What must it be like to give birth to a stillborn child? To lose a child at any time is heart-wrenching, as we discovered some seven years ago. But there is a special pain that goes with losing a child whom you knew but never really got to meet. I imagine it’s hard to talk about, which makes Daniel Raeburn’s New Yorker essay about his stillborn daughter all the more moving. Even the subtitle is laden with sadness: “Irene Raeburn: born December 28, 2004; died December 24, 2004.” What hit me hardest was this:

In the middle of the night, I startled awake. A voice had sung Irene’s song to me, but with a twist. “Good night, Irene,” it sang. “I’ll see you, but only in my dreams.” That’s the chorus, I thought. Only in my dreams. Never in real life. By naming my daughter thoughtlessly, I had jinxed her. I had killed her.

I had no idea about the guilt that comes with fatherhood, the crazy irrational moments when you’re convinced of how bad a job you’re doing and how poorly your child is going to turn out. How much worse when you don’t have to wait for proof of the poor job you’re doing because the worst has already happened?

The New Yorker also published a follow-up essay: The Raeburns now have a daughter, Willa. Congratulations to them. Willa will not obviate their loss and pain, but she will provide them joy.

(Via Daddy Types)

Do vaccines cause autism? For many years a debate has raged on about whether there is a link between autism, the Measles-Mumps-Rubella (MMR) vaccine, and thimerosal, the mercury-derived preservative that was long used to keep vaccines from spoiling. Over the weekend, Pediatrics published a study showing no link between the MMR vaccine, thimerosal, and autism.

Perhaps you’ve not heard of this issue. We hadn’t, until around the time Eli was getting the bulk of his vaccines. Autism rates in developed nations have been rising sharply over the past few decades, and no good cause has been found. In 1998 Dr. Wakefield thought he’d found one: the MMR vaccine. He and 12 co-authors published an article in the Lancet suggesting a possible link between autism, the MMR vaccine, and a supposedly new type of bowel disease. While the paper didn’t outright claim a causal link among the three, Dr. Wakefield did. In a press conference, he called for the combined MMR vaccine to be withdrawn. This was highly publicized in the UK, and led to a drop in MMR vaccinations. Since then 10 of the 12 co-authors have published a retraction, and the London Sunday Times has revealed that Dr. Wakefield had been paid in part by lawyers working on lawsuits against vaccine manufacturers.

However, all of that came to light in 2004, far too late to stop the panic Dr. Wakefield had unleashed. In 2005 Salon and Rolling Stone published an expose by Robert F. Kennedy Jr. claiming that the government covered up the link between thimerosal and autism, and that the link was definite. Medical studies did not back up that claim. The most notable one was a population study of children in Japan, where the combined MMR vaccine was used from 1989 through 1993, after which single vaccines were used. From the article:

The MMR vaccination rate in the city of Yokohama declined significantly in the birth cohorts of years 1988 through 1992, and not a single vaccination was administered in 1993 or thereafter. In contrast, cumulative incidence of [autism spectrum disorders] up to age seven increased significantly in the birth cohorts of years 1988 through 1996 and most notably rose dramatically beginning with the birth cohort of 1993.

And now we have this most recent Canadian population study.

CONCLUSIONS. The prevalence of pervasive developmental disorder in Montreal was high, increasing in recent birth cohorts as found in most countries. Factors accounting for the increase include a broadening of diagnostic concepts and criteria, increased awareness and, therefore, better identification of children with pervasive developmental disorders in communities and epidemiologic surveys, and improved access to services. The findings ruled out an association between pervasive developmental disorder and either high levels of ethylmercury exposure comparable with those experienced in the United States in the 1990s or 1- or 2-dose measles-mumps-rubella vaccinations.

