Monthly Archives: January 2008

An advantage to being a mom in med school

PhotobucketI have a dry erase easel available after the kids go to sleep. I am using it to diagram neural pathways as I study for neuroanatomy. Here is the epicritic pathway, the pathway of discriminative touch: two point tactile discrimination, vibration and proprioception (knowing where your body parts are).

Speaking of which, people with advanced syphilis have a harder time knowing where their feet are, since the spirochete chomps the fasciculus gracilus (which is labeled on the drawing – see?), the pathway that carries this information from the feet to the cerebral cortex. So, victims of advanced syphilis often have a wide stance. I’m just sayin’.


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Some musings about a specialty

My facilitator in my clinical practicum class in encouraging me to go into Ob-Gyn instead of family practice with an Ob-Gyn fellowship. She thinks I would be a great obstetrician (She is so sweet! She made a comment that she would love to use me if she got pregnant.) and that family practice would annoy me when I am so passionate about obstetrics.

And funny thing, we had this ultra suave gynecologic oncologist speak to our group last week. He said one of the reasons that he went into gynecology was that men are gross. (Ironic, since his dress and hygiene were impeccable). I thought about it, and I am weirded out by treating men. And probably older children, too. I am going to definitely give family medicine a good try in rotations. That way I can take care of a whole community like I plan to now. But, I am interested in Ob-Gyn, and maybe a women’s health fellowship, instead. Exciting!

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Speaking of protest songs

I was thinking that there are some others from this war that I like. Too bad they don’t get as much radio play as the ones from the Vietnam War did.

Faithless, Mass Destruction


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Dear Mr. President, by Pink

Thanks Tami.


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Blog for Choice Day

Blog for Choice DayI wasn’t sure that I was going to join the group Medical Students for Choice when I went to medical school. I knew that I wanted to provide abortions in my future practice, whether I was a family practitioner or an Ob/Gyn. But, I was afraid to sign up for the club. I was afraid of what it would “say” about me when I applied for elective rotations and residencies. I was afraid of what my fellow students would think of me. It was going to be hard enough to fit in, since I am ten years older than most of my classmates, with two kids. I felt like that was an obstacle enough, and that being labeled as a radical feminist would let my freak flag out of the closet, if my bad art school tattoos didn’t already give me away.

But, I found myself on their website before school even started, trying to find out if there was a chapter at our school. And today, I stood up, with my hands shaking, and asked my neuroanatomy professor if I could borrow the microphone to address the class, who was chattering away during one of our breaks.

“Today is the 35th Anniversary of Roe vs. Wade,” I said, and the classroom fell to a hush. I announced that medical Students for Choice would be having a lunch speaker, and invited the classes for “dialogue.”

We had a wonderful pair of speakers from a nearby abortion clinic. When the first one, the founder of the clinic, was done speaking, she asked us to speak about why we were so personally involved with choice, and why we were members of our organization. I had been excitedly discussing the NEJM article about antidepressant evidence suppression with the other club members while we ate our pizza, before the meeting started. “How about you?” she said brightly, and pointed right at me. She made a joke about how vocal I was, and I flinched. So much for hiding it!

“Unlike most of my classmates, I have two children. I know what it is like to carry two pregnancies to term, to give birth, to become a mother, and raise children. It is a big deal. I love my children and think motherhood is wonderful, and I don’t want that to be forced on any woman or child. A new life, a child, is too sacred to be a punishment for someone who doesn’t want to have a baby.” I also rattled off some numbers (I am a stats girl) about maternal mortality in countries where abortion is illegal, unplanned pregnancies, and how many women around us have had abortions, and complained about how easy it is to be lost in the discussion of abortion as it is now framed by anti-choicers, which mostly involves slut shaming.

What I didn’t do is say what I was screaming in my head. What I wanted to say in front of the class with the microphone. Which I want to say to my family and not be afraid or ashamed to say.

I had an abortion. I had an abortion when I was seventeen years old. I was a throwaway at the time – my mother kicked me out of the house after reading Tough Love a little too zealously. Ironically, she was upset that I was sleeping with my high school sweetheart. He treated me with respect, waited six months for me to have sex with him without ever pressuring me (well, not much anyway…) and always used a condom. She found out we slept together by reading his letters to me from college. I ended up bumming rides and sleeping at friends’ houses. One of the people I bummed a ride from was a friend of a friend. He did pressure me, he didn’t take no for an answer, and he didn’t use a condom.

Now, I would call it date rape. Then, I had never heard the term. I wasn’t drugged, I wasn’t beating him off, but I was crying and saying no. I stopped saying no after a while and just let him have his way. I had only been with my boyfriend before this, and he had always put on a condom first. When Chris was finished, I opened my eyes and said “You weren’t wearing a CONDOM??” and he said “You’re not on birth control?”

I could go on and on about what bad parents we would be, about how I was thrown out of the house and had no insurance or income, how I had great grades and a bright future. But all that really matters is that I was fully cognizant of the gravity of the situation when I finally figured out that my period wasn’t going to come, and I never once considered keeping the baby. There is no need test, no “bright future” test, no slut test anyone should have to pass.

I love my boys and feel incredibly lucky that I was given the opportunity to be their mother. Every pregnancy and event of a woman’s life time fertility is a total crap shoot. I have been pregnant four times, each of them unplanned. More than half of the pregnancies in the United States are unplanned, which is a ridiculously high number. The time with Chris was the only time that I wasn’t using birth control. It was also the only time I chose to have an abortion.

I cannot imagine what would have happened if I was forced to carry the pregnancy to term. There was no parental consent law at the time in Florida. There is one now. I would probably have gone to court to get a judicial bypass, but I didn’t even figure out that I was pregnant until I was almost a month along. My mother gave me books about Jerry Falwell’s maternity home when I was growing up, and I knew she would never consent to my having an abortion. As far as I know, she still doesn’t know, and neither does any other member of my fairly conservative family.

But, I don’t share that story. Because whores have abortions. And only stupid sluts get pregnant four times without meaning to. I hear it. I hear it every day from my classmates, from my family, from the media. No one says that they are one of the 40% who has had an abortion. They just talk about people they know who had them. That girl from high school. It is rarely a flattering story.

So the shame is still there. I will be a member of Medical Students for Choice. And all two people who read my blog now know that I have had an abortion, along with my husband an a few chosen friends. I don’t think any member of my family reads here, but we shall see.


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Wish I could say I was surprised, but I was only disgusted.

According to the New England Journal of Medicine, several drug companies who sell antidepressants have misrepresented and covered up negative studies, including studies with deaths due to suicide. One study with suicides was done on NORMAL subjects, not depressive subjects.

Drug companies need to take the portion of their R & D budget that goes to clinical trials and give it to non profits and universities to conduct and release the results of the actual drug trials. They can still make every penny off of the drug if it is successful and sold.

On the Media had a great story on it. Every time the expert referred to a death as a “trade secret”, I wanted to barf. Oh wait, I forgot, it’s NATURAL medicine that is unregulated….right.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for people getting the help they need when they are depressed. But, I am also all for accurate information and true informed consent. I have read research on antidepressants in which the results are very disappointing, studies that are secondary to the drugs being released. For example, studies on pregnant women who are depressed and taking antidepressants. I have often noticed that the efficacy rate in these studies, not conducted by the drug company, are often much much lower than claimed in the PDR and pharmaceutical literature.

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Giggle of the day

Today’s lowbrow giggle is brought to you by biochemistry. The very important part of the DNA sequence: the TATA box.


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