Yesterday I was watching a little of my favorite 24-hour pretty much lefty but hey, at least they don’t claim to be “fair and balanced” news outlet, MSNBC. I like this station. I like their commentators. I like that they lean my way. I loves me some Contessa Brewer. And frankly, Mika Brzezinski is starting to catch my eye these days too. She’s got really great hair.
Anyway, it was 11-ish, so it was time for Dr. Nancy.
For this part, I am going off on a tangent… stay with me.
Dr. Nancy’s name is Dr. Nancy Snyderman. She is a board certified surgeon who specializes in otolaryngology, which is a word I cannot even pronounce, but means she’s an ear, nose and throat doc. She went to medical school at the University of Nebraska, and is currently on staff at the University of Pennsylvania. Plus, she is a on-air broadcaster, which frankly, is way harder than it looks. She is, by all means, accomplished. Yet she goes by the name “Dr. Nancy.”
Why the hell do broadcast doctors, be they MDs or PhDs, do this? Dr. Oz. Dr. Phil. Dr. Laura. Do these people have some aversion to their last name? I mean, it works for Dr. Ruth — but she is an adorable tiny little four-foot-seven German native who lost her parents to the concentration camps, yet is about the happiest-go-lucky person ever who talks about sex. She broke the mold people.
The use of Dr. Firstname reminds me of Sleepless in Seattle, when young Jonah wants his father, Sam, to talk to Dr. Marcia on a radio show. “Talk to her, dad. She’s a doctor,” Jonah says. “Of what? Her first name could be Doctor,” replies Sam. That sums up how I feel about it.
We have only one Doctor in our family, my cousin Jennifer has a PhD. And I am pretty sure that if I call her Dr. Jenny, she would probably take her baby out of his stroller so she could beat me with said stroller. Last names, people. Last names.
So anyway. I was watching Dr. Snyderman, and she was discussing whether men should have a place in the delivery room. To my knowledge, my father witnessed zero of his 5 children’s births. I did not deliver my children naturally, I had to have c-sections. Amy was there the first time, Jim nearly passed out the second time because he saw a little blood hit the floor. He never actually SAW anything gross. But I was so doped up both times that I can’t even remember someone else being in the room. My friend Nancy (not to be confused with the good TV doctor) told me just about the worst horror story ever involving the birth of her daughter and her husband holding one of her legs. Kayla said her husband watched the whole thing. I remember my sister Carrie talking about wanting to punch her husband in the face because he made the mistake of eating some sort of stinky snack before getting a little to close to her to tell her to “PUSH!”
So, is there a place in the delivery room for men? Dr. Snyderman made a legitimate comment about the men who get woozy at the sight of the birth, like my husband did (good thing he wasn’t really watching and he was sitting down — he would have dropped like a sack of potatoes had it been a regular birth). She said when the doctors need to check on the passed out man on the floor, it doesn’t go over too well with Mom.
“Men never faint after they’ve had sex,” Dr. Snyderman said. “They just faint for the delivery.”
Good. Point. Doc.
So what’s the answer? Do men help or hinder the birth process? Do we, as women, really need them there? I suppose the answer is that it is different for each couple, but really, the will of the woman should definitely win out on this one. I don’t know that doctors attending to a swooning Dad has ever actually put Mom or Baby’s life in danger. But still, why risk it? I do know that if it were me, and I was having the child the regular way rather than have it taken out against its will like I did, I want Dad to be as far away as possible, possibly on the other side of a sound proof wall.
What say the women and men of the blog world?