Today, I read in the Atlanta newspaper that another instance of child abuse has occurred in an Atlanta area school. This damnable deed took place at the hands of a fourth grade teacher right in a public place too.
It seems the perpetrator advised the class that while on a field trip to The Atlanta History Center, if anyone's behavior was out of line, they would be tied up. That was her first big mistake. Issue a challenge like that to a bunch of fourth graders, and you will have them lining up to get tied. Well anyway, it wasn't long into the trip when this kid leaves his partner and goes to the back of the line to speak with a friend (no doubt about some cultural tidbit that he had picked up). The teacher, true to her word, lashes a jump rope to his wrist. As is wont to be, there were soon four other boys soon tied in tandem with this first kid.
The beast in charge here later ties the rope to her pant's belt loop (not a good idea if five boys decide to run for it, but she did it). After one kid complained of his wrist being uncomfortable, they were released. One of the boys casually mentioned to his mother at the dinner table some days later that he had been tied up by the teacher. Well, that will always get your attention. After all, how many teachers overtly are into bondage/submission activities? At that point, it really hit the fan. The teacher is now into counseling, and other unspecified remedies are likely. Of course the kid is scarred for life, has nightmares, suffers in intersocial activities, would have loss of consortorium if he was old enough, and in general is just a mess. He would be suicidal if it were not for the fact that he and the four others are legendary heroes in their class.
Well, this tale of disgrace reminds me of my earlier school days with Mr. H. I was in the seventh grade, not the fourth, when Mr. H taught us USA Geography. Part of our instruction was to learn the USA states with their capitols and their spellings. Mr. H made this into a game where we turned down a person next to us if they misspelled or otherwise did not know a state or capitol. We enjoyed this. Mr. H (the ogre that he was) also said if we missed a question, we would have to stay in detention to study what we had missed. Nobody wanted that. He did give another choice to the boys in the class. The boys could skip detention if they chose to take licks (with a paddle, not a tongue-don't get all prurient on me). Mr. H was a football coach and fit the physical bill for that, so we knew that his arm wouldn't give out.
Of course, Mr. H violated a feminist rule by not allowing the girls a choice of licks, but that was another day and time. Some of the more hardy girls wanted this option, but it was denied them. As I recall, no boy ever opted not to take licks in lieu of detention. We all survived and revered Mr. H as a good guy. We also learned the states and capitols.
Back to the present, is it any wonder that we have twelve year old boys raping ten year old girls? After all, no one would ever really punish them, would they? If kids do not learn the unpleasant things associated with failing to obey the rules, won't they do just as they please without a thought of the consequences?
This is an admittedly old fart attitude. I guess that I am just not young enough to be as smart as some.
21 December 2006
14 December 2006
You Never Know
Just outside of Luzern is a community called Emmenbruecke. It makes the headines every so often when it denies Swiss citizenship to Turkish or Eastern Bloc people who have sometimes been here for two or even three generations. A lot of Swiss are horified at this discrimination. At one time there was a move about to eliminate the rights of communities to be the ones that grant citizenship because of some of their actions.
So today in the newspaper, I wasn't a bit surprised to read that a Christmas musical play was taking place at a local school where most of the fourth graders are either catholic or protestant. What did blow me away was the interviews thay had with the two kids who are cast as Mary and Joseph. Each child is a Muslim! They are proud to have a leading part in the play, even though they readily admit that Christmas means nothing more than a holiday to them.
How about that for intergration? Wonder if a Christian could ever play Mohammad?
So today in the newspaper, I wasn't a bit surprised to read that a Christmas musical play was taking place at a local school where most of the fourth graders are either catholic or protestant. What did blow me away was the interviews thay had with the two kids who are cast as Mary and Joseph. Each child is a Muslim! They are proud to have a leading part in the play, even though they readily admit that Christmas means nothing more than a holiday to them.
How about that for intergration? Wonder if a Christian could ever play Mohammad?
10 December 2006
Only in the Laboratory
Now, I can wonder if I haven't heard it all. In the Sunday new York Times Magazine, I ran into an article about E. coli Wipes. E. coli is big time news these days. We all have read and heard about spinach, and the mess that Taco Bell got into with their scallions. People can get as sick as a blue ox when they ingest certain types of E. coli. Some may even die. E. coli is everywhere in our environment.
These two scientists at Cornell University have developed a wipe made of a coating that when dipped in another solution shows the prescence of some bacteria. So far the number of infectious agents that can be identified is limited, but one strain of E. coli does show up. They also are working on a "non-dip" system to make use of the wipes easier.
