Ah, the internet

I'm trying to write up some materials for the project I'm working on, which looks at the role of multiple, concurrent partnerships in the HIV epidemic in Mozambique. I probably should have known better than to Google Image "network concurrent sexual" to find a good illustration of network characteristics when partnerships are concurrent.

Along with some racier stuff (and some things about computer programming...?), I got the picture above, which made me laugh. It's actually from a PSI site, and PSI is one of our main partners on the project. So it really does have to do with what I'm studying. I guess I sympathize with wanting the page to be visually appealing, and yet not having a picture that represents what's being discussed.

But still... this is funny. Some PSI intern is now patting herself on the back for being able to sneak in there a picture of a guy grabbing his lady friend's tuchas.

Disconnected

According to my new ENT, there's a problem with my connexins. These proteins, pictured above, assemble in a pretty flower shape on cell membranes, interacting with connexins on neighboring cells to form gap junctions. Gap junctions turn out to be important to neurochemical signaling. So, specific types of mutations in the genes encoding connexins can lead to deafness and/or hearing loss.

I elected not to have any genetic testing done at this point, because it wouldn't change my treatment, but the doctor said that connexin mutations are the most frequent causes of slowly progressive sensorineural hearing loss -- and that these mutations, autosomal recessive alleles, occur at a higher prevalence among Ashkenazic Jews (who, it turns out, are also susceptible to fat metabolism disorders and GI disorders, probably among other things I haven't learned about yet. All those population bottle-necks, I guess?). So it's likely that this is what's wrong with me.

I guess it's nice to know that. It gives it some closure, and gives me a good idea what might be in store in the future. It's also a little weird, though, being someone with a "rare genetic condition", whom I should be seeing on an evening news story rather than, well, the person who is looking out through my eyes. It took me awhile to get used to being "the girl who wears hearing aids"; now I guess I'm also "the girl with the rare genetic disease." I got used to the hearing aids, though, so I'm sure I'll get used to this -- it'll just take some time.

Finding your Box

Today my STI seminar was led by a guest lecturer, a specialist on the health of transgender people. The information was really fascinating, highlighting the great diversity of sexual identity and expression of people. The session just came to life, though, with the funny, dynamic facilitation skills of our guest, himself a trans person.

In talking about finding one's sexual identity, he spoke about looking at intake forms in clinics, in which there were only two sexes/genders represented. "Where's my box?" He remembered thinking. He identifies as "genderqueer", one of more than a hundred labels that transgender people use.

There was something really familiar about this thought to me, although I've never has a struggle with sexual identity, or even racial identity. What resonated with me was the whole concept of identity search in a broad sense -- finding how you want to express yourself, how you want others to perceive you, with what groups you identify most closely with. Life is all about finding your box.

(For info on trans health, spend some time here: http://transhealth.ucsf.edu. You won't regret it.)

Snide comments from the Doc

Sweet young gyn patient being perscribed oral contraceptives: "Will I get fat?"
Darling older Ob-gyn: "You might get fat, but it won't be from the pills.
[Backpedaling...] I mean, er, that's not one of the side effects. These pills won't make you gain weight."

Lucky

Today was long: gym, then gyn preceptor, then finishing research and writing on pulmonary hypertension, then reading for my climate change class, then meeting with a classmate to plan out our in-class discussion to take place this Thursday.

But then, out the window, this scene. And later, dinner with friends. Life is full of obligations, deadlines, things to hand in; but when you can take in this much beauty at the end of the day, and appreciate good food with your friends, you're pretty damn lucky.

Baby Love

Lately many of my friends have been coming down with Baby Fever. It's just the age all of us are entering, I guess, and maybe the fact that some of our friends and siblings are starting to have their own babies. (A history of exposure to babies, it seems, is the greatest risk factor for the Fever.)

I've mostly been spared from the mindless desire for, as my program director would say, a germ bag. Not that I don't love spending time with my little niece, or appreciate her extreme cuteness or think that she's a genius. It's just that spending time with her doesn't make me want to run home and have my own (or wherever that would be done...).

So today I was a little taken aback when I was hit hard with Baby Love. The offending little one was a two-week-old preemie and maybe the smallest human being I've ever seen. He was so tiny as to be a little alien-like, hands trembling as he raised his skinny arms. But he was "fiesty" -- even his NICU nurses had called him that -- sucking vigorously from his bottle and later tilting his shoulders as if trying to roll over and crawl away.

His young parents were so excited and nervous that they couldn't stop talking; I'm pretty sure I don't want to ever be in a pediatrician's shoes. But their baby had such an earnestness, in an extremely tiny little form, that it made me want to take care of him.

I don't know if it'll develop into a full-blown bout of baby fever, but I'm pretty sure it was love.

You know your pediatric clinic is underfunded when...

... the sports stars in the posters on your walls are from two decades ago.

I walked in today past a Mugsy Bogues height chart. Then in an examining room saw Mark McGwire, Jose Canseco (yes, A's era), and Tim Hardaway. Which was great for me, because these guys are from the time when I paid attention to sports, but I'd guess a little confusing for today's pediatric patients.