If You Talk to Larry King or Dr. Phil. . .

Being the sucker for a good old-fashioned Baby Mama Drama, I got to spend my Saturday night watching Bristol Palin's baby daddy and ex-fiance, Levi Johnston on "Larry King Live".  He was joined by his mother and sister, who offered their moral support and expressed their love for baby Tripp.  In Levi's mind, he is probably sharing his saga with various media junkets to drum up some sympathy for himself.  He shares this sad story of a young man, who longs to have a relationship with his infant son, and is prevented from doing so by the megalomaniac Alaskan governor, Sarah Palin.  Governor Palin is the evil queen, keeping the prince away from the princess.  Levi has the love of his mother and sister on his side, his strongest weapons against the powerful Governor Palin.  I am always fascinated with Caucasian folks who run to Larry King, Greta Van Sustern, and Nancy Grace, as if these people are the golden tickets to prolonging their fifteen minutes.  Larry grilled Levi on every intimate detail of his relationship with Bristol, including where they had sex, how many times, favorite sexual positions, etc.  Larry wanted to know if everyone's parents were aware, how they reacted to being notified of the pregnancy, and the gory details of the current Palin vs Johnston feud.  Levi's sister, Mercede, also revealed that she wants a relationship with the baby and she was not allowed to talk to Levi, her brother/BFF, because Bristol didn't like her.  This kind of drama is better than soap operas or the craziest novella on Univision.  I noticed that the Johnston family had some very odd facial expressions and delayed responses to questions.  I heard Larry King is rather flatulent during interviews, so I wonder how that impacted this whole event.

Living Strong with a Stanky Legg

Since we are entering the end of the first decade of the new millennium, I thought I would make my life a little more interesting by changing up my exercise routine.  I resumed taking a Spinning class at the gym.  Now, Spinning classes are these intense, cardiovascular, aerobic workouts, promoting extensive calorie burning.  Although I am an avid runner/exerciser, Spinning kicks my ass.  In the class, they try to emulate a mock bicycle race, with hills, flat surfaces, and such.  They make you increase your intensity to simulate riding the bike up a hill and tell you to "sprint" down this imaginary hill as you pedal your ass off.  The best part about these classes are the other people who take them.  It seems very much like a cult.  These people are in amazing physical shape and hardly sweat during the class.  I actually sweat a few gallons in the 55 minutes.  But, the others, however, act as though they are training for the Tour de France.  They wear the biker short-tight things and strap various equipment to them.  They also all wear special shoes during the class, and proceed to change their shoes in front of all of us.  Also, everyone seems to know each other, and they all greet each other, shake hands, and say, "Peace be with you" before the class even starts.  Now, I actually find the class boring, even though I am struggling to catch my breath most of the time.  The music usually sucks, as well.  I would prefer a Spinning class featuring the hits of Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine, Joy Division, and, of course, closing out with Lollipop, by Lil Wayne. Please enjoy the following--my favorite video on You Tube at this time

Drowning in Breast Milk

I really do not like breasts.  Additionally, I do not like nipples.  I don't like it when those guido-type guys wear really tight shirts and you can see their nipples.  I definitely do not like seeing women's nipples.  It isn't that I'm uncomfortable, after all, I have my own breasts complete with nipples (only 2).  However, I really do not care to have other people's nipples invading my visual field.  In fact, nipples to me exemplify the sense offense.  Many of my patients are in the breastfeeding stage of life.  Obviously, being a developmental pediatrician, I encourage breastfeeding.  It promotes health, growth, immunity, and solidifies the relationship between a mother and her child.  

Nonetheless, I really don't want to be visually assaulted by a breast feeding mother and child.  I am not completely opposed to public breast feeding, but, please, ladies--just cover with a blanket.  I have a patient whose mother keeps her in a snuggly-sling contraption, and will whip out the breast when the baby utters any resemblance of a sound.  During her appointment, the baby would turn to me and coo, smile, laugh, etc., trying to get attention.  I wanted to reinforce the baby's socialization.  When I directed my gaze to the baby's direction, while her mother was talking, I was visually bitch-slapped by this huge nipple.  I almost fell out of my chair.  I honestly had nightmares of the nipple afterwards.  Well, this family returned today, and now, the baby is a one-year-old, who still has access to the boob.  Her mother is essentially a dairy, and this child is draining it.  It came time for me to examine the baby, like listening to her vital organs (heart and lungs) and checking reflexes, eyes, ears, etc.  The breast was out and visible.  I tried my best to politely give some time for the baby to finish with the eating process and allow her mother to place the breast/nipple back into the shirt, so it wouldn't be staring at me.  Finally, the breast went back into its proper place, and I was able to listen to the baby's heart.  

I have actually had to hold people's breast milk, before.  Of course, it was in a bottle, but, still--GROSS!!!  A lady on an airplane, to whom my father offered my expert services, was feeding her baby.  I actually got to hear the baby's medical history and there was a bottle of breast milk.  She needed me to hold the bottle--not that she couldn't have used one of those lame retractable tray tables, or anything.  It was pretty disgusting, and I think that some may have actually spilled on my jacket.  One time, it was for a work colleague who finished a marathon session with a breast pump.  I think I double-gloved myself and wore an isolation gown, and placed the bottles in a very thick paper bag, while wearing the protective face mask.

Lend Me Your Ear. . .

As I am watching Joe Biden accept the vice-presidential nomination, it occurs to me that I will wake up in a few hours. I am realizing that my day will be filled with interesting stories, challenging situations, and emotional turbulence.  In my line of work, as a developmental pediatrician, I get to meet with families after the dreaded realization that their child is not the child they hoped they would raise.  In addition, I have this uncanny ability to ellicit large amounts of personal information from people, whether in my office or anywhere else.

Many times, when I am reviewing paperwork, I have to sift through these novels and sonnets composed by anxious mothers.  They chronicle every strange behavior observed, such as the things they eat, the things they watch on television, the things they do to themselves, their parents, and other kids. . . it is crazy-making.  They write this multivolume epic and do not actually say anything with substance.  But, the best part is when they come to the office.  These kids have mothers who are ready to commit verbal diarrhea in a limited 2-hour time period.  

I try to begin by asking a simple question, "What concerns do you have for your child today?"  However, it is this simple inquiry that opens a flood gate and I drown.  The anxious mothers proceed to complain about every little characteristic that they do not like about their child.  Today, I had a mother basically say, "From the beginning, I knew that something just wasn't right".  Now, how on earth do people know that something is "not right" with a newborn?  Unless they don't eat or don't sleep, it is very difficult to label a newborn as "weird".  I would literally ask this lady a question, and after twenty minutes of talking without taking a breath, she never actually answered the original question.  At that point, I could never actually remember what I asked.  The true victim is not me (even though it seems like it would be), but, actually the poor kid.  I would ask this mother a question such as, "What did your daughter eat as an infant?"  This mother would provide this very lengthy description of her breast milk, the force and velocity of the projectile vomiting, and the exact quantity that would cause the vomiting.  The schedule of the daily diet was another issue.  The child was much more efficient and sadly, much more informative.  Afterwards, I needed to spend twenty minutes on You Tube, watching "Does it Blend?", so my brain could regenerate.