I teach high school. You can tell right away which kids had some kind of emergency as a child by the way their parents hover over them. It goes beyond helicoptering. There's a genuine fear that something horrible is going to happen if the parent isn't involved in every minute detail. I feel bad for everyone involved.

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:I had 2 births that might have been traumatic, if not for my partner, my midwives and my doulas. One was nearly 48 hours that ended with pitocin to help things along.
The second was less than 2 hours from my first contraction and the baby’a heartbeat was slowing from the stress of moving so fast. In both situations, I felt empowered and respected. I felt like my team was working WITH me. I later found out that during my second labor, as I was pushing on my hands and knees and looking at my husband, that a whole team of doctors was right behind me, ready to do an emergency C section. I had no idea and I am glad I didn’t know. All I knew in the moment is that my husband wasn’t scared and my midwife said “you’ve got this. Just a few more pushes” and I trusted them.
I am so thankful for them and the experience I got to have when so many women have similar labors but poor mental heath outcomes due to the way they are treated.

Having experienced the worst possible outcome, I am having a hard time reading here where any trauma came into play. You sound dramatic. You shouldn't share this with people who really did have traumatic births and in many instances, bad outcomes.

When I went to my first postpartum follow up, the head midwife and a counselor joined the regular midwife and they had obviously put me in a room away from the others and blocked off extra time to talk to me. They started off asking my to tell them what I remembered about my “traumatic” birth - which was a surprise to me. When I got home my husband then chose to tell me that all the people I couldn’t see where obviously tense and preparing for a potential bad outcome. He didn’t think I needed to know that since everything ended up ok. I think that’s the whole point of the article - I could have been mad to feel like my birth was traumatic, but I wasn’t. The exact same situation could have been traumatic if the team had handled it poorly. It’s not a competition about whose birth was more traumatic.

In this particular case, maybe. But only if there are no future medical implications resulting from this experience and the procedures employed. And if the parents change practices, or are in some other situation where they need to relay their child's medical history to emergency room staff, for example, I think a thorough understanding, including the 'scary' medical terminology, is necessary.

It seems rather condescending to think that parents just can't handle medical information. And it worried me that the article implicitly emphasized mothers' anxiety throughout, as something to be avoided. It's a short, slippery slope from "thoughtful communication" to "don't worry your little head about it, dear." It also brings to mind the numerous studies that show that medical staff, including female doctors, take women's own medical concerns less seriously. When doctors feel that women cannot handle medical information for their children, it displays a medical culture in which women are thought of as less than rational, and capable of making decisions.

So, I am someone that is very much able to rationally handle medical information. I have never needed anything kept from me, good or bad. In undergrad I took a medical terminology class, anatomy/physiology, etc. When doctors start using medical terms I can follow along. That's why, when I had life-threatening pre-eclampsia with my second pregnancy the neonatologist and I could discuss the new study at the time that hypothesized that pre-eclampsia might be a result of an auto-immune response in the mother's body.

However, I very much appreciated that my or my child's caregivers didn't tell me how dangerous things really were. I appreciated that it took some months to process that they knew since week 29 that the baby would be delivered at week 32 - if we made it that far. I appreciated that didn't frame things in dire or stark terms. It was a form of mental protection that allowed me to have an elevated level of concern that didn't rise to sheer panic. I look back now and realize that some part of my brain took over and helped me make it through that period and bring home a 5lb baby on a heart monitor and function to nurse that child/help her grow.

I don't read the linked article as not listening to women's concerns or believing them incapable of making their own medical decisions. When the only choice is offering the best level of care in the face of what could be a poor outcome I don't think couching terms so as not to send someone into a panic is condescension or lying. Presenting the news in the starkest terms is not going to change the medical outcome.

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Trigger warning: this article contains a story of a difficult birth, and a baby in peril (but with a happy resolution): https://www.newyorker.com/science/elements/the-durable-feeling-that-a-child-is-always-at-risk

"We on the baby team try to hold the peril of these moments inside ourselves, because the way we communicate about risk and injury around birth can have lifelong consequences for parents and children. If we get this communication wrong, studies suggest, the family can be beset by what pediatricians call vulnerable-child syndrome: a durable feeling that this particular child is always at risk, and an irresistible urge to shelter the kid that can actually hamper his development and harm his relationship with his parents."

