Addendum.

So as promised...

The comments to offbeatmama's post contain some absolute gems themselves. Some made me laugh, some made me cry, some made me dry-heave, some made me have conniptions. Without further ado:

"As for the baby wipes, we use Earth First natural wipes. They're thicker – so I don't feel like I'm wiping poop onto my hands every time she messes her diaper."

Oh really? They feel thick, so that you feel like you aren't getting fecal matter on your hands, so you feel like you are exempt from washing after changing a poopy diaper. Nice.

Another:

"My mother still remarks on the difference between my cousin and I healthwise when we were growing up. My mother had too much life going on to much more than once a week laundry day and give the house what she referred to as 'a lick and a promise' Not an actual lick you understand, though the photos of me as a baby licking the floor might dispute that. I was a remarkably healthy child, I was off school sick once in eleven years ( several times with concussion having fallen out of trees etc) 

"My aunt on the other hand sterilised everything she could and cleaned, polished, vacumed every surface every day. Outdoor clothes and shoes had to be removed in the hall and exchanged before entering the rest of the house and hands had to be washed every hour on the hour (yes really) as well as after going to the lavatory etc. 

"I've never known a house smell more of cleaning products and air fresheners. My cousin had incessant colds, coughs, chest infections, ear infections and to this day having left home some 10 years previously still has almost no immunity to germs. Of course she could just be predisposed to be particuarly prone but my mother maintains it's because she was never allowed to build up an immunity."

Doesn't this...doesn't this go against the Hygiene Hypothesis* itself? I mean, don't people love to spout off how "good" it is when kids get sick, that getting sick now means fewer illnesses later? So really, this person's cousin was doing her body good by the "incessant colds, coughs, chest infections, and ear infections"? But wait? Why didn't they build up her immune system? Oh yeah because the HH is p. much bunk. We covered that already.

* Edited to clarify: The HH as wildly misinterpreted by so many. lol.

Continuing:

"True Story: A professor of medicine at Oxford University, where I used to work back then, once told us that when his son & dil came by with their young infant, he was very worried by their sterile approach to child-hygiene. Whenever they would leave the room and he was alone with his grandchild, he would quickly get the pacifier, rub it on the carpet, and stuff it back in the infant's mouth. With his knowledge of immunology he knew that a child NEEDS to 'eat dirt' to build up a good immune system."

WHAT the FUCK? I don't even have words for this. A young infant needs to ingest germs that are on the carpet of a house like I need a hole in my head. Babies re BOMBARDED by germs and infectious agents from the second they enter this world, germs that cannot be avoided, many that you don't need to avoid, but plenty that you should try to. Nobody needs to fucking LICK THE CARPET (especially a tiny infant), which this amounts to. Unreal. If I found out my relative had done this, I would KILL THEM IN THE FACE.

"I remember my parents telling the story of my oldest younger brother (try saying that three times fast!) eating a roach when he was a baby. Our mother was like, "meh." Our dad? Complete freak out. He was convinced that Michael was going to get dysentery from it. Of course he was fine and ended up with the strongest immune system of the four of us.

Hear hear! Roaches for one and all! Clearly it was the roach that gave him the immune system of steel. There can be no other explanation.

Let's continue:

"LOL! So true!!! A little dirt never hurt anyone!"

LOL! Except when there's listeria in it and the mother ingests it through one of several ways and it kills babies in utero! LOL! Or when there's tainted manure in it and it gets on our cantaloupes and causes E. Coli outbreaks and kills thousands! LOL! But a little dirt never hurt anyone! LOL!

"We are a pretty natural family. My daughter has had bad ear infections in the past, and thanks to countless antibitotics she doesnt respond to treatment like she once did. Letting it run its course as long as she is not deathly ill has become the better option."

Letting...letting ear infections "run their course"?? Up until the moment the kid is"deathly ill"? Am I reading her correctly? Is she fucking insane? Yeah, because ear infections "just go away." And I'm sure the kid wouldn't mind being in excruciating pain and having a ruptured ear drum or two. Screw antibiotics. Let's let infections just do their thang. We're natural like that.

I can't even go on. Some people. The stupid burns.

