a good way to kill eighty minutes on a rainy morning

I'm post-call today, so after dropping Cal off at school I took Mack to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History, because it seemed enriching somehow, and at bare minimum, it was indoors. (It's raining today.) All it did was make me miss the real Natural History Museum. I know it's not the museum's fault--it's small and doesn't have a lot of exhibits so it does the best with what it has, but there was not a lot to look at is all I'm saying. They also seem to have overestimated mine (and everyone else's) level of interest with the history of Georgia's marshlands. However, there were some dinosaurs, so that's something.




Despite it's drawbacks, we do have a family membership to this museum, as we do to a handful of other child-friendly area attractions, not because we're such civic boosters (though I do think that the Zoo Atlanta membership is worth it) but because the tickets are so ridiculously overpriced that if you're planning on going more than once a year with any permutation of adults and children, getting a membership is likely fiscally advisable. Also you feel less bad about leaving after an hour and a half when you don't have to pay for your ticket each and every time.




(Not pictured, Laura Dern elbow-deep in a pile of poo. That was me, later. Thanks, Mack!)


* * *


With respect to yesterday's post, a couple of people guessed correctly that the picture showed the fluid head of the extracorporeal shockwave lithotripsy...uh, thinger...for pulverizing kidney stones. The one thing I have learned from providing countless anesthetics for cystoscopy is: NEVER GET A KIDNEY STONE. That is all. As for the three older "identify that medical equipment" posts, the answers are: a water cooler for the OR table cooling blanket used during a cerebral aneurysm clipping; a variety of neurosurgical headholders (Mayfield pins, horseshoe, whatnot), and "candy cane" leg holders for the lithotomy position. All disgusting in different ways.

As you were.

name that medical equipment




I've been meaning to bring this one back for a while, but everything I've found has been either too easy or too clearly just some closeup of some part of the anesthesia machine. See some past "name that medical equipment" editions here, here, here, here, here, and here.

(The comments section on the three oldest posts do not show any comments because I was using a different and now defunct comment hosting system back then. If you are DYING to know if you were right in your guess, I will post the answers to these old entries tomorrow.)

OK, I'm on call tonight. See you on the other side.

identify that medical equipment, "get your mind out of the gutter" edition




I know what it is, and I still can't quite figure out why exactly it has to be shaped like this.

identify that medical equipment, cosmetic edition




A day at the plastic surgery center.

identify that medical equipment, question mark edition




Most of the time when I see a piece of medical equipment, I can appreciate if it looks weird, even if I know what it's used for. And then sometimes I see something, like this pile of stuff outside the cardiac ORs, which leaves me completely mystified. I have been trying to figure this one out for weeks.




Can someone please tell me how this is not an eggbeater?

a healthy respect for the jinx

The funny thing of it is that Joe and I really aren't sleeping any less now that Mack is here. I mean sure, Mack wakes up at night, once around midnight-one-ish and once around four-five-ish, but given that I need to get up for work by five anyway, there's really only one real interruption to our night, and even then, it's not like he's crying or anything. He just starts fidgeting a lot, grunting like he's moving heavy furniture around. And then it's just a matter of changing his diaper and feeding him (ah, the miracle of co-sleeping and breastfeeding, you can basically sleep right through it), so that the whole waking ritual takes only, like, five minutes tops. Joe keeps saying that I should wake him up to do the diaper change, but most of the time I don't, as I have to feed Mack anyway so Joe doing the diaper doesn't actually buy me any more sleep, and anyway, the actual effort it takes me to wake Joe up far outstrips the effort it takes just to change the diaper myself. I was worried that after what an easy baby Cal was, we'd be stuck with some nocturnal hellion when Mack came along, which would render me sleep-deprived and stupefied for my days at work, but actually (and man, I hope I'm not jinxing myself, but it's been two months already and we're still smooth sailing) it's so far been fine.

Speaking of things that keep you up at night though, I don't think that there is any medical professional who is immune to the concept of The Jinx. Everyone knows that the second you look around the PACU remarking, "It looks pretty quiet here tonight" you are giving the signal to the universe to deal you the call night from hell, just like when you tell someone, "This should be a short, easy case" you will being pushing epi and giving chest compressions in short order to that seemingly young healthy patient who came in to get his hemorrhoids lopped off. Taking certain things for granted is just tempting fate, and no one understands that better than people who see, every day, fate turning on a dime.

So when people tell us how lucky we are to have two healthy kids, I can't help but to squirm uncomfortably and make quiet, almost apologetic remarks under my breath. Joe and I have the exact same reaction, and conferring with each other, we agree that it's just not something we feel comfortable saying out loud, because it just feels like an invitation for bad things to happen. It's not that we don't think we're lucky to have two healthy kids--we are lucky, very lucky. It's just that we also recognize luck for what it is, and that is: completely random. And there was nothing I hated more in taking a Pediatric history than hearing this prelude: "He was totally normal and healthy, everything was perfect, until..." before launching into a huge, tragic story of injury or illness. In fact, part of what made me not want to do Peds anymore was because I needed to get away from those stories. What makes that kid different from my kid? Answer: absolutely nothing.

It sounds so pessimistic to say that, but when you see bad things, it's hard not to realize that no matter how much distance you try to create, the fact of it is that bad things can happen to you too. It has nothing to do with your job or what kind of parent you are or your socioeconomic status or education or where you live. Sometimes bad things happen. And it makes it easy to understand why, in some cultures, children are hidden or disguised or given secret decoy names to obfuscate whatever demons or evil spirits wander the Earth. Because if they see you with your gorgeous baby, catch you looking too cocky, too proud, if they think you're taking your good luck for granted, they just might come along and show you how wrong you can be.

I'm not superstitious, and I don't really truly believe in evil spirits or anything like that, but I have a healthy respect for the concept of The Jinx. Because why push your luck? Since when is the universe indebted to me or my family? We have been lucky, but I don't ever want to get too comfortable with that. I'm only three and a half years in, but I realize that parenthood is like this lifetime of worry that never ends. And I feel like even talking about The Jinx is jinx-y in and of itself, but I just want whatever it is out there to know that we take nothing for granted, that we respect and fear The Jinx. And that no matter what we may say or how much time may pass, we will never stop being thankful, nor forget how lucky we have been.

name that o.r. equipment, part the third

This one's a little challenging.




OK, one big hint. See that red digital display? At the beginning of the case, it was set to "10.0". By the middleish-end of the case, I changed it to read "42.0". I could tell you the units, but that would really give the whole thing away.

Plus, do not be fooled by the brand name.




You may have heard of "gaydar," but let me assure you that the aforementioned refers more to a sense of intuition, not an actual physical machine.

name that o.r. equipment part 2




Or, barring the ability to name each piece of equipment on the rack (because I'm pretty sure that I can't), name what kind of surgery I was doing anesthesia for today. No cash prize I'm afraid, though you will be rewarded with the thrill of knowing that you were pimped and able to successfully supply the correct answer (which, as some of us may know, is a thrillingly uncommon occurrence).

name that OR equipment




A new contest. Will be easier for some people than others, obviously, but fun for the ENTIRE FAMILY. This first one in particular may be a dead giveaway, mostly because I already mentioned them before.

maybe we'll put this picture on next year's holiday cards




The OR. Where we keep the Christmas tree up all year long.

(In the same spirit, it also should be noted that the leg holders for certain cases in the lithotomy position are called "candy canes.")