This is an important issue. Vaccines reduce the incident of diseases. For an example of this, take a look at how the pattern of mumps outbreaks in the UK supports this claim. Stopping vaccinations is, simply put, a bad thing. I have sympathy for those searching for autism’s cause. It can’t be easy, especially when you can’t even get good data on how many cases of autism there are. But the vaccine-autism link has gone from tenuous to vapor-thin. It’s time to shift ever-limited research efforts elsewhere.

While we were at Misty’s dad’s house, we had access to Noggin, a television channel for preschoolers. I got to see children’s programming that I normally wouldn’t see, like Oobi.

Let me tell you about Oobi. This is Oobi:

Technically this is Oobi and his friends and family. Oobi is at the center left. Grampu is at the top. You can tell he’s old because he has either a moustache or a wrinkled upper lip.

Oobi and his cohort speak in short, declarative sentences. They don’t use pronouns, since young children have trouble figuring out pronouns’ antecedents. They teach life lessons and help educate toddlers and I totally don’t care because Oobi freaks me out. I finally figured out why Oobi disturbs me so much. It’s as if someone had flayed all of the skin off of puppets and then forced them to go on camera anyway. I don’t care that the show is innovative and intelligent and helps children learn. I care that I’m watching puppet skeletons and their lidless, staring eyes.

We also saw Pinky Dinky Doo, in which a seven-year-old uses her imagination to think her way out of trouble. I’m all for thinking, but when Pinky thinks big, her head swells to the point that it is larger than her body. Do we really want an encephalitic child instructing the youth of today?

It is possible that I’ve seen too many children’s shows lately. We were watching the Oobi credits when I shouted out, “Hey, there’s Stephanie D’Abruzzo! From Sesame Street!” The other thing I’ve noticed from watching the credits is that children’s shows are the only ones where you’re required to have a Ph.D. on staff. This isn’t a good idea. The “P” in Ph.D. does not stand for “practical”. We’re good for coming up with grand theories and grant proposals. You don’t want us planning your dinner, let alone planning how to educate your child.

Of late Congress has been looking to cut funding to PBS. Among the arguments for doing so are that shows like Sesame Street won’t go away, and besides, the market is providing plenty of Sesame Street replacements. Those who argue this position often point to channels like Noggin as proof. As far as educational shows goes, that argument ignores the true damage of cutting government funding of PBS: the poor will lose access to these educational shows. Sesame Street and other popular kids’ shows won’t go away, but the stations that carry them in poor and rural parts of America likely will. PBS stations in poor states are chronically short of funds, and a portion of the federal funding helps them keep their doors open. If that funding is removed, those stations will fold. Right now I can see Sesame Street by buying a cheap TV at a pawn shop and putting up an aerial, for a cost of around $40. To get Noggin, I have to sign up for digital cable or DirecTV at some $50 a month, excluding installation costs. The market’s alternatives to PBS stations for educational programs are not free, and certainly not cheap. Thankfully these funding cuts aren’t getting a lot of traction.

I headed to the gym this morning to try and work off some laziness after two weeks off. I hit the elliptical machine and was totally rocking out to some U2 and I was so proud of myself because I wasn’t wheezing or in pain. I thought to myself, “Man, I’m in much better shape than I thought!” Shortly after that I realized that I had forgotten to change the level setting. I was on level one! I clicked it up to what had been my usual six and couldn’t move my feet. I clicked it back down to four and finished my workout. I guess there’s always tomorrow for level six…provided I can walk then.

Today Eli was dancing around happily while I read. He stepped on a sheet of paper, slipped, and fell, his head bouncing off of the hardwood floor.

I’m not saying my kid is clumsy, necessarily. I am saying that, now when he trips or falls, he says, “I’m okay!” because we’ve asked him so many times, “Are you okay?”

We’re done with our grand trip to Chicago and elsewhere. We had a great time, and will undoubtedly talk more about it later.

This post is not about the Chicago trip.

We spent Sunday night at Misty’s dad’s house. After a week of travel, it was nice to unwind. I was reading in the living room while Eli played with his toys on the floor and watched Blue’s Clues. His bedtime was only fifteen minutes away.