This sounds good, BUT I have a few reservations. Unless you are in some sort of clean room like that found in some hospitals, bacteria and virus abound. Even the clean rooms are not sterile. Can you imagine a wipe of a car door handle, a set of keys, an armrest on a bus or airplane? Pathogens are all around us, and our bodies are invaded numerous times a day. Brushing your teeth has been shown to cause bacteria to enter the bloodstream. The possibilities are endless, but in the majority of invasions the body uses its natural defenses to rid itself of these agents.
Could this turn the population into a mass of Lady Macbeths? Can you imagine the gallons of hand sanitizer people will carry around? There would be long lines at sinks for handwashing (still the single most effective disease prevetion method of all). How about running a wipe over your sweetie's lips before a kiss or holding hands? No one would venture into a public place since a wipe would prove it to be a pesthole. Airline travel would be for only those willing to get into special suits that would exclude all contamination (airplanes are still one of the truest forms of pestilence delivering agents in this world). Of course, any idiot that could pound sand would be wiping down all the scallions in taco Bell. These are just a few examples.
This could be one of those discoveries that is best relegated to the trash heap of history. Just a thought.
These two scientists at Cornell University have developed a wipe made of a coating that when dipped in another solution shows the prescence of some bacteria. So far the number of infectious agents that can be identified is limited, but one strain of E. coli does show up. They also are working on a "non-dip" system to make use of the wipes easier.
This sounds good, BUT I have a few reservations. Unless you are in some sort of clean room like that found in some hospitals, bacteria and virus abound. Even the clean rooms are not sterile. Can you imagine a wipe of a car door handle, a set of keys, an armrest on a bus or airplane? Pathogens are all around us, and our bodies are invaded numerous times a day. Brushing your teeth has been shown to cause bacteria to enter the bloodstream. The possibilities are endless, but in the majority of invasions the body uses its natural defenses to rid itself of these agents.
Could this turn the population into a mass of Lady Macbeths? Can you imagine the gallons of hand sanitizer people will carry around? There would be long lines at sinks for handwashing (still the single most effective disease prevetion method of all). How about running a wipe over your sweetie's lips before a kiss or holding hands? No one would venture into a public place since a wipe would prove it to be a pesthole. Airline travel would be for only those willing to get into special suits that would exclude all contamination (airplanes are still one of the truest forms of pestilence delivering agents in this world). Of course, any idiot that could pound sand would be wiping down all the scallions in taco Bell. These are just a few examples.
This could be one of those discoveries that is best relegated to the trash heap of history. Just a thought.
08 December 2006
RJ and the Death Celebration
In the old days, while I was a pre- medical undergraduate student, I went to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. After being admitted to the medical school, I moved on to the medical units in Memphis.
To get to Memphis there were several hoops through which one had to jump. Grades, MCAT scores, etc. were important. Not the least important was to get by RJ and her physics course of three quarters. There seemed to be no way to get to Memphis without decent grades in physics. I had a great high school physics teacher, so I didn't worry a lot. That is, I didn't worry a lot until I got the scoop on RJ's course.
This lady was an old maid, ugly as homemade sin, smoked like a chimney, and hated men, especially those men aspiring to become doctors. I might mention that in those days, a teacher smoking in class was acceptable. RJ had a penchant for reminding her classes of pre-med students that they weren't going to get to Memphis without getting by her. She likely would have been a good teacher if she had not had these hangups. Her students were in her class always. No one would have cut her class if they had been half dead.
Her quizzes were always unannounced and took on a bizzare turn. She would enter the room, write a question or questions on the board, and then light up a Lucky Strike. When she put it out, the time was up. Traumatic at best describes her knowledge assessment by this means. It so happened that I liked Knoxville so much more than West Tennessee that I went to school there in the summer time also for two years. The last year, my faculty adviser suggested that I take the first quarter of physics that summer. I signed up only to find that RJ was not teaching it. I figured one quarter down wouldn't hurt when I met RJ in the fall. It turned out that in the fall, she taught the first quarter physics, and the summer teacher followed on with our second quarter.
I cannot say that missing RJ was something that I regretted, but it turned out that was not to be anyway. The week before classes started that fall, RJ died! That's right, went toes up, cooled it, left for stiff city, etc. Well, that didn't matter to me, but I was told that both medical fraternities in Memphis left classes early and threw a big party. Somehow, I think that RJ would have liked that.
Third quarter physics is another blog.
