I took my daughter to her pediatrician’s office for her immunizations and it never ceases to amuse me how little logic is contained within the agencies that are supposed to be protecting our health.
To prevent the spread of infection, the Medical Marijuana Advocates (a.k.a. the Joint Commission) have apparently made it a “standard” to discard or sterilize anything that comes in contact with a patient’s skin. Because if something touches one patient and then touches another, they could get deadly infections. Forget about the 600 pound inappropriate antibiotic receiving gorilla in the room. After all, inappropriate antibiotic prescriptions have nothing at all to do with cultivating or spreading resistant organisms. Actually, I don’t know what are contained in Joint Commission standards because the only way people can find out what the standards are is to purchase them at $1485 for a site license or a bargain basement $297 for an individual license. I’ll pass, thanks.
What I do know is that landfills are now full of tourniquets that touched a patient’s skin during blood draws and I have yet to see one blinded study showing how discarding tourniquets under Joint Commission “standards” has stopped the spread of pestilence in our society. Yet blood pressure cuffs that touch a much larger surface area of a patient’s skin before touching another large part of another patient’s skin get a pass. Go figure.
Then comes the bacterial nexus of death in the pediatrician’s office. No, it’s not the stethoscope. No, not the prescription pad with all the amoxicillin or azithromycin you can drink for your cough or fever. It’s something that just screams out for kids to rub their grubby hands all over it in unison to create a microcosm of shared bacterial and viral genomes that can be spread amongst unsuspecting families.
How many kids rub their noses or pick other orifices, then touch this thing, then put their hands back in their nose or alternate orifices? Never mind. I don’t even want to know. It is like a giant JCAHO-authorized petri dish.
Maybe its a way for pediatricians’ offices to assure return visits in a couple of weeks.
Before I left, I actually touched the board. I drew a little picture of a bug in the left upper corner of the board. He was holding onto a club getting ready to beat the large alligator bug that someone gouged underneath him. How do little kids get sharp objects in the doctor’s office play room so that they can gouge pictures of alligator bugs onto the magical touch board, anyway?
After I took the picture (using my opposite hand), I went and touched a bunch of magazines. Then I touched a door handle. Then I touched some windows, a couple of desks, and a chair, too. Mwuuuuuhahahahaha.
My null hypothesis is that there will be no greater death rate in the community due to my actions.
Either that or I’m going to be quite sick in the next week or so.
That reminds me. Did I wash my hands before I started typing this post?