Jo, 1. Hygiene Hypothesis, 0. Dar, 2 sick kiddos. :(

So by now you're probably familiar with the back-and-forth  Blog War!!11  I'm having with my friend Darlena. (Well, it was supposed to be a war, but we love each other too much for it to be. Not to mention I'm too right for it to be. Snort.)

Anyway, so I started off the whole she-bang, she-bang.

I set out to say that the Hygiene Hypothesis is a bunch of bunk. P. Much.

Dar countered by expressing that it's all about moderation--she's not too worried if her kids touch notoriously germy things like shopping cart handles, etc. She explained that to her, mental health is as important as physical health, and she just can't go on worrying about germs constantly. But, it was of note that her NON-Bubble-Kids did get sick their first day of preschool.

I followed up with a bunch of scientific hurble burble. People in another blog I write threw me to the dogs, saying that my OCD is not smarter than real scientists, saying that basically I'm not entitled to a dissenting opinion because OCD clouds my mind or some shit. Which I thought was a little harsh. But see, even certain scientists don't agree with the Hygiene Hypothesis, which I used as my "rebuttal."

After that, I added a blog about the emotional response that Dar's post had inspired.

And that's p. much where it ended, until today.

Until today when a new convert was born. And all the world Jo rejoiced!!

Well. I don't rejoice that her babies are slinging this virus back and forth like a snot-covered Frisbee. But you know.

So now I think Dar gets that it's a load of hooey. And as for the rest of you?

Threat Level: Midnight

Nah, I'm not really sorry. And my opinions on the Hygiene Hypothesis remain the same. But I do have to report in:

MY KID GOT SICK.

She has spent one day in preschool in her entire life, and she is now sick. Sneezing and stuffy. Awesome.

But I don't believe it's because she's a Bubble Kid. Since after all, even non-Bubble-Kids like Dar's get sick their first day, which has been a recent topic of discussion. :(

I guess it's just as a person who does not have OCD recently wrote: "Schools are a cesspool of germ, disease and horror. And that's just the staff room. Throw kids into the mix and you might as well just wrap yourself up in a bubble and stay home."

But fuck, man. Really? The first day? Now I know just how Darlena felt, except hers was Times Two.

(Also; I'm sure, positively sure, that no one out there is thinking, "Serves her right for being such a germ-freak," right? Right? Because it's my kid who's suffering. So this doesn't "serve anyone right." But I'm sure none of you would be so cruel as to think that.)

So now all I can do is pray to the Patron Saint of Five Month Olds and ask for mercy that Naomi not get sick.   :/

Panic Threat Level: Red.

Who am I kidding. Make that, Threat Level: Midnight.

To Live, or Not to Live. That Is OCD.

So my darling friend Darlena, as planned, made her rebuttal to my Hygiene Hypothesis post. The post below this one is the entry I settled on as my quasi-rebuttal-to-a-rebuttal, but in reality, this right here is the first post that her rebuttal inspired.

In her blog post, she makes excellent points. Mostly because it seems she basically agreed with me. Heh. I found myself thinking, "Well, she's not wrong about that...or that...or even that...Hey! I said that too!"

And then I bristled a little bit. I took a moment's offense at the statement "I simply cannot avoid all the germs she can. I have a life."

I took offense because, obviously, it seemed to be telling me I have no life or that I need to get one.  And I know Dar would never hurt my feelings on purpose, but at first, I must confess, I was stung.

But then I thought a little more. And you know what? I TOTALLY DON'T HAVE A LIFE. Or, more accurately, my poor babies don't. (Well, OK, one of my babies, Naomi, is too young, at five months old, to have a life or to know about cold germs and bum-bum germs--although whenever she sneezes, we jokingly say, "Noey, Christsakes, cover your sneeze!!")

But yes, that's the whole point, of this disorder, of this blog: I don't have a life. You're right, Dar.

The whole problem with my OCD is that, indeed, my life and my husband's life and my children's life are drastically impacted. I am consumed with panic and fears about germs, and that means that either (1) I just don't GO anywhere; or (2) I freak out internally whenever we DO go somewhere, which is no fun. No fun at all, I assure you. I don't have a life, because getting out there to live it scares me.