To get to Memphis there were several hoops through which one had to jump. Grades, MCAT scores, etc. were important. Not the least important was to get by RJ and her physics course of three quarters. There seemed to be no way to get to Memphis without decent grades in physics. I had a great high school physics teacher, so I didn't worry a lot. That is, I didn't worry a lot until I got the scoop on RJ's course.
This lady was an old maid, ugly as homemade sin, smoked like a chimney, and hated men, especially those men aspiring to become doctors. I might mention that in those days, a teacher smoking in class was acceptable. RJ had a penchant for reminding her classes of pre-med students that they weren't going to get to Memphis without getting by her. She likely would have been a good teacher if she had not had these hangups. Her students were in her class always. No one would have cut her class if they had been half dead.
Her quizzes were always unannounced and took on a bizzare turn. She would enter the room, write a question or questions on the board, and then light up a Lucky Strike. When she put it out, the time was up. Traumatic at best describes her knowledge assessment by this means. It so happened that I liked Knoxville so much more than West Tennessee that I went to school there in the summer time also for two years. The last year, my faculty adviser suggested that I take the first quarter of physics that summer. I signed up only to find that RJ was not teaching it. I figured one quarter down wouldn't hurt when I met RJ in the fall. It turned out that in the fall, she taught the first quarter physics, and the summer teacher followed on with our second quarter.
I cannot say that missing RJ was something that I regretted, but it turned out that was not to be anyway. The week before classes started that fall, RJ died! That's right, went toes up, cooled it, left for stiff city, etc. Well, that didn't matter to me, but I was told that both medical fraternities in Memphis left classes early and threw a big party. Somehow, I think that RJ would have liked that.
Third quarter physics is another blog.
02 December 2006
Gigli's First Day at Work
OK, it was not my first day, but it was my first Sunday on call. I had been a neurosurgical resident for about four days. The resident staff was only four. Being on call meant that I was in the hospital for twenty four hours straight, 8AM until 8AM. There was no scheduled surgery or diagnostic studies on Sundays, BUT Sunday was a big admission day for patients to have studies the next day or for surgery in the following days.
We had about twelve staff neurosurgeons to cover, both admissions and inpatients. We did not have to make rounds on all. The resident for each staff man did that on Sunday himself. The "on call" man was there for his own patients, new admissions, and emergencies. Aside from a few morning hours, he was the only resident there. The census usually ran about 50-70 patients in critical to all most well condition. Sundays off were precious. Unless you had active arterial bleeding, you did not ask your fellow residents to cover for you.
So there I was. New kid on the resident staff, first on call Sunday, and raring to go. Well, I didn't have to wait long. A little before noon, I got a call from Pappy. Some of you may remember Pappy from some other of my blogs. Suffice it to say that Pappy was the grand old man of southern neurosurgery. He was a bit behind the times at almost 80 years, but he was sharp as a pin. Anyway, he told me that his grandson had fallen at home and cut his knee. His daughter was bringing him in for me to sew up. He went into detail about how I was to do it, what antiseptic to use, and so forth. I had, by that time, considerable experience in suturing cuts as a student, intern, and general resident, but I assured him that it would be no problem. In the next breath, Pappy says that a dear friend of his has had a stroke (we took care of any/all strokes then) while in the hospital. Pappy said he liked to really be aggressive with strokes and would I go up to his room and do a stellate ganglion block on him. Well, a stellate ganglion block on a stroke is about as non-aggressive treatment for a stroke as it could get, but I wasn't about to give Pappy any flak about it. I also didn't tell him that I had never done a stellate ganglion block. I knew where to go look it up, and after all, I here to learn.
Sewing the kid up was a breeze. He was a great patient. I swung by the medical library and checked out stellate ganglion blocks, called the floor and told them what I needed, and went up to see the patient. He had been stroked since some time in the night before, so any treatment wasn't going to change things. Still and all, I did my first block on a stellate ganglion and got a nice block. This had taken me until about noon. Then things began to really pop.
Another staff man called to let me know that another stroke (fresh this time) was on his way in from a town not too far away. This staff man WAS aggressive. He told me to do an angiogram, and he would be in to see the patient. Well, I had been taught angiography as a neurosurgical intern, so I got busy in x-ray, did the study, and had it ready for the staff man when he arrived. Turns out this guy needed an operation and it was several hours before we got done with that. As I was finishing the dictation and the post-op orders on this man, I get an emergency call from the nurse on the neurosurgical floor. A patient of the professor's had gone bad. I rushed to the room, and indeed, the poor lady was brain dead. In those days, I didn't have a lot of experience with brain death, but I knew it when I saw it. We did a few cursory things for the family's benefit, and let nature run its course.