His shriek of pain startled me. I looked up and saw that he’d dropped a pink one-pound dumbbell on his head.

He’d been playing with that dumbbell earlier and had rolled it on his foot, hurting him a bit. You should be more careful, ha, ha, I told him. I am the kind of parent who, the third time the copperhead snake struck Eli, would say, “You know, if that snake bites him again, we should move it away from Eli.”

I scooped him up. He pressed his face into my shirt. His tears wet the fabric. As everyone rushed in, I tilted his head back. A knot was forming on his forehead under the black bruise.

We let him watch an extra episode of Blue’s Clues while we watched for dangerous signs of drowsiness. How could we tell, though? He was already tired from visiting the Little Rock Zoo earlier in the day. Before bed I drew upon my vast experience of watching ER and shone a flashlight in both of Eli’s eyes. His pupils contracted just as they should. Half-reassured, I put him to bed.

Misty and I then stayed up until past midnight watching Die Hard on TV. Hey, Eli would have grandparents to watch him in the morning and we could sleep in.

He woke us up at 5 AM. I shook off sleep as I shambled down the hall. He normally slept fine at Don’s house, so I was surprised to hear him crying. I pulled him out of the Pack ‘n Play. There was an odd smell in the room. “C’mon, let’s let you sleep some more on mom and dad.” I put him down so I could get his blanket.

That’s when I stepped in the vomit on the floor.

I called for Misty and began stripping Eli out of his soaked pyjamas. He’d stood at the edge of the Pack ‘n Play, called for us, and then thrown up on himself and the floor. But that was okay — maybe he’d woken up earlier, called for us, and in our sleep-soaked state hadn’t heard him until he’d gotten so upset that he vomited. Little kids vomit all the time. Toddlers come up to you and say hi before making sick on your shoes, right?

We fed him some water. He seemed fine. He played with toys and jabbered about this and that.

Fifteen minutes, he threw up again.

I like to think of myself as a level-headed parent. On a few occasions, people have told Misty and me that we’re good parents, reinforcing my opinion of myself. When Eli is sick, I give lie to this. My reason melts away and soaks into the carpet, leaving me dithering about what to do.

Here’s the thing. Eli had been to the zoo yesterday, and if there are three things the zoo has in abundance, it’s animals, little kids, and germs. Eli had fed animals and petted animals and said hello to other children and in general wandered around in a cloud of germs and viruses. The symptoms for internal head injuries are mostly that the child is lethargic and throws up. The symptoms for a stomach virus are mostly that the child is lethargic and throws up.

Since Eli seemed fine when he wasn’t throwing up, we decided to wait and see. Misty went back to bed while I played with Eli and waited for everyone else to wake up. I put a white plastic bowl near us. We played for fifteen minutes, and then Eli began looking distressed. I put the bowl under his chin. “Spit into the bowl,” I told him.

“No,” he replied, pushing on the bowl, before spitting up a little bit of liquid. We went back to playing. Twenty minutes later Eli had dry heaves.

Once Don had woken up, he and Misty and Eli headed to the store to buy some Pedialyte, to keep Eli from becoming dehydrated. I crawled back into bed and worried. Thankfully my worry wasn’t wasted: by the time they got back, Eli had tried to throw up three more times, and now he was attempting to nap in the living room.

That was enough to push us over the line. We bundled him in the car and drove for the hospital. Misty sat in the back with Eli. I watched the speedometer reach 70, then 75, then 80. I began rehearsing what I’d say when the cops pulled me over. Should I cry? “My son could be dy-i-i-i-ing!” No, I’d look too wussy. I needed to be resolute. “Dammit, my son could have a cerebral edema — I have to get him to the hospital!”

