FreshMD

Snowed in

Looking south from our place this morning. Neighbours staggered up the cliff to the right, Hamber Island to the far left, and SFU/Burnaby Mountain straight ahead, obscured by cloud.

The trails in the woods, over which I've struggled to push a stroller, made for a gentle, undulating toboggan ride to the village. Pete even pulled Ariana down a flight of stairs at one point.

The  south shore of the Cove.

Saskia resists heading out to the woods in the snow. She'd rather sit at home in front of the fire, as would I. I explained that it's good to get out every day, whether or not you feel like it, to avoid cabin fever.

"What's that?"

I defined it, and she remarked emphatically, "I'm glad no one in our family's ever caught that!"

Well, I'm relieved that those times I've been driven stir-crazy at home with the kids appear to have gone largely unnoticed.

A stop for Honey's doughnuts, that Deep Cove specialty that soaks the little brown bag with grease before you've even brought it to your table, and hot drinks.

Can't think of another place in which I'd rather be snowbound.

Advent ring

I wanted to do some kind of Advent countdown with the kids this year, something that would build up anticipation and allow for discussion about the meaning of Christmas, that didn't involve cheap foil-wrapped chocolate or me wrapping twenty-five times three tiny treats.

I found the perfect answer in this birthday ring, which I adapted for Advent. The wooden German-made rings are by Spiel und Holz Design, come in four sections and are available with twelve or sixteen holes. They hold candles, wooden figures, vases and picture holders. 

In our family, a different person selects an item for the ring each day. We light the candles at dinner time, and little hands position the donkey and the ox to gaze at whatever's deemed most exciting in the ring that night. 

The setup is flexible. I've arranged the quarters in all sorts of ways, and in the first week sometimes put out just the piece or two that was in use, not the entire ring.

I'm already looking forward to using this for the next birthday (Ariana's in May). I plan to pick up a few more figures that would particularly appeal to her, and to put photos, cards and notes in the holders with Leif and Saskia the night before.

There's actually a spiral that's intended specifically for Advent. However, the shape doesn't appeal to me, and I didn't want the cost and clutter of buying both the spiral and the ring.

It doesn't bother us that we're only counting down sixteen days until Christmas. I could use a bit of leeway in the first weeks of December, anyway.

* Ring, candles and ornaments purchased from The Wooden Wagon and Nova Natural Toys + Crafts.

Good doctor qualities can be liabilities in family life

Like most physicians, I thrive on competition. It's always motivated me, and winning is powerful affirmation. But motherhood is a different beast from the MCAT, pharmacology prizes and residency applications. No one's going to come out on top, and comparing yourself to other mothers is futile and dangerous ground. The competitive mother after gold stars is the one no one wants to be around.

The satisfaction of measuring performance by objective standards at work cannot be achieved in the same way at home. I can pick up the faintest of heart murmurs, I can suture a laceration beautifully, I run my clinics on time, but how do you grade yourself on raising a daughter well?

- Excerpts from my post today at Mothers in Medicine.

Nativity set

I've been looking for a nativity set for ages.

Several years and many Internet shopping excursions later, I've collected the ox and the donkey. That's it.   

That's because the options out there are these:

the obscene,

the anemic and vacuous,

the wooly Waldorf,

the folksy,

the inaccurately ethnic,

the unaffordable ($1,100),

and the vague and washed out.

Actually, Ostheimer (above) and Engelberger (first photos), both German wooden scenes, appeal to me the most. But I'm not sure I like them enough to go for the entire set. And so we settled for the two Engelberger animals this year.

The hunt for a beautiful, child-friendly, respectful, well-crafted crèche will resume next year.

Examining teeth with a stethoscope

I was examining a patient with Parkinson's disease.

His left hand knocked rhythmically against the exam table at four beats per second, until he sat on it in frustration. His writing sample showed tiny Farsi script. When I extended his forearms, the movement was stiff and jerky, with classic cogwheel rigidity. 

As I rapped on his patellar tendon with my reflex hammer, he interrupted me. "I would be obliged if you would examine my teeth with your scope," he entreated through the interpreter. He hadn't complained of dental pain, and I gestured questioningly at the otoscope. He shook his head and pointed to my stethoscope. I handed it to him. He put the bell over his cheek and I slipped the ends into my ears.

I stood there, the stethoscope pressed against the grey stubble of his jaw, listening. And I was amazed to hear a loud, rapid, relentless drumming. His teeth were chattering. It sounded like the racing heart of a wild rabbit, jackhammering in a little ribcage. Though I had noticed a tremor in his chin earlier, the rattling of his teeth was inaudible to the naked ear.

