I finally got back to Mexico two weeks ago from being in Texas for almost all of April (and mostly offline). I really wanted to post sooner, but I was waiting for a more positive frame of mind before I did. It seems that’s not really going to happen anytime soon since life is intent on punishing me for any number of things. I came back to a filthy house, because here in Mexico, even with windows closed, dirt, dust and pollution eventually makes it’s way into the house. By the time things were unpacked, mind re-framed for school, my electricity gets cut off for non-payment. I never intended to be away as long as I did, so I made no arrangements w/anyone to pay bills in my absence. Cursing the timing, I lost another day of school as I waited in line at the central office (because this was a reconnect) for over 2 hours. Ironically, the central electric building–flanked by so many imposing electric towers that one feels they’re going to get a bolt of static electricity just walking by–does not see fit to power air conditioning to the masses waiting in the various lines. When I got to the ventanilla (window), I could feel the cool air coming through the little “speech hole” in the plexiglass; obviously, they give it to themselves in their own little isolated world, because it’s so taxing to sit there in front of a computer compared to standing in line. </dripping sarcasm> I then find out I had to suffer a whole day into the next without power since they don’t reconnect on the same day. This high is constantly around 93 degrees here and I couldn’t even power a fan.
All this pales in comparison to my main problem at the moment: my marriage. I’m not going to go into public details, but the constant stress of arguments from long distance, her newfound position of no comprimise, and being without my daughter in the process is wearing on me. Actually, I don’t fault her for the next 2 weeks or so, because that’s the length of her physical therapy. However, it seems that she’s in no hurry to come back. Things may change during that time, but I’m already sorely behind in all my studies with all the missed schoolwork, classes and time in general that I’ll never get back. I have always said I lack the gift of compartmentalization, and I’d love to have a nice dose of mental sectioning to say, “I’m not going to worry about that right now; I’m going to concentrate on my studies.” We have opposite effects by this situation: she’s empowered with the time off and family/friends on all sides helping with her, baby, opportunities for possible employment, feelings of indepdence with no pressures from anyone. I, on the other hand, am dealing with Step 1 prep, having a 3 bedroom house alone, and I still have to take care of the damn dog. Our dog is fine, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like holding Lola is even a laughable substitute from the heart-warming, centering, reminds-you-why-you-are-doing-this-warm-fuzzies that having your smiling daughter (or even crying daughter) brings. Like I told Claudia, her worst day (pain notwithstanding–that’s different) isn’t even close to the plate-spinning juggling act I perform daily just to make sure things stay afloat financially, scholastically, emotionally and logistically.
And I’m losing the battle; the plates I’m spinning seem to be crashing to the ground, one by one. That will be revealed slowly through several posts–this is already getting a bit depressing. History has shown that I will probably pull through as before, but at what cost? The price seems to get higher and higher as time moves on. I’m on the verge of taking a semester off for financial reasons, I have 10,000 decisions and consequences to think through based on not only financial realities, but also all the uncertainties of the marriage and what I’m willing to tolerate with a seemingly indefinitely split household.
A doctor friend of mine here who had a child early on (he was like 20 at the time) never really worked things out with his then girlfriend, moved on, and is now a FP resident after working some years as a GP. His daughter is now 7, and he says that the big picture dictates that if I say that school is my #1 priority, I am never to take my eyes off of school long enough for it to slip from its #1 position. If I have to take time off to get things centered, fine, but it’s to serve my greater academic success, not a personal emotional indulgence or a quick-financial fix (ie, not solving the problem permanently during my time off). While that seems heartless and simplistic, his point was that when he was done, he found his daughter was still there, his family was still there, his friends were still there, etc.–everything that he was convinced he lost or was going to lose was, in fact, simply the product of a myopic mindset. Family and friends will respect and understand what’s going on provided they are shown the steadfastness and progress of one’s endeavor.
