a fearsome mother for a teacher to face.
As a Mama Bear alone, I am terrifying.
As an Educator myself, with a Bachelors in Elementary Education and a Masters Degree in Child Development (and ever so slowly marching towards my PhD) I am a tsunami of research and knowledge and questions and answers. I AM that frighteningly intelligent college professor they had, the one who was always expecting MORE from them. The one who would send back papers with copious comments and exhort them to THINK, not just write down what they have read.
For those of you who may know me from my home Blog, I am Doing the Best I Can, you may know that I have been engaged in not-so-subtle guerrilla warfare with my daughters teacher. It has been rugged. And I have gotten Mean. Intentionally devastatingly mean. So mean that if I were in this teachers shoes, I would either write me off as a Loon, or be having panic attacks about having to face me.
Of course, like your typical crazy mother, I write letters. However, I write letters filled with educational theory and rationale. I write letters in which your personal and professional competence are seriously being Called OUT by someone with more than a passing knowledge of your profession. When the teacher in question does respond, she passive aggressively writes "cc: Cycle Three Teachers" on her response. Not to be outdone, I amp it up by providing a copy of my response to her response ( copied and included as an attachment for easy reference) in personalized addressed envelopes of each of the teachers in question.
See? I told you I could be mean.
There's such a thing as too much information (TMI). Don't get me wrong, I'm NOT talking about sex or bodily functions -- things people usually associate with TMI -- because I've certainly been known to talk about my kid's poop and my bra size with random moms in the drugstore aisle. I mean, isn't that one of the beauties of being a mom? Within five minutes of meeting another mom, you could be talking about things like how necessary it is, since having a baby, to pee before you workout. TMI? NO PROBLEM. Loves it.
The problem is INFORMATION. The kind you get when you open your laptop, you wait restlessly for your wireless to load and, finally, wildly hit that search button. Enter: H1N1. Enter: Formula Feeding. Enter: Breastfeeding. Enter: (I don't know) Stomach Cramps; Global Warming; Economy; Pesticides; Poodles; Chocolate. No matter what, as my doctor likes to tell me, "You google it? You're going to find 'cancer,' 'death,' all doom and gloom." Information on the internet is endless, often unreliably sourced, often motivated by one side of an issue or another, by money. Even if you do manage to find a reliable source of information, you'll find at least one link in the sidebar, or in the footnotes, to MORE information -- information that will keep you up at night.
Continue reading "There's Such a Thing as TMI - Too Much Information " »
Last April, Canada's first female commanding officer took the helm of the HMCS Halifax. Josee Kurtz has had several months to get comfortable on the big ship, and now she's steaming full-speed ahead again....this time, to Haiti.
The HMCS Halifax and her sister ship, the Athabaskan, set sail for the wrecked shores of Haiti on the 14th of January, and are expected to make port sometime on the 20th. They will be the second wave of Canadian humanitarian relief, and are loaded with tonnes of supplies and necessities.
A Canadian Disaster Assistance Relief Team (DART) was sent as an advance team of 20 personnel in a CF-130 Hercules aircraft - comprised of medically trained professionals and experts in assessing needs for relief, communications equipment and personnel, infrastructure engineers and search-and-rescue equipment. It was the data reported from this team that outlined where the frigates will need to be stationed to accomplish the most.
The Canadian Forces have also announced that a C-17 military transport aircraft carrying a Griffon helicopter and other equipment and personnel will be deployed. That aircraft can also be used for evacuation.
The crew has been attending trainings since they left port, and have learned how to use rescue and engineering equipment like the Jaws Of Life, blow torches, and chain saws. Sailors who already have had specialized training, like Fire Fighters, Hull Technicians, or Bosuns, are training cooks, radar operators, and electricians so they can all become 'First Responders'. No one will just have one job during this operation - everyone will be doing whatever they can do.
If I play the lottery, there’s a very good chance I won’t win it. Still, sometimes I play it anyway.
If I take the subway during flu season, there’s a very good chance I might pick up a bug. But I take the subway anyway.
Going anywhere in a car is risky, very risky, but I will chance it, spending a few hours of every week sitting behind the wheel.
There is a decent chance that I carry a gene that puts me at an up to 70 per cent chance of developing a life-threatening cancer.
And unlike winning the lottery, getting the flu, or having a fender-bender, I have the unique opportunity of being able tolook into a crystal ball to find out if I have this gene.
Ok, it’s not a crystal ball. More like a petri-dish. Or a cotton swab. And the person telling my fortune will not be a mysterious Roma dripping in fake gems. It will be someone in a lab coat, and my fortune-telling surroundings will not be a veil-draped caravan, it will be a stark, decidedly unromantic clinic. But the question is not, can I have my future told, can I find out what my chances are? The question is, should I?
Should I find out if I, like 1 in 10 Jewish women in Ontario, carry the BRCA 1/ BRCA 2 genetic mutation?
I have already signed up for the study. I did that much, and I did it immediately. You may think this means that I want to find out if I carry the gene. But I’m not sure.
Continue reading "Taking Chances - Early Cancer Diagnosis" »
Dear America: sure, you have big-assed portion sizes and an overabundance of processed foods. Be aware, there is a far better, All-Canadian way to clog your arteries and send yourself straight in for a quadruple bypass. A delicious, gooey, cravetastic quadruple bypass.
It's called Poutine. Delicious poutine. And it's coming to a fine American dining establishment near you.
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