I was torn by this article- on the one hand, in my postpartum stay, I had a nurse terrorize me about my baby's weight loss (which was, actually, normal), and that led to months of anxiety about her weight, so I see where this doctor is coming from. On the other hand, she lost me at the end, when she described being less than honest and forthcoming about the danger the baby had been in. As a mother and, well, an adult, I want to know the truth.

The doctor wasn’t dishonest. She employed “thoughtful communication” and chose her words carefully so as not to frighten the parents unnecessarily. Cardiac arrest means the same thing as “heart stopped beating.” One sounds scarier to the patient.

"We may not ever say “cardiac arrest,” or “hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy,” or even “resuscitation,” but we want this mother to know her son’s story. Are we dissembling? I do not think so. If things had gone another way and we had to share bad news, we certainly would have been honest and forthcoming. But this baby, like so many babies before him and so many babies to come, was perfectly fine."

This implies to me that the doctor realized she was not lying, but also not being completely honest.

7:58 here. Refraining from going into might-have-beens, worst case scenarios, and what-ifs doesn't seem dishonest to me. It's being wise.

In this particular case, maybe. But only if there are no future medical implications resulting from this experience and the procedures employed. And if the parents change practices, or are in some other situation where they need to relay their child's medical history to emergency room staff, for example, I think a thorough understanding, including the 'scary' medical terminology, is necessary.

It seems rather condescending to think that parents just can't handle medical information. And it worried me that the article implicitly emphasized mothers' anxiety throughout, as something to be avoided. It's a short, slippery slope from "thoughtful communication" to "don't worry your little head about it, dear." It also brings to mind the numerous studies that show that medical staff, including female doctors, take women's own medical concerns less seriously. When doctors feel that women cannot handle medical information for their children, it displays a medical culture in which women are thought of as less than rational, and capable of making decisions.

Considering my state of mind after first thinking my baby was not alive and then knowing he was alive, having a doctor telling me frankly that it had been touch and go for a moment would have been beyond me. I could not have handled it then.

I did not and do not consider my DS to be a Vulnerable Child, but I can see how it might have happened.

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Trigger warning: this article contains a story of a difficult birth, and a baby in peril (but with a happy resolution): https://www.newyorker.com/science/elements/the-durable-feeling-that-a-child-is-always-at-risk

"We on the baby team try to hold the peril of these moments inside ourselves, because the way we communicate about risk and injury around birth can have lifelong consequences for parents and children. If we get this communication wrong, studies suggest, the family can be beset by what pediatricians call vulnerable-child syndrome: a durable feeling that this particular child is always at risk, and an irresistible urge to shelter the kid that can actually hamper his development and harm his relationship with his parents."

I was torn by this article- on the one hand, in my postpartum stay, I had a nurse terrorize me about my baby's weight loss (which was, actually, normal), and that led to months of anxiety about her weight, so I see where this doctor is coming from. On the other hand, she lost me at the end, when she described being less than honest and forthcoming about the danger the baby had been in. As a mother and, well, an adult, I want to know the truth.

The doctor wasn’t dishonest. She employed “thoughtful communication” and chose her words carefully so as not to frighten the parents unnecessarily. Cardiac arrest means the same thing as “heart stopped beating.” One sounds scarier to the patient.

"We may not ever say “cardiac arrest,” or “hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy,” or even “resuscitation,” but we want this mother to know her son’s story. Are we dissembling? I do not think so. If things had gone another way and we had to share bad news, we certainly would have been honest and forthcoming. But this baby, like so many babies before him and so many babies to come, was perfectly fine."

This implies to me that the doctor realized she was not lying, but also not being completely honest.

7:58 here. Refraining from going into might-have-beens, worst case scenarios, and what-ifs doesn't seem dishonest to me. It's being wise.

In this particular case, maybe. But only if there are no future medical implications resulting from this experience and the procedures employed. And if the parents change practices, or are in some other situation where they need to relay their child's medical history to emergency room staff, for example, I think a thorough understanding, including the 'scary' medical terminology, is necessary.

It seems rather condescending to think that parents just can't handle medical information. And it worried me that the article implicitly emphasized mothers' anxiety throughout, as something to be avoided. It's a short, slippery slope from "thoughtful communication" to "don't worry your little head about it, dear." It also brings to mind the numerous studies that show that medical staff, including female doctors, take women's own medical concerns less seriously. When doctors feel that women cannot handle medical information for their children, it displays a medical culture in which women are thought of as less than rational, and capable of making decisions.

