Hunger

I read the "Little House on the Prairie" series when I was in first grade.  I've reread it many times since and one or two things hover in my mind.
In "The Long Winter" Laura goes to a party where she receives an orange as a party favor.  "Imagine," she thinks in awe, "having an entire orange all to yourself."
I found myself thinking about this the other day when the "kids meal" came and included an obscenely large hot dog and more fries than Dave and I could eat together.  It cost nine dollars and we threw almost all of it away.

We think about food a lot in our house.  Nathan has had so many problems with food and weight gain that we know the calories and nutritional breakdown of a stunning number of foods.  Traveling, even going out to eat, brings up the "what-will-we-feed-him?" anxiety.  Dave's dad's recent brush with the reality of heart disease has thrown our eating habits into sharp relief.  Dave and I have both eaten too much crap and exercised too little since our little man came along.  We worry about eating out and finishing leftovers before they go bad.  Everyone has breakfast even if it makes us a little late for work.  I worry about waste - food bought and uneaten because Nathan didn't like it or we worked late too many nights in a row to cook it all.

All small worries compared to that shared by 1 in 5 American children.

Twenty Percent of American children live in homes where, at least once a week, they run out of food and don't have money to buy more.

Twenty Percent.

That means that in a class of 30 children 6 of them may not have had breakfast and may not be expecting to have dinner.  Six children whose grumbling stomachs will distract them from learning to read and write.  Six who may bully someone else out of their lunch or pick a fight or ditch a class or talk back to a teacher because they just feel so bad.
Some of these children don't have food because their parents have spent the money on cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs, but some of these children don't have food because a parent has lost a job and the cost of keeping a roof over their heads and the heat on is much more than their current income.

Feeding our children is possibly the most basic role of parenthood.  God gave women's bodies the ability to nourish the next generation.  It is believed that one of the many causes of the obesity epidemic in America's children is that parents don't like to tell their children "no" when they ask for food.  The reality in our country, however, is that 20% of our children are mildly malnourished because of the unreliability of their food source.

I don't pretend to know what the answer is.  Nutritious school lunches can help the children.  A declining unemployment rate would help whole families.  A single parent household has twice the likelihood of going hungry so decreasing that prevalence would make a real impact.

I also don't have an agenda.  I just think it is horrifying that this country, that overeats and throws food away and spends so much of our GNP trying to solve the problems of others, can't feed our children.  I think a lot of people don't realize how high the numbers are.
If you want to read more check out the Food Research and Action Center.
And please, think about donating some healthy food to your local food bank.  It is the only safety net that many families have.

Bothersome

One of the unfortunate facts about the hospital I work at is that it abuts a very old cemetery.  Through very careful forethought and planning there are no patient rooms that have a view of gravestones.  It is visible, through the trees, from the library.  The PICU family grief room originally had a clear view of marble mausoleums until they installed some stained glass to blur the harsh reality.  Otherwise, it is the physician offices and work-rooms that have the gorgeous views of ancient trees marching through the seasons. 

I don't mean to imply that we should hide the concept or possibility of death.  Our bodies all die eventually.  I just think that there is something unsettling about struggling with the illness or injury of a loved one and, needing a glimpse of the outside world, looking out a window to see a funeral procession.

In the oncology world we wrestle every day with life and death discussions, how to talk to children and their parents.  Some people want cold hard facts with no sugar coating.  Some want vague generalizations.  We're honest with all of them though the language changes.  We work hard to make our clinic a space of hope and to give all the happiness we can to families who spend many of their days worrying about what the last day will be like.  Kids run around the halls chasing a favorite doctor or nurse.  They do crafts while they wait.  The teens hang out playing pool or Guitar Hero.  Santa always comes.  Hope, as it has been said, springs eternal.

We do what we do for the kids.  That includes decorating for every holiday including Halloween.

But we also do it for the parents, and I wonder if any of them find this bothersome as they check in for a blood count and chemotherapy.

While I was gone

How to explain a monthlong abscence from the blog world . . .

Model airplane show with daddy

Playing piano at Rosh Hashana services

Learning to drive

Making, and eating, and enjoying vegan cookies

 Enjoying one of the last days of summer in a fountain in the Baltimore harbor

Hanging out with med school folks at a good friend's wedding


I'll try not to go away for so long again.