I am a stay-at-home mom. Aside from things like taking time out for the kids' naps or allowing time for my all-important surfing of the web, my job is to raise and grow and inspire and stimulate my children by taking them places in this world. Instead, we stay home. When I say I'm a stay-at-home mom, I got-damn mean it.

So do I have a life? No, not really. Occasionally, when I wake up on the right side of OCD, I do take my kids out--to the park, on an errand to Babies R Us, to the neighbor's house, even, like whoa, into the backyard. I know, right??

Sidenote: What's sad about that is that it's not a joke--it takes extreme effort and motivation to just plain take my kids into our own yard. It's less about germs than it is about motivation--I think that's a whole separate issue. Often, I tell Maya, "You can go play outside in our [fully-fenced] yard by yourself. Mama can't go outside right now. But you can, and I will watch you through the window." Needless to say, this isn't a very ideal suggestion for her, since she wants to play, and play with ME. But one of the endless issues that I deal with is either a type of depression, agoraphobia...

...or I'm just plain and simply a fat fuck what won't get off the couch,

or else I'm just a lazy ass,

but all I know is I suck for a plethora of reasons. A cornucopia, if you will.

Anyway. So those were my two first reactions to Dar's "rebuttal" to my Hygiene Hypothesis post: Agreement, yet at the same time, a little pain.

But she is right. She has a life, and can't spend all that time worrying, like I do. Or, more accurately, she just doesn't spend all that time worrying, because she doesn't have a mental disorder. See, she's lacking one crucial thing:

She's not

.

I joke. I joke so I don't cry. Tears of a clown, and all that shit.

No. Not that clown.

No. Not that clown either. Jeez, you guys.

(Can I interrupt this regularly scheduled program to tell you all that I HAVE MET TIM CURRY IN PERSON? OK then. Back to bum-bum germs.)

----

So, while Dar may basically agree with me on a lot of points, the thing is, it doesn't occur to her in the same way it does to me. She might go to a friend's house and not notice if the friend washed her hands before starting dinner. She might let her kids play at the McPlaguePlace and keep popping over for more bites of fries before heading back into the tunnels, without using hand sanitizer three times in a row first. She might go for a walk and let her kids pet the neighbor dog, then go home and just keep playing without needing to wash first. She might, sin of all sins, wear shoes in the house. ;)

Because while she knows good hygiene, and agrees that handwashing is very important, things don't occur to her like they do to me. I can't even say things ever even do "occur" to me, since the thoughts never left in the first place.

A couple of her quotes stood out to me:

"Yes, washing your hands is good. Yes, it's clean and I advocate it strongly for everyone. But to the point of compulsion? If I see a compulsive tendency popping up in my kid, taking care of that (provided they don't have a mental block that predisposes them to compulsions in general) trumps hand washing."

The only "good" thing I can say about my OCD is that I don't compulsively wash (or make my kids wash) in the way people imagine most OCDers do. I don't wash 12 times in a row. Once is fine. I don't jump up off the couch with the sudden and random compulsion to wash. I wash at what I think are very appropriate times. So I'm not one of those people who washes compulsively, except...I don't know what else you'd call it. I guess you could say that I DO have a compulsion to wash. Just not until my hands bleed, or in the middle of the night, etc. So thank goodness for that, anyway.

Then Dar said:

"They really haven't lived in a bubble, and that's okay. I'd rather them be sick sometimes if it allows them to live a little."

That's also where she and I differ. I'd prefer ANY option over my kids getting sick. This is the obsession, the constant worry, the all-consuming fear I can't get over. And  another of her quotes really got to me deeply:

"Mental health is as important as physical health."

She hit the nail on the head with that last sentence. That's where I struggle to find balance. Because I believe strongly that there are bajillions of horrible germs on the toys at the Children's Museum, I can't let my daughter play there without having an extreme panic attack. And I'm not giving my daughter a chance to play, explore, learn. So I don't know what to do--how to balance it all? Go to the Museum anyway, at the expense of MY mental health, just to make my kids happy? Or keep them home, where I feel safe and clean, at the expense of the richness of their lives?

Obviously, the answer is, I need to find a way to NOT feel terrified and horrified by taking my kids to the Museum. Win-win. Kids play, I feel fine. But it's the "I feel fine" part I'm working on, and trying to find a fix for.