I finally removed the stethoscope from my ears, and looked at his silent, quivering jaw.

"You learned something!" announced the interpreter. She's watched me use my stethoscope hundreds of times, for a dozen purposes, but this was a new one.

"Did your doctor in Iran listen to your teeth?" I asked the patient.

"Yes." He looked at me owlishly and blinked once, slowly. But even through the Parkinson's mask, I could tell he was pleased.

Affectionate diminutive

Me, handing my card to a patient and tapping the tiny font that spells out my name: "I want you to come back and see me in two weeks. I'm Dr. Scholtens."

Patient, with a thick Farsi accent, after closely inspecting the card: "I call you Dr . . . Scholly?"

Me: "No, no. Dr. Scholtens. Schol-TENS."

Patient, decisively: "I call you Dr. Scholly."

Me, acquiescing because it could be so much worse: "Please come back in two weeks."

Tunic

When our driveway is littered with cedar debris, night falls shortly after Saskia comes home from school and my slippers stay on all day, it's time to knit. The last two winters I took on adult projects. This year I'm knitting for the kids, those perfectly small and forgiving recipients.

I just finished Morehouse Farm's Child's Tunic, in their merino worsted weight natural brown heather with white trim. Merino wool is lovely because it's not itchy. I love Morehouse Farm's undyed wool: this brown heather is 65% white wool blended with 35% brown, which is black wool bleached chocolate by the New York State sun.

After placing my order in October, I waited impatiently for it to arrive. I could track its progress online, and it sat at Customs in Montreal for weeks. It didn't seem right that a small box of wool could be regarded as possible contraband, and I was so annoyed with the wait that I decided I didn't want to knit this season after all. But when the parcel arrived on my doorstep one grey, wet afternoon I forgot my resolution and cast on the first stitches before the cardboard was even in the recycling.

I so enjoy that knitting is portable, and that little bits of my travels get worked into the garment. The cast on was done while Pete's mom was visiting; the stitches were divided for the front and back while waiting for the ferry in Tsawwassen; the back was knit in the atrium of the Empress Hotel; a perfect three needle shoulder bind-off was executed in Parksville one evening while deer grazed outside the cabin; and the sleeve cuffs were finished on a Sunday afternoon at home in front of the fire.

No part of this sweater was knit at a medical conference.

Morehouse included a postcard with my order, and Ariana was enchanted when I explained the link between the sheep and her sweater. She carries the card when she wears the sweater, and it's worn and bent with her two-year-old affection. "Wool! Sheep! Sweater!"

This was an easy, beginner-level project. As always, I tweaked it a bit. I knit buttonholes and sewed on some sweet wooden apple buttons, but disliked the cluttered end result and went for a clean crocheted finish instead. I also lengthened the sleeves.

Now, Saskia wants a toque and Leif has requested a vest, scarf and slippers. I'm happy to oblige.

Forcing bulbs

Every day that I'm home that's not rainy, we head out to the yard for an hour or two. The kids tie their bikes together with skipping ropes and I putter in the garden. There are few things that I enjoy more than moving dirt and rocks around while the kids play, squirrels chatter and boats drone up and down the Arm. But it's almost December, and I know our days are numbered.

When I picked up a few hundred bulbs last week, I decided to get some hyacinths and paperwhites (white daffodils) to force indoors this year. The idea of tricking bulbs into thinking it was time to bloom captivated the kids.

For the paperwhites, we put some pebbles in the bottom of a glass (with much analysis of the merits of each stone as it was carefully placed by little fingers), set the bulb on the rocks and added water until it was just touching the bottom of the bulb.

That was Thursday night. On Saturday morning Saskia and Leif literally screamed with excitement when they noticed the hundreds of little roots budding from each bulb. I have to admit, I was pretty impressed myself. And at a dollar a pop, this is the most affordable fun we've had in a while.

For the hyacinths, we set the bulbs in hyacinth glasses, added water, and set them in a dark cupboard in the cellar. They need an eight to ten week chilling period before they can come upstairs to bloom. I'm limiting check-ins on those ones to once a week. 

I do find the term 'forcing' bulbs a little off-putting. It sounds so unnatural. And when I read that a forced bulb will not usually bloom again because of the tremendous amount of energy required, I felt a little pang of guilt.

Hopefully that will abate when I have a windowsill full of narcissi blooming in December.

For more information, HGTV has a good article on forcing bulbs.