Just a quick note as I’m blowing through the house of the parental units here in Texas (still) since my wife had knee surgery about 48 hours ago. She had a medial menisectomy two years ago (as I did, further back) and finally had her long-needed-and-awaited ACL reconstruction (which I still have yet to have) and a surprise lateral meniscal repair. Orthopedically speaking, ACL reconstruction is no walk in the park, but it’s so “bread-and-butter” for any seasoned orthopod (unless they’ve had the luxury of subspecializing into one area) that I wasn’t too concerned about the procedure.
The recovery, however, is a different matter; which, with an 11-month-old, is why I’m still here and not back in school as I should have been this last week. I hope to be back by this weekend, but it will probably be Monday or Tuesday that I’m back in Guadalajara. I have this stupid-ass midterm for Kaplan USMLE Step 1 prep, but that’s another post.
Another post is also the 12-inch laceration I received in the pre-op area of the hospital while Claudia was getting gowned, and especially fun–the 12 hour wait it took to even get the wound tended to apart from the original shoddy dressing done to keep me from bleeding everywhere. Yes, folks, this is while my wife was in surgery, recovery, and the sweet delicious afterglow of the application of a fentanyl patch. Like I don’t have more to worry about here.
So, as you can see, the blog has been temporarily paused, but not just because I’ve been busy. The surgeon wanted Claudia closeby, and her family lives in a city 45 miles away. My parents’ house is out because of a very unfriendly set of stairs, so the next choice was my grandmother’s. Plenty of space, nice yard, mostly quiet. However, my grandmother’s house has no internet connection (as well as being so infernally hot that it would melt any computer components left on for any length of time). To steal time away to fire off a post/email is defintely doable, but not when you add the drive to another location, so more soon. All is well with Claudia, which is the main thing. I’m being beaten like a Hebrew slave taking care of our daughter full-time as well as helping around the gimpy better half. With all this childcare, I’ve gained new respect and appreciation for my wife. I’ll take studying any day…sheesh.
More soon…
When people think of Mexican food and what accompanies it, the first thing that pops into peoples’ heads is tortillas. For the most part that’s true, for those dishes that it goes with, but for far more versatility, Mexicans go for good old bread, just like most of the world. For those not familiar with true Mexican food, traditional white bread are made in small loaves, about 8 inches (20 cm) long, called bolillos (pronounced “bowl-EE-ohs”). Depending on the region and other factors I’m not familiar with, it could be called birote, or if scored in thirds instead of lengthwise, telera (perfect for Cuban sandwiches).
Growing up on the border, I was used to a bolillo that was almost indistinguishable from a mini-French baguette: a firm, chewy but thin crust, and soft/pillowy on the inside. Coming to Guadalajara, I was met with oblong pieces of rock suitable for loading into a torpedo tube, which, after hammering a good two hours, one might get something edible at the very center. I would ask a clerk if these were day (nay, month) old breads, and he assured me, almost insulted, that they were put out that very morning. The thing is, here preservatives are never used for staple foods since people go to the market constantly. Bread lasts maybe a couple of days sealed; fresh corn tortillas might be coaxed into living 4 or so days with Ziplocs and the fridge. It’s not that they go rotten, they just get hard. Tortillas, bolillos, etc. are things that, especially for a family of any real size, are bought and/or delivered daily. Packaged, sliced bread in the supermarkets are different, of course, and they are identical to what Americans would be used to. We’re talking the real food of the Mexican table here, not the supermarket version. In spite of my making fun above, few things are as satisfying to the soul as a good, fresh, still-warm bolillo.
So what do you give a teething, fussy, hungry baby? Day old bolillos!!! Cut an end-piece of that hard bread in a chunk sized way too big to fit in her mouth completely, and you have 1) a nutritious food (no preservatives, just water, flour, leavening and a touch of salt), 2) a solid, organic object for her to rub her gums better than any plastic teething ring, and 3) something that is light enough that she can hold with one hand (unlike many of the teething rings) and gain coordination and independence. The 3 gallons of saliva she produces in one hour is just the right amount to slowly but surely soften the bread into minute bits that she can easily handle.