PP here. I meant *incapable.

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Trigger warning: this article contains a story of a difficult birth, and a baby in peril (but with a happy resolution): https://www.newyorker.com/science/elements/the-durable-feeling-that-a-child-is-always-at-risk

"We on the baby team try to hold the peril of these moments inside ourselves, because the way we communicate about risk and injury around birth can have lifelong consequences for parents and children. If we get this communication wrong, studies suggest, the family can be beset by what pediatricians call vulnerable-child syndrome: a durable feeling that this particular child is always at risk, and an irresistible urge to shelter the kid that can actually hamper his development and harm his relationship with his parents."

I was torn by this article- on the one hand, in my postpartum stay, I had a nurse terrorize me about my baby's weight loss (which was, actually, normal), and that led to months of anxiety about her weight, so I see where this doctor is coming from. On the other hand, she lost me at the end, when she described being less than honest and forthcoming about the danger the baby had been in. As a mother and, well, an adult, I want to know the truth.

The doctor wasn’t dishonest. She employed “thoughtful communication” and chose her words carefully so as not to frighten the parents unnecessarily. Cardiac arrest means the same thing as “heart stopped beating.” One sounds scarier to the patient.

"We may not ever say “cardiac arrest,” or “hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy,” or even “resuscitation,” but we want this mother to know her son’s story. Are we dissembling? I do not think so. If things had gone another way and we had to share bad news, we certainly would have been honest and forthcoming. But this baby, like so many babies before him and so many babies to come, was perfectly fine."

This implies to me that the doctor realized she was not lying, but also not being completely honest.

7:58 here. Refraining from going into might-have-beens, worst case scenarios, and what-ifs doesn't seem dishonest to me. It's being wise.

In this particular case, maybe. But only if there are no future medical implications resulting from this experience and the procedures employed. And if the parents change practices, or are in some other situation where they need to relay their child's medical history to emergency room staff, for example, I think a thorough understanding, including the 'scary' medical terminology, is necessary.

It seems rather condescending to think that parents just can't handle medical information. And it worried me that the article implicitly emphasized mothers' anxiety throughout, as something to be avoided. It's a short, slippery slope from "thoughtful communication" to "don't worry your little head about it, dear." It also brings to mind the numerous studies that show that medical staff, including female doctors, take women's own medical concerns less seriously. When doctors feel that women cannot handle medical information for their children, it displays a medical culture in which women are thought of as less than rational, and capable of making decisions.

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Trigger warning: this article contains a story of a difficult birth, and a baby in peril (but with a happy resolution): https://www.newyorker.com/science/elements/the-durable-feeling-that-a-child-is-always-at-risk

"We on the baby team try to hold the peril of these moments inside ourselves, because the way we communicate about risk and injury around birth can have lifelong consequences for parents and children. If we get this communication wrong, studies suggest, the family can be beset by what pediatricians call vulnerable-child syndrome: a durable feeling that this particular child is always at risk, and an irresistible urge to shelter the kid that can actually hamper his development and harm his relationship with his parents."

I was torn by this article- on the one hand, in my postpartum stay, I had a nurse terrorize me about my baby's weight loss (which was, actually, normal), and that led to months of anxiety about her weight, so I see where this doctor is coming from. On the other hand, she lost me at the end, when she described being less than honest and forthcoming about the danger the baby had been in. As a mother and, well, an adult, I want to know the truth.

The doctor wasn’t dishonest. She employed “thoughtful communication” and chose her words carefully so as not to frighten the parents unnecessarily. Cardiac arrest means the same thing as “heart stopped beating.” One sounds scarier to the patient.

"We may not ever say “cardiac arrest,” or “hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy,” or even “resuscitation,” but we want this mother to know her son’s story. Are we dissembling? I do not think so. If things had gone another way and we had to share bad news, we certainly would have been honest and forthcoming. But this baby, like so many babies before him and so many babies to come, was perfectly fine."

This implies to me that the doctor realized she was not lying, but also not being completely honest.

7:58 here. Refraining from going into might-have-beens, worst case scenarios, and what-ifs doesn't seem dishonest to me. It's being wise.