Student SPHere 2008-09

For the first time in a couple of years, I was on the “other side� of human subjects research when I participated in a case-control study last week. The study is on hearing loss from childhood ear infections, and involved a hearing test and the collection of a blood sample. I have to say that the experience was less than enthralling. The visit began with the research assistant informing me that I could not hear out of my left ear, which believe it or not, I already knew. What I did not know, but soon found out was that my Eustachian tube had been warped as a result of childhood ear infections, and that the small bones in my hear had been broken, rendering my left ear about as useful as a cement lifejacket. Luckily this is a problem that can apparently be fixed, so come April, I will (hopefully) be able to finally hear out of my left ear. After that excitement was over, I had the even more thrilling experience of having my blood drawn by a phlebotomist who was apparently either a sadist or heavily inebriated because she missed my vein twice. The first, I’m sure was an honest mistake. I mean, could I really expect someone who spends their entire day gouging people with needles to be able to successfully locate my vein? But, I forgave the first mishap and gave the nurse the go-ahead for another attempt. The second stab wound was even more painful than the first, and equally unsuccessful even despite the fact that this time when she missed the vein, our needle-happy nurse decided all she had to do was wiggle the needle like a freaking knitting needle inside my arm because she apparently did not believe in the existence of pain receptors. I was feeling generous and decided to opt for a “three strikes� approach to this blood-draw extravaganza and awaited a third harpooning. As luck would have it, not only was this third try a “success�, but magically the holes from the other two failed attempts decided to start squirting blood like a Roman fountain. I have to say, although I’m glad to be able to help contribute to Otitis Media research, the overall experience was less than stellar.
Another less than stellar experience occurred on Friday when my husband and I decided on a whim to attend a high school basketball game. It had been so long since I had been at a high school sporting event that I had forgotten how pathetic and downright rotten so many of the spectators can be at these things. I don’t want to point any fingers, so for ambiguity’s sake, we’ll call the home team the “Maple Grove Crimson Tide,� and pretend that they were hosting “Elk River,� and in the stands was the ferocious fire-spewing creatures known as the “athletes’ parents� who were in full form that particular evening. The moms in particular were an atrocious sight, not just due to their tasteless “mom jeans� and worse—the “mom mullet,� (a hairstyle I had not witnessed until I moved to Minnesota but for some reason seems to be popular here), but also by their horrifically asinine banter and behavior. I’m not really sure why people think it is okay to act that freakishly insane over a bunch of 16-year-olds playing basketball, but there they were, all screeching like banshees at the players, the coaches, and each other. One woman in particular was very anxious to inform “Elk River� with pronounced certainty that they should play “defense.� I’m sure this was a helpful tip to the young men on the court, as I am almost certain that they had fully intended to sit on the court and crochet doilies until she told them to play “defense� instead. Thanks to “high school sports mom’s� vigilance, “Elk River� did in fact play defense, and even played offense without her needing to tell them to do so. I understand emotional investment in a team, of course—I am, after all, a Steelers fan (did you honestly think I could go a whole blog without bringing that up?), but when the emotion crosses the threshold into psychosis, I think it is time to re-evaluate, particularly when a bunch of pubescent boys in dorky gym shorts and black socks with white sneakers whips you up to that level of neuroticism.
Other than the aforementioned puncture-induced trauma from the phlebotomist from the Black Lagoon, I had a pretty good week at school. Data collection is in its final stages for the Insomnia pilot study, we are *almost* ready to submit our paper to JAMA, my poster got accepted for presentation at a conference in March, and my classes are still going well. I have also started the final stage of my plan B project, and have completed a veritable cornucopia of tables and figures for the accompanying paper. Hopefully everything will continue to run smoothly this semester, and I can avoid being skewered like a lamb kabob for the blood draw at my doctor’s visit in April.