For about a peso per bolillo (literally a dime), I’d say we’ve hit paydirt!! The little one doesn’t care about the value or benefits–she just says, “Keep ‘em coming!”
P.S. The picture above is funny because trying to cut a hard bolillo with a butter knife as shown is about as futile an act as I can think of. That’s why it’s still there, embedded, like Excalibur waiting to be freed. (Okay, I went a little too far there, sorry.)
P.P.S. The word bolillo is also be used as a derogatory term for a gringo or “White Man,” since obviously it refers to white bread.
It’s fitting that today is Groundhog Day because I’ve finally decided to come out of my hole. No shadow-gazing here: I’m out for good. Since I started blogging, I’ve never gone that long without a post. At the same time, I’ve never gone through such a rough time since, either. I backdated a post about making a movie during my break, which you can read below. The prep and shooting of the short film did take a good chunk of vacation, but coming back to Mexico was the clincher.
A warning to those wanting to go abroad (and I should pause to remind people that Mexico with all its accessibility to Americans, is still VERY much a foreign country) for medical school who are married or will soon be: be careful. I thought we’d have it easier than most–we’re both originally from the same area growing up on the Texas/Mexican border, her Spanish was better than mine when we moved here, she saw this as an adventure from day #1–all the right ingredients. Surprise! Living here (and I’d imagine anywhere foreign) wears on you. I have school to occupy my time, and while it does also give its own unique blend of crapola aside from the academics, at the very least, I share the experience with 150+ other students. A spouse of a medical student is already somewhat widowed; add to that mix separation from their family/support structure, loss of a professional identity since they can’t work here (unless they are Mexican citizens or get special dispensation from the government (good luck!)), and you have a setup where they feel really useless really fast. Add a new child to the mix and it can turn into a festering cauldron of resentment. More than one spouse has packed their bags, and when I found out that’s what Claudia wanted to do, I did the best thing and understanding and supportive husband should do: I lost it.
We’d been here before, but looking back, it was more overly-exaggerated impulses (which she’s more inclined to than I) that didn’t really last. Cooler heads would prevail, and things would get better. With our daughter and the hardships of dealing with an obviously hyperactive/clingy baby, neither of us really had time to build up our reserves. The whole vacation of constantly “getting things done,” and then when the film shoot was over, switch to “Ok, let’s get ready to leave” (which for us means shopping for things to bring across that we can’t get here, on top of all the stuff people normally deal with) — we were just burnt out.
I do think a break could be good for us, but I don’t want to be without my daughter; however, having an unhappy mommy isn’t good for her either, so what do I do? Again, I dig deep into the well of my soul, and provide the most honest reaction I could: I freaked out again. (I’ll post about this later, but I’ll quickly mention the fact that dads get no respect, as conversations with family members quickly showed–mother knows all, father is an attachment to do labor mother can’t (not unlike attitudes towards weddings, except there I agree)). It turns out she’ll need a knee arthroscopy, so she’ll be going home later this month regardless. My hope is to have things worked out by then so she can go with my being 100% supportive, even though I hate the separation.
There’s been more going on academically and personally outside of this, but since I want this blog to be first and foremost about me–something for me to look back on–I wanted to make sure I wrote something about the above, even if it’s painfully personal. I tried, perhaps lamely, to turn it into a teaching moment for those wanting to embark on a med school journey far from home of some of the things that aren’t obvious about dealing with everyday things, the things that sneak up on you and before you know it consume everything. I am not a person who can compartmentalize my emotions very well. If things aren’t going well “at home,” it bleeds into my studying, my sleep, everything. I wish I could be one of those individuals that say, “I won’t worry about that right now,” and while I can get better, I can’t fundamentally change who I am. I will be the doctor that goes to sleep (ha!) thinking about the labs post-op, wondering what I’m going to find, fussing about this or that, because nothing ever changes for me because I walk out the door. I carry work home, and I carry home to work. At least I’m consistent.
