So when I opened CNN this morning, I noticed that Michael Jackson had trumped Iran in the media spotlight, in that each set of articles had a separate heading apart from the other headlines, but MJ’s waon top.  Reading through the Iran section, I learned that Ahmadinejad is accusing the CIA of killing Neda.  He argues that it was almost too convenient that this beautiful, peaceful young woman should die so violently just when the cameras were there to catch every agonizing moment.  This played so nicely into the hands of the anti-govenment protesters, creating an instant martyr and symbol, that it must have been staged…and what nefarious, anti-Iranian group would be more likely to pull such a stunt than the CIA?

“Well,” I though, looking back at the headline, “isn’t it also quite convenient (this time for the Iranian govenmen) that another big story should come along this week to distract the media from brutality being inflicted on the pro-Mousavi crowds…”  Almost too convenient?

It was in that moment that I realized it: Michael Jackson was killed by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad!

I received a piece of spam today which caught me quite by surprise.  I almost never see spam anymore, my gmail filter is that good.  “How did this get through?” I wondered as I turned the envelope over and over in my hands…then I realized: the spamers had evaded my filters by using snail mail!  Clever bastards!

The envelope, from Saint Matthew’s Churches, had been personally prayed over by members of the congregation; I know because it told me so in big, yellow high-lighted letters on the outside, front and back.  Inside were more well wishes, as well as promises about God’s ability to offer me great financial blessings, plus an offer to send me a prayer cross (“DO NOT SEND ANY MONEY FOR IT. IT IS FREE“), if only I would provide a name and address (the envelope was sent to “resident” – apparently God did not provide them anything more specific).  Also included were testimonials from such reliable sources as Rev. H.D.S, who has “been aquainted with [this ministry] for [over 30] years, and know [them] to be a great [people] of God;” and Sis A.B., who God bleessed with a home and a gas station (could I make that up if I tried?).  Perhaps it was just the terrible grammer, but I swear I could hear the whole thing being read with a Nigerian accent.

My very favorite part though was the sealed envelope inside with “a sign from theLord about your future.”

IMPORTANT – Only break open this sealed prophocy after you have put this Postcard and your prayer request back in the mail to this 58-year-old church ministry…before sunset tomorrow or the next day.

Say it with me now: “You must forward this email to 10 people in the next 25 hours of something awful will happen to you!!!!!”  Well, I’m going to risk it, here we go…

 ”PROPHETIC WORD GIVEN FOR YOUR SPIRITUAL EDIFICATION”

From there it goes on for a full page with vague promises about change, new directions and of course a very important “DECISION THAT MUST BE MADE,” all of which will be easier now, thanks to my new faith.  What’s actually quite creepy about all of this is that it’s done in the first person, from God’s perspective…funny that they couldn’t get him to sign it.

And just in case you are thinking these people are simply earnest believers with a broken Caps Lock key, I should mention that their “church” is in Houston TX, but their mailing address is Tulse OK.  Hmmm…

I was in the grocery store yesterday and had some baby food for Aliza among my purchases.  The friendly cashier asked me how old my child ones and we chatted for a little bit.  Then the conversation turned awkward:

Cashier: So your daughter must be drinking juice now too.
Me: Well, actually we aren’t giving her juice, just milk and a little water.
Cashier (obviously a juice fan): Why not?
Me: Juice is really mostly sugar with very little nutritional content, all kids need is milk and a little water.
Cashier (clearly thinking I’m being ridiculous): Oh no, I mean the Gerber juices, for babies.
Me: I know, they’re better than fruit punch, but not by much.
Cashier (wondering why I hate my baby so much): Have you tried them? They’re much less sweet then adult juices.  I’ve tasted them.

At this point I thought about pulling out my trump card (“I’m a pediatrician and you’re wrong!”) but decided that would not be a good way to make friends.  Plus I figured the people waiting behind me in line didn’t want to hear about how juice contributes to babies’ sweet tooth, childhood obesity and bottle caries.  One thing I did find very interesting is how much stronger an objection I got to the idea that juice is bad from this woman than I get from my patients in clinic.  It makes me wonder if they all feel as strongly as she does, and just are not telling me to my face, because I have the stethoscope.

Many of the family’s I see in clinic get nutritional help from Women, Infants, and Children (a great program that supplies food and formula for low-income women from pregnancy to postpartum and for their babies to the age of 5 years).  One source of resistance I often meet to my juice schpeil is that WIC supplies juice, so it must be good for babies.  I brought this up with a WIC nutritionist recently during a site visit, and she reassured me that WIC is currently revising it’s grocery list to include less juice and thus hopefully discourage usage a little more.  Of course, the govenment does not exactly have an A+ record of encouraging good nutrition.

Ari and I actually did something very similar to this while we were courting: we took a train all the way from Washington DC to New Haven, CT to see Avery Brooks play King Lear (of the Olmec.  Good to see we’re not the only ones.