We carried Eli inside Arkansas Children’s Hospital and past the metal detector. Our past experiences with hospitals had not been great, so I wasn’t looking forward to this. A nurse took our basic information and put a BP cuff on Eli’s leg. “Okay, this is gonna give you a leg hug,” she told him.

Then we were ready to check Eli in. Misty sat with Eli while I talked to Ratha, the admissions woman. Admission took forever. I gave Eli’s name, my name, my home address, my home phone number, my social security number, Misty’s name, my home phone number, my home address, her social security number, my social security number, my home phone number, my social security number, and my social security number. Ratha asked for Eli’s pediatrician. “I have his office phone number as well,” I told her. Inexplicably, she didn’t need that. I kept staring at the sign behind Ratha: DO NOT SEND CHARGE SHEETS TO H.I.M. FROM DEPARTED CHARTS. I don’t know what H.I.M. stands for, but I pretended God was tired of getting hospital bills.

The lounge had few people in it. A Little Mermaid TV show was on, which confused me: in the movie, didn’t she hook up with a landlubber and trade her flippers for legs? Was this some kind of prequel? Eli, of course, was acting like nothing was wrong. He flirted with people and played with the toys. He continued this in the hospital room. I tried to get him to stop running around. “Do you want up on the bed?”

“No, I push buttons!” he said. BEEP! said the computerized medicine dispenser.

The doctor who came in to see Eli had on scrubs. His pocket announced that “Wearing these outside hospital grounds constitutes THEFT.” He didn’t think Eli had an internal head injury. “Watch him. If he later has diarrhea, you’ll know he had a virus.” We took him back home to play.

Later that day we heard a squirting noise coming from Eli. Never have I been so excited to see watery stool.

We’ve been gone 10 days and I took 330 photos and that was with two days lost to Eli having a stomach bug and us taking him to the ER for a bump on the head (he was fine). Here are some photos from our travels.

Our Time with Mumsie in Little Rock

Our Time with Other Granades in Chicago

Our Time with Pop and Nana in Jacksonville

Since I had so much fun picking a couple of music videos last week, I thought I’d make it a regular Friday thing.

Genesis: Land of Confusion (1986)

You might think this video is awesome because of its satirical take on 1980s geopolitics. You might think it’s awesome because of the 2001 reference. You would be wrong. This video is awesome because of the dried-apple-faced Phil Collins puppet.

Phil Collins puppet!

We Are Scientists: Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt (2006)

Exeunt We Are Scientists, pursued by a man in a bear suit.

Yesterday, when I was helping Eli get his shoes on, I told him to come sit with me in the rocking chair. He plopped down on his little couch and said, “No, I sit in time out.”

That made me pause. True, we still send Eli to his couch when he misbehaves, but we’ve never called it “time out”.

Later that day we stopped at a fast food restaurant. I went to the restroom before we left, and when I came out Misty and Eli were standing outside. Eli was pressed against the wall, all red-eyed and teary. “I standing in time out,” he told me mournfully.

As we drove away, I checked with Misty. Neither of us had been calling his punishments “time out”. As best we can tell, he had heard other moms telling their kids about time out and seen them being sent to time out and put two and two together and realized he needed a tin cup to rake against the bars.

Some days I can’t believe how toddlers’ brains work.

One of our friends recently claimed that toddlers were like little drunken frat boys. On reflection, I think he’s right. Consider:

• They stumble around a lot, often crashing into things.
• They’re often unable to speak in complete sentences.
• Rapid mood swings, including the occasional maudlin episode.
• Trouble thinking of what they want to say. “Dad, I need, I need, I need….I need…a muffin.”
• Here’s something that happened recently: Eli says, “Everybody! Everybody! Watch this!” He then proceeds to hurl himself onto the ground.
• Then there are the hallucinations.
• Eli occasionally puts a colander on his head as a helmet and runs around the house shouting, “B-ball! B-ball! B-ball!”

If he starts doing milk jug stands, though, we’re calling a halt to all of this.