So there you have it–the long, drawn out version of “There and Back Again” for the last six weeks or so. I promise I’m back for good. As a friend told me during my “hiatus,” blogging is a low priority given everything going on, but I need it. I don’t know why, but I have to write, and sharing in general is something that’s always been at the core of who I am. I have no idea who is still reading this, but if you are, thank you. More soon.
A few things I have observed/experienced while on vacation, in no specific order just to keep y’all updated. This has been backdated to the 23rd as that’s when the last bullet point was written, but the post itself was a draft that was added to little by little. Rather than lose all those random thoughts since it never amounted to a coherent post, I’ll share them as they were written–no real connection between them. More in a bit…
Always the optimist, my vacation is almost half over.
As I predicted, not having my own space (both for us as a family (ie, our own house/apartment) and my personal space–both are vitally important) is wearing on me, psychologically. It’s also screwing up what little schedule baby had, leading to cranky parents.
My dad watches way too much “House, MD,” a show I can’t stand (that’s for another post). He’s been through ongoing life-and-death medical issues in the last two years after escaping most of his life w/o having to deal with doctors at all, so I find the recent fascination with things medical both not surprising and pretty cool. However, this has some unfortunate side effects when combined with the fact that he is an attorney (estate/family planning, so there is hope for his soul on Judgment Day). Within two days of getting home, my mom’s dog (small terrier mix) of 15 years spiraled downwards to the point of being nearly non-reponsive. Mom asked me to go with Dad to the vet. To my mild embarassment, my dad proceeded to present THE DOG as if he was presenting a patient on rounds. He stopped short of differential diagnoses (for which I was thankful), but a medical dictionary in the wrong hands can be a dangerous thing…
My mother, always hungry to read/believe in something “new” about health and wellness, has a copy of that charlatan Kevin Trudeau’s Natural Cures ‘They’ Don’t Want You to Know About book. I’ve been toying with the idea of a Kevin Trudeau’s Lies, Lies and More Lies weekly column wherein I take quotes from his book and make fun of the excerpts with wild abandon.
This is the last time I stay in the parents’ house for more than a week. Ever. Period. It’s not natural.
I was so planning on going Christmas shopping, getting into the holiday spirit and all that jazz given that I, for the first vacation in forever, am able to be here before the final buying rush. Usually, I come in on the 23rd or the like, so the shopping has to have already been done or, more like last year, not really much at all given student budget constraints. Now with a baby, fergetaboutit. But still, I enjoy giving; however, the lack of disposable income combined with an ever-increasing intolerance for crowds, slow drivers, lack of parking, idiot drivers, kids out of school (junior/high school), and people who can’t drive all add up to a potentially negative experience.
I wish I knew what caused such dryness and cracking in my nares, just in the first few mm or so. It’s not rubbing, it’s not excessive tissue use, but vaseline barely makes a dent and I’m chronically having cracked skin there and on the corners of my mouth. You’d think with a year and a half of medical education I’d at least make some stabs in the dark and get close. No zebras here, I’m sure, just a a seemingly unresolvable problem.
Baby duty and other commitmnents aside, I’d love to spend some time in the OR. Too bad I’m not in Mexico anymore, because it’s not like I don’t have willing instructors (surgeons and anesthesiologists), just no way to justify the legal morass of the hospital for not having a “legitimate” reason to be there, even with the patient’s consent. Been there, done that. The maids have free reign of the surgery wing but I can’t be supervised and learn as a documented medical student. (obviously maids are not in an OR during a procedure, I understand, but you get the point–it’s not like they had to attend a 3-day inservice to learn all the rules, either)
Mexicans. Not people from the country of Mexico as a whole, I mean the special ‘fresa’ variety that come from across the border (especially Monterrey) to shop and think they own the place because they have some money. Waving some large bills might impress your friends and delude you into thinking the world revolves around you, but it doesn’t. This bullet point deserves and will get its own post soon lest you think I’m some sort of bigot. My home town swells to more than 70% of its census size between the seasonal Winter Texans escaping the midwest/northeast/etc. and the Mexican commerce on any given weekend during this time. Trust me, you have to be from a border area to understand this.