I saw a teenager in clinic yesterday who was using what I refer to as the “hope method” of birth control, as in: “I hope I don’t get pregnant, but I’m not actually doing anything to prevent it.”  I asked her if she was trying to get pregnant, to which she replied definitely not,  but she and her boyfriend would be prepared to take care of any baby that came along…

I was thinking about that girl today, as well as the teenagers in Gloucester who apparently made a pact to get pregnant and raise their babies together, while I was holding my own little daughter.  Aliza was crying miserably because I had put her down for 3 minutes so I could go to the bathroom.  One sometimes hears teens talk about wanting a baby so that they have someone to love them unconditionally.  What occurred to me in that moment is that I love Aliza unconditionally, but the reverse isn’t really true.  She recognizes my face, but at this stage she’s just as happy to smile back at almost anyone who smiles at her.   Love is a two-way street, which would mean Aliza going to sleep more than 5 hours before I need to be up for work again, or not screaming to be fed just as I try to sit down to eat, or maybe just peeing less often when I have her diaper open.

The challenge of having a baby is being able to love this little person as much as possible, and giving as much as possible, while knowing that the more substantive returns are further in the future.  Try explaining that to a teenager.

A couple days ago I received an urgent call from a friend seeking medical advice for her husband: she described his condition and asked if he should go to the ER.

This situation is not new to me, it’s happened numerous times in various iterations over the past 5 years.  What was different this time is that I’m not technically a medical student now, but actually,  really, truly an MD…  …  …

Okay, stay calm.  The obvious caveats:

1) I graduated 2 weeks ago, and haven’t learned anything new in the interim (not technically true, since I’m studying for PALS, but close enough).

2) Even if I was a “real doctor,” we are supposed to avoid making diagnoses over the phone, for both ethical and legal reasons (aka: I haven’t actually seen the patient).

I advised my friend of both these facts, and then gave them maybe the best available piece of advice: if you feel bad enough to be considering a trip to the ER, you should probably go.

This story has a happy ending (no, not that kind, and no, I’m not putting in a link), as her husband did go to the ER, where they juiced him up with a liter of normal saline (everyone feels better after a liter of NS, trust me), gave him some meds and sent him on his way with nary a law suit in site.  A good day for all.

I know it’s a little late, but Ari and I each came up with a way to make breathing forbidden for Jews over Passover. We came up with reasons why the carbon dioxide in the air would be chametz and therefore unfit for Jewish consumption during those 8 days (as opposed to non-kosher elements during the rest of the year which are ignored if below a certain percentage, chametz on Passover is forbidden in any amount).

Anyways, here’s mine:

During Passover, there are people all over the world eating bread (aka: chametz). The bread is broken down into glucose (among other components) which is turned into energy via glycolysis and then the Krebs cycle. With each turn of the Krebs cycle, carbon atoms from that glucose are incorporated into carbon dioxide (a waste product of the process), which will be breathed out and join the atmospheric pool.

Now before you panic about this, there is a solution to the problem. Observant Jews purchase milk and eggs before Passover, because it is forbidden to use non-chametz that was created from chametz (in that case, chicken and cow feed) on the holiday. Therefore, the trick to getting around the carbon dioxide problem is just to acquire a bottled air supply before the holiday and breath that during the following 8 days. Any garden variety air will do, the trick is just to find a place to store it…

Be nice to Ari and maybe he will share his method as well.

I cut my hair yesterday for the first time in about 2.5 years (last time was the day after I went sky-diving, Oct 2005) . I’ve found my preferred method for dealing with my hair is to go boy-short, then ignore it until it’s long enough to donate to Locks of Love. The organization was very popular at my undergrad, with a big event every year on campus where students would get publicly shorn (one needs at least 10 inches to donate). (A common misconception is that cancer patients are th main recipients of the donated hair. LoL actually focuses on children with permanent causes of hair loss, primarily auto-immune. This can still be quite devastating to a kid, even if it’s not life threatening, and makes LoL a very worthy cause. I just wanted to clear up any misconceptions)

I got my haircut at the beauty school down the street, mainly because it’s very inexpensive and I wasn’t that concerned with the results. I explained to the girl what I wanted done and she was definitely a little bit traumatized by my request. She kept asking if I was sure before we started, and if I was okay after. I think she was afraid I would get angry with her after the fact.

I love the short-short hair, but maybe next time I should warn Ari before I do this…

So I was recently telling someone that there is a coffee made only from beans eaten and then pooped out by a monkey…which of course they didn’t believe me, because who would want to eat such a thing?  Turns out they were right, it’s not a monkey it’s a jungle cat.

…because this blog can’t all be random and deplorable violence, here’s something that’s just plain fun.

…one of  the visionary minds of the 20th century.  If you have ever been to Rama, or wondered about the year 2001 (before we got there), then I know you will note with regret, as I did, the passing of Arthur C. Clark today.

This is my first effort at blogging, we’ll see how long it lasts given my current amount of leisure time. And yet somehow it seems appropriate that with the major life changes that I’ve experienced in the last 2 weeks, the first thing I’m inspired to post about is camel sex. I should point out that I doubt the author thought he was writing about any such thing…but can you really blame me for thinking it with comments like this:

“You can go out for the day, two or three hours out of Riyadh, have lunch, play with the camels, have tea, say the sunset prayer in the desert…Camels are a gentleman’s pastime.”

The full article has more gems…

Suddenly, Mr. Shammari grabbed the white camel’s chin and kissed it square on the mouth. “When you get to know the camels, you feel love for them. My camels are like my children, my family.”

…including some that make you question the relationship he has with his children, his family…