Because months later, many visits to the doctor later, and all MANNER of medicinal nonsense later, I'm still where I started. Living in a bubble and keeping my kids chained in there too.

The Hygiene Hypothesis, P. Much Take Three

So Darlena over at ParenTwin wrote up her rebuttal to my post. My original post, "P. Much," was here, and Dar wrote up a fine fine piece entitled The Hygiene Hypothesis, Take Two (Take Two--OMG--twins--pun intended??).

And now that I've spent two days finger-babbling and belaboring unrelated points, alas I realized that none of what I was writing was the rebuttal-of-a-rebuttal like I had intended. For two reasons, I think: (1) that Darlena didn't really disagree, per se, with the gist of my post and my points on hygiene and why the hypothesis stinks--rather, she just explained that there are certain risks that she's willing to take, whereas I am not; and (2) that it turned into more of an introspection on my part, because of some of Dar's statements.

Crapsicle!! So much for the big war we had planned!

Anyway, I will say this, so I can at least post something to do with the Hygiene Hypothesis: What I hate most about it (and about people's uninformed spouting off about it) is that people take it too far. People wildly misinterpret it. And while I think that even at its true core, the Hygiene Hypothesis is lamesauce and ridicballs, all it basically says is that early exposure to allergens and infectious agents causes fewer incidences of asthma, eczema, and allergies in general. It doesn't say that by catching tons and tons of colds and flu as kids makes you less likely to be sick from them later. Getting a lot of colds in preschool doesn't mean you're not going to be allergic to peanuts, doesn't mean you won't get eczema, and doesn't mean you will get fewer colds later, goddammit.

Not to mention, there are so, so many other issues to take into consideration. Some people think that the increase in childhood asthma could be related to swimming pools, for baby Jesus' sake. Then you have to consider possible over-exposure to certain allergens, and the way children are fed, and where they're from, and endless other contributing factors:

"There are many other hypotheses which aim to explain the increase in allergies in developed nations, many of which are also related to the other. A few other major areas of focus in the literature include infant feeding, over-exposure to certain allergens and exposure to certain pollutants. Infant feeding covers a range of topics which include whether babies are breast fed or not and for how long, when they are introduced to solid foods and the type of these foods, whether they are given cow's milk and even the types of processing that the milk undergoes."

So, you see, there are dozens of hypotheses that aim to figure out why certain conditions like asthma are on the rise. But for some reason, people latched on to Mr. Strachan's Hygiene Hypothesis with an iron grip and refuse to let go, claiming that illness is somehow healthy, people who also refuse to use their noodles and inject a little common sense here and there.

Not to mention, there are studies that come to a completely different conclusion and argue against the Hygiene Hypothesis:

"The 'hygiene hypothesis' postulates that reduced exposure of children to microorganisms and parasites increases the probability that they will develop immunologic disorders including allergic diseases.  It has been used to explain the increased incidence of such diseases and the increase in asthma in developed countries compared to underdeveloped countries.  There is some experimental evidence supporting this hypothesis.  However, the epidemiological data are not uniformly consistent with this hypothesis.  A recent Australian study (Ponsonby et al, International Journal of Epidemiology, 2008, 37, 559–569) showed a reduction in the prevalence of asthma and hay fever without evidence for a decrease in hygiene. Asthma prevalence has also been dropping in other developed countries.  In addition, asthma is more prevalent in poor inner city neighborhoods in the US and these areas are unlikely to be more hygienic than the more affluent areas.  In addition, improved hygiene is not the only environmental difference between developed and underdeveloped more rural countries.  For example, in more developed countries people tend to live in tight buildings which are fabricated from and contain artificial materials which emit chemicals that could possibly facilitate the development of allergies. [Further,] It is in fact well established that poor sanitation practices contribute to high infant and child mortality rates in underdeveloped countries."

Another study also found evidence arguing against the Hygiene Hypothesis:

"The study by Dutch investigators at the Erasmus University found although children in day care got more colds and other infections, they were just as likely as other children to go on to develop asthma or another allergy by the age of eight. The children who went to nursery and who had older siblings had more than quadruple the risk of frequent chest infections and double the risk of wheezing in early life, with no obvious pay off in terms of later protection from allergy."