I am very grateful to have a family to come home to. As crazy as my relationship can be with my parents, with all the weird dynamics, side-stepping, and lack of effective communication, I never have to worry that I am welcome whenever I want to come in for a visit and stay for as long as I need. It’s hard to remind myself that annoying parents mean that they are still around to annoy you.
I’m back in Tex-ass, and as usual, it’s been a craaazy transition back to the USA. “The Ranch,” by the way, is the term of semi-endearment for my in-law’s house in a small city on the Rio Grande River. It used to be far removed from most vestiges of civilization, but the little town is economically booming to the point where it’s more and more doable to stay for extended periods of time with the new stores, restaurants, etc.
Regarding the trip back, it was nice spending time w/Claudia alone. We had a flat tire 3 hours into our trip and the densest fog I’ve ever seen about 3 hours from the border in the mountains outside Monterrey, NL. By the time we crossed into the US–4 hours late after a 16+ hour trip–I gotta say: Mexico never looked so good than in the rear-view mirror. It’s precisely for this reason that I shock myself when I admit that a part of me wants to go back. I hate calling myself a homebody, but the truth is that I need my own private space, a refuge, a Bat Cavetm if you will, to be happy and collect my thoughts to not feel so scattered. Most classmates, being of the younger, 20-something variety, make the transition home with ease, sinking back in their old, comfy bed with their rooms just as they left them. Others may have moved out some time ago, but being single, they find a good spot in the house and call it theirs.
Married with a kid sharing a bedroom for almost a month with nowhere else to go in the house except to commune with the parental units? Pass the Xanax, please. Add to that the fact that we have to share time with both sides, and packing baby gear every time gets, um….old. Simple checks like ”Honey? Did you remember to bring the Orajel for her gums?” quickly turn into “What the hell do I have to do, tattoo ‘ORAFUCKINGJEL’ on my forehead?! The crying and 3 fingers in her mouth wasn’t enough of a reminder?!?” Of course, I exaggerate (mostly) but you get the idea.
Internet connectivity has been spotty because of all the moving around and no wireless at either house, so I haven’t written on the blog and was in email read-only mode for the most part. If you’ve sent me email, you’ll get a reply shortly. Otherwise, as soon as I get my RSS reader on my laptop updated with my .ompl files from my desktop which stayed in Mexico, I’ll be back commenting on the blogs.
P.S. If anybody has any suggestions for offline newsreaders for Windows (ick), I’d appreciate the help. Bloglines and other excellent online aggregators don’t help with the spotty connectivity I have here. Danke.
My wife and daughter left back for the States yesterday, and it’s just kinda hitting me how much I miss them, especially my Niblet. Several times yesterday I caught myself hearing a baby crying from outside the window (Mexican houses are very close together) and I’d reflexively tense up and stop what I was doing, ready to check out the situation. Fortunately, it’s only another two weeks and change before I see her again when I return to Texas for vacation. However, with end-of-semester stuff in between, I’ll be more than busy. It’s still hard, though.
As soon as I knew that her hearing was developing in the 2nd trimester, I began what will certainly be a lifelong process of teaching her about music. On Claudia’s iPod Mini, I put a small playlist of various “soothing” classical music selections. Claudia prefers rock, and sometimes I play jazz, so she got a variety to be sure, but classical music is something special on so many levels–too many for me to wax philosophical about here. One of the pieces I had in the playlist was a famous variation from Sir Edward Elgar’s work, “Enigma Variations,” where each variation on a theme had a mystery surrounding it. Musical historians are still working on that one, but the one I am referring to is entitled “Nimrod” (referring (partially) to the biblical character). This piece is very famous and is used often at funerals and memorials, namely British Remembrance Day (for World War I), where its performance is mandatory.
