Fact Checking Fail

[second_banana]

Dear LOST,

in the 1970's and 1980s an unexpected breech presentation (babies coming out ass first) was not call for an immediate c-section. I know it's considered SOP now, when doctor's aren't being taught how to help breech babes come out on their own, but on a REMOTE OUTPOST where I'm gathering MAJOR ABDOMINAL SURGERY isn't routine (if they send them off the island to pop out a kid do you really think they perform appendectomies there?) there is no fucking reason for a breech breach babe to be a c-sec unless there is a prolapsed cord or other major issue.

No love,
Susan

Comments

[heartofslash.livejournal.com]

I was the first twin, and the second twin, my brother, had the cord wrapped around his neck and was being strangled to death. There was a doctor in the hospital who had just returned from a conference in an Eastern European country (which was a BIG DEAL back in 1963!) and he ran to the operating room and did this thing where he reached inside my mum and stuck his fingers inside my brother's mouth and pulled him out, safe and sound. Although, he's a bit of a dick sometimes.

So, my twin brother and I were delivered by different doctors 27 minutes apart.

I'm not entirely sure how that relates, since I do not watch Lost ever, but I thought, as a midwife, you might like that story.

And, by bizarre coincidence, about 10 years later after we moved to a whole other province, on a family outing to an amusement-type park, we ran into that same doctor. Small f'ing world. (No, it was not that amusement park - it was Ontario Place.)

*rambles some more about the original Ontario Place Forum and the cool climbing apparatus that no longer exists there, and how they wrecked the whole concept when they started with the Play-all-day passes*

I think I'm officially old, now. *ramble ramble ramble*

[second-banana.livejournal.com]

That's so cool! You know, not the almost death part, but the having the information on how to handle a complication part.

I fully support anyone's desire to have their "get off my lawn" moments in this journal. Complete with fish shaking and cane rattling if necessary.

Hey you kids, get off my fucking lawn!

[heartofslash.livejournal.com]

*sporfle*

The other day my son was mistaken for an anti-racist skinhead by a racist skinhead, who proceeded to spew vitriol, much to the bafflement of my son, who is neither.

I was all, "How can you be mistaken for a skinhead? You've got a mohawk!"

And he agitatedly informed me that these days, skinheads can have mohawks.

WHO KNEW!?!?!

So I started on this whole, "In my day, skinheads shaved their whole head, dammit, only punk rockers had mohawks! And we didn't order our gear on the interwebs, we made it ourselves. And there was none of this "mosh pit" nonsense! We skanked barefoot! In the snow! Uphill. Both ways!"

Then my Dwarf started going, "Skinheads? We didn't talk to racist skinheads. And we didn't let racist skinheads talk, either. That's the problem with you kids these days..."

And my son laughed his ass off and thanked us both for getting him out of his bad mood.

So, yeah, granny-cranky-pants moments are useful!

But on the other, more serious point - yes, it was extremely lucky that doctor was in the building that day, because the technique was brand spanking new in the west, and they hadn't even known my mum was having twins - they thought it was one baby with a heart murmur, when really it was two babies, one with WPW, one with a cord wrapped around his neck just waiting to tighten up when he tried to get out. Plus, she was only 6 days early! Oh, those were the days, when mothers did not know you weren't supposed to smoke when you were knocked up...

And then, in spite of HIM being the one in trouble, I was the one who had to spend the first week of life in an incubator, due to what was then considered a low birth weight of 4lb 11oz.

I totally blame my claustrophobia on that incubator... *rant rant ramble ramble*