Now it was about 5PM, and I had yet to see any of the steady flow of admissions that had collected with the nurses on the floor. The grand total turned out to be TWENTY FOUR. Each of these patients had to be seen, orders written or checked, given a physical exam, and given a DETAILED neurological exam. Some were straightforward, while others were not. At 2 AM Monday morning, I got to my last workup of the day. I had been waking folks up since about 10 PM the night before, so I was surprised to cruise into this last patient's room at 2 AM only to find him sitting up in a chair reading the paper. I apologized for being so late, and he said, "Doesn't bother me a bit, doctor, I work nights anyway". After that, it was a relatively peaceful early morning. The next day, my resident mates were all amazed at what I had done the day before, but I think they were not sorry to not pick up the left overs.
Well, I thought if each Sunday on call was going to be this way, I might want to rethink my choice of specialty. It turns out that the first Sunday on call was the worst of my coming four years. They weren't all easy, but after that baptism of fire, I could handle most anything.
We had about twelve staff neurosurgeons to cover, both admissions and inpatients. We did not have to make rounds on all. The resident for each staff man did that on Sunday himself. The "on call" man was there for his own patients, new admissions, and emergencies. Aside from a few morning hours, he was the only resident there. The census usually ran about 50-70 patients in critical to all most well condition. Sundays off were precious. Unless you had active arterial bleeding, you did not ask your fellow residents to cover for you.
So there I was. New kid on the resident staff, first on call Sunday, and raring to go. Well, I didn't have to wait long. A little before noon, I got a call from Pappy. Some of you may remember Pappy from some other of my blogs. Suffice it to say that Pappy was the grand old man of southern neurosurgery. He was a bit behind the times at almost 80 years, but he was sharp as a pin. Anyway, he told me that his grandson had fallen at home and cut his knee. His daughter was bringing him in for me to sew up. He went into detail about how I was to do it, what antiseptic to use, and so forth. I had, by that time, considerable experience in suturing cuts as a student, intern, and general resident, but I assured him that it would be no problem. In the next breath, Pappy says that a dear friend of his has had a stroke (we took care of any/all strokes then) while in the hospital. Pappy said he liked to really be aggressive with strokes and would I go up to his room and do a stellate ganglion block on him. Well, a stellate ganglion block on a stroke is about as non-aggressive treatment for a stroke as it could get, but I wasn't about to give Pappy any flak about it. I also didn't tell him that I had never done a stellate ganglion block. I knew where to go look it up, and after all, I here to learn.
Sewing the kid up was a breeze. He was a great patient. I swung by the medical library and checked out stellate ganglion blocks, called the floor and told them what I needed, and went up to see the patient. He had been stroked since some time in the night before, so any treatment wasn't going to change things. Still and all, I did my first block on a stellate ganglion and got a nice block. This had taken me until about noon. Then things began to really pop.
Another staff man called to let me know that another stroke (fresh this time) was on his way in from a town not too far away. This staff man WAS aggressive. He told me to do an angiogram, and he would be in to see the patient. Well, I had been taught angiography as a neurosurgical intern, so I got busy in x-ray, did the study, and had it ready for the staff man when he arrived. Turns out this guy needed an operation and it was several hours before we got done with that. As I was finishing the dictation and the post-op orders on this man, I get an emergency call from the nurse on the neurosurgical floor. A patient of the professor's had gone bad. I rushed to the room, and indeed, the poor lady was brain dead. In those days, I didn't have a lot of experience with brain death, but I knew it when I saw it. We did a few cursory things for the family's benefit, and let nature run its course.
Now it was about 5PM, and I had yet to see any of the steady flow of admissions that had collected with the nurses on the floor. The grand total turned out to be TWENTY FOUR. Each of these patients had to be seen, orders written or checked, given a physical exam, and given a DETAILED neurological exam. Some were straightforward, while others were not. At 2 AM Monday morning, I got to my last workup of the day. I had been waking folks up since about 10 PM the night before, so I was surprised to cruise into this last patient's room at 2 AM only to find him sitting up in a chair reading the paper. I apologized for being so late, and he said, "Doesn't bother me a bit, doctor, I work nights anyway". After that, it was a relatively peaceful early morning. The next day, my resident mates were all amazed at what I had done the day before, but I think they were not sorry to not pick up the left overs.
Well, I thought if each Sunday on call was going to be this way, I might want to rethink my choice of specialty. It turns out that the first Sunday on call was the worst of my coming four years. They weren't all easy, but after that baptism of fire, I could handle most anything.
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