In spite of its use at such somber and sad events, I always think of her when I hear it. I hadn’t heard it in a few months, but since I’ve become a YouTube slave, uploading and watching videos like mad, I happened to be with her when I was preparing a video of this very work on my computer for upload earlier this week. I sat her on my lap and we watched it, and in spite of the lack of flashy anything on the screen, she actually paid attention! I put my chin on her head, listened, then looked at her angelic face seeing and hearing the music and I started crying–crying because I knew she was about to leave, but mostly because of the beauty and perfection of that moment. She, of course, just looked at me and smacked her hand on my face a few times and wondered why it was wet, oblivious to everything I was feeling.
I look forward to many such times in the future with her (hopefully I can keep my emotions in check before she thinks her daddy is a nutcase), each time being able to share more and more. She turns 6 months tomorrow–half a year that feels so much longer, yet so much like yesterday. I am including the video here (from YouTube) for your viewing and listening pleasure. I hope you enjoy.
It seems that every so often, life beats me down with a spiked club enough so that I disappear to all but my closest friends and family, sometimes even to some of them. The last 2-3 weeks have been one of those times. Honestly, it’s not that I’ve had nothing to write about or even that I was too depressed or whatever to write, it was just that I’ve been living day-to-day and have been unable to make sense of why I’m so out of sorts and out of time. It can also be attributed to three things, specifically:
Living with a newborn and all the changes involved
Classes themselves (academic)
Delusional classmates that unfortuately have chosen me most recently as an outlet for their love of conflict and misery
It seems weird to say that adjusting to a newborn (now 3 months and doing great) is a lot harder than I thought (”Well duh!”), but I still didn’t think it would be this hard, especially with the piercing cries that often penetrate earplugs from across the house. Don’t get me wrong–I looooove spending time w/my daughter, but there are times I need to focus, and I’m so distractable, most especially to noise. You can flash a strobe light in front of me before I’d start to get affected, but the slightest non-conducive sound derails my mental train…it’s almost like the cartoon mouse scaring the elephant in the ridiculousness of the disproportion.
School is kicking my ass. And I don’t mean difficult, I mean Hebrew-slave-in-the-time-of-Pharoh hard work. I’d say easily 75% of this feeling comes from neurosciences. How I hate that class with the heat of a thousand suns. To quote Melville:
…to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.
Yes, that’s also from Star Trek II:Wrath of Khan, for those complaining I’m not giving true credit where it’s due. I’m not chasing neuro as my white whale, trust me–I’m trying to run the hell away. We’ve had a wonderful visiting professor from UT Houston for neurophysiology that has given us great lectures and exceptional class materials used @UTH, but the best instruction in this subject still leaves me in a fetal position in the corner after studying it for a few hours. As if I were made of Teflon, the information doesn’t stick and slides right off me. It’s not a subject that lends itself to flash cards or easy forms of brute-force memorization, so I’m trudging through. Slowly.
Lastly, there has been a lot of upheaval at my school. Just as I thought things were dying down from the Grand Rounds “bad press” I gave, one particular student decided to decided to complain once again about things in the class, only this time mail was sent anonymously. Since I manage the email lists and have had many run-ins with this individual (as well as a low tolerance for bullshit in general), I decided to publicly expose this attempt to anonymously cause trouble while simultaneously sending ingratiating emails to the student body publicly. Oh. My. God. What a firestorm this caused, and in true mentally unbalanced fashion, this person proceeded to become unhinged more and more, causing more and more problems. I could have left well enough alone, but part of me was stupid and didn’t, and part of me was obligated to reply when said individual would accuse me of things that were patently false.
To make matters worse, there was an incident involving a successful attempt to steal questions from an exam of a visiting professor via a fake email. As a class officer, I was somewhat involved, then fully involved because of my IT background. I don’t know where it’s going to go, but attorneys at both school are involved dealing with both theft of intellectual property and fraud. Academic honesty/honor code is the least of this person’s worries. I won’t go into more detail, but said unstable student now says I had something to do with it with no evidence whatsoever. I feel like I’m in junior high. It scares the living hell out of me that people this unstable and disconnected from reality will actually be in a position to tangibly affect people’s physical lives in less than 2 years. I truly hope this person grows up, gets psychiatric help, or chooses another career–whatever it takes.
So that’s the short verison of what’s been going on. For those who have emailed me privately without a reply, please don’t think I’ve ignored you…I promise to reply soon. After my neurophysiology exam on Monday, we move on to neuropharm, and my life will be a bit better for a while (pharm is so much more my cup of tea). I’ll be more communicative after the weekend, I promise.
As I’m writing this, I’m listening to an interesting recording of Mozart’s Requiem that I downloaded (more of an “early music” interpretation with thinner orchestration and faster tempos), and I already feel better. Even ending with a driving in a fugue in a minor key, my spirits are lifted along with the prayers sung in the text. Thanks Wolfie.
UPDATE: I decided to finally upload the flash music player plugin to allow me to share music clips, like I tried to do more crudely w/Grand Rounds. So, to inagurate this, I’ll share the clip I referred to above, except this is the Kyrie that appears earlier, but musically it’s identical; the only difference is the text–Kyrie eleison/Christe eleison (Lord have mercy/Christ have mercy) in this section as opposed to cum sanctis tuis in aeternum, que pius es. (…with thy saints forever, for thou art merciful). Enjoy!
I knew it!! I knew there had to be a connection between birth and depression in fathers as well, and a new study confirms this. Of course, what dad goes through doesn’t hold a candle to the hormonal and physical changes in the mother, but the alteration of lifestyle, sleep, shifts in priority, etc. can take its toll if the father is already dysthymic or otherwise borderline for a major depressive episode. (this assumes, of course, that the father gives a damn, which is unfortunately not always a given)
However, I found this odd:
In general, the study found, mothers who scored above this threshold reported less interaction with their babies — reading to them or playing games less often than non-depressed mothers did. [...] Depressed fathers reported less play with their infants as well. And women whose husbands were depressed read to their baby less often than other mothers did — pointing to the potential effects a spouse’s depression can have on the other parent.
Ok, I’m convinced my child’s mental capacity will exceed mine; she’s already showing certain development well outpacing where she should be on paper at the moment. But even my daughter’s preparation for world domination does not include the ability to comprehend or otherwise benefit from story reading at 11 weeks. I play and talk to her all the time, but break out a children’s book and read? I think that’s a bit much, but then again, what do I know…peds sure isn’t my area.
I was perusing some past hosts of Grand Rounds on Medscape to help get a few ideas for writing the upcoming edition, when I see an article with “An American Gets an Education South of the Border” in the title. I thought, “Hey, sounds like me.” Then it hit me: “That is me!” I had no idea the pre-rounds link was already live; I thought it went live the same day as Grand Rounds.
Sooo…even though it’s a lot of what I already said on the blog, there are some things that are unique to the writeup, and Dr. Genes did a great job of editing my rambling prose for a more formal presentation.
Following the link above requires (free) registration, but if you’re a medical professional or student of any kind, it’s worth it. If you want to read the article and insist on not registering, email me and I’ll send you a PDF of the web page.
On another topic, we had a “Meet the Baby” party today for my classmates, friends of Claudia from the wives’ group, and it was a great time. (It was interesting seeing various people’s reaction towards her, some being totally hands-on and others barely touched her leg or whatever, quickly withdrawing their arm as if she would bite. Strange.) Anyway, more than one classmate asked how I did it and/or that there’s no way they could have a family here. I don’t know…necessity definitely wins out, and it’s not like I have the answer–I’m living it right now, but to loosely quote Alanis in her prime:
What it all comes down to
Is that I haven’t got it all figured out just yet.
I’ve got one hand in my pocket,
and the other one is holding my baby.