So which is it? Which hypothesis to believe? Why did those hypotheses never catch on? Why are people so quick to say, "It's OK, she's puking up last night's fish & chips now, but she's boosting her immune system with every heave!" Well, while you're trying to make up your mind, just consider this quick and simple question: Dirty hands or clean hands? Which is healthier? I remind you, we learned this in kindergarten. So mankind, quit telling me that my child will be healthier after poking the dog's butthole and then eating a bowl of popcorn.

(Or you may just want to pick up a box or two of dog bum-bum covers.)

Next up: The introspective blog that Dar's post also inspired.

P. Much.

I swore I'd never discuss this with you, and that if you tried to blather on to me about it, I would kick you in the slats. But a good friend's blog post got me thinking, and when you get me thinking, you get me ranting, and I cannot be stopped. So here we are: Discussing The Hygiene Hypothesis.

The link I am responding to from is my buddy Darlena's blog, ParenTwin, which you can find here. She's planning a "rebuttal" of sorts, so I will be sure to link you to that later. :)

---

Recently, Darlena was posting about the dreaded First Time at the Cesspool Preschool. Her poor kiddos got sick p. much immediately.

Now, this is not uncommon. Everyone talks about how as soon as your kids start daycare, they're going to be sick p. much constantly. If they start preschool and have never been in daycare, they're also going to be sick p. much constantly. What is their reasoning? "Because they've never been exposed to these germs before."

In Darlena's case, though, her kids have been exposed to tons of stuff, stuff any typical kid has been exposed to: germs that would make my skin crawl and my OCD spiral out of control, because I am not the typical mom and my kids aren't allowed to be the typical kids. Darlena is an extremely active mother, and her kids get a lot of exposure to the world at large--she runs a billion errands a day and takes her kids along, she takes them for walks, they're at the park p. much all the time, and they have had more playdates in their little finger than my kids have had in their entire life.*

*Pretend this metaphor made sense. Move along.

So, her kids have been exposed, like most kids. Maybe not to daycare, but to shopping cart handles, public restrooms, diaper "incidents," potty chair "incidents," playdates with other little kids, and surely poop on a hot tin slide or two. Her kids do not live in a bubble. If anyone's do, MINE do.

And yet, her kids got sick immediately after starting school, as is typical. Why? Surely they've been exposed to plenty of germs and colds before. Why isn't the Hygiene Hypothesis working here?

Because it's p. much bunk.

Oh, and please recall:

"A theory has been extensively tested and is generally accepted, while a hypothesis is a speculative guess that has yet to be tested."

Sorry, hypothesis!!

Listen, I totally agree that there are certain things kids need to be exposed to. Dirt, grass, plants, well, all of nature. Dust. Animals, along with their animal dander. Things like this. But there are certain things that never, ever benefit anyone. The stomach flu. E. coli. Salmonella. Staph. MRSA.

Even things like the good old common cold or the flu. (1) How, exactly, do these bolster one's immune system; and (2) why, according to so many people, must small children be exposed to such yucky things?

Let's examine (1). Say your toddler catches a cold. She is snotty and coughy and snivelly and miserable for a week. She can't sleep because her nose is all stuffy, and if she can't sleep, neither do you. Everyone is miserable when the kid is sick. Or, even worse, let's say your tiny baby catches a cold. She doesn't even know what's going on and has no tools to deal with being sick. She can't be told, "Here, blow your nose" or "This soup will make you feel better" or even, "Honey, I know how bad you feel, but you'll get well soon." She can't even take any medicine for it! All your baby knows is that she can't breathe.

So, has this cold helped either child? Colds mutate constantly. You never become immune to catching them. Because the next one is going to be one you have never encountered before.

And if catching colds helps us avoid catching colds (a ridiculous statement in itself), then why don't we ever "grow out of it"? If we attend daycare as kids and are constantly coming down with something, and the go through school still getting sick here and there, why as adults do we still catch colds? Why as old people aren't we completely immune?

Again, because colds mutate. And catching one does not mean you will become magically stronger and not likely catch the next one. We will catch colds ALL OUR LIVES. For many people, 2-3 a year, or eve more, for their entire existence, p. much as a rule.

So. On to part (2). If we are forever going to be catching colds, why is it so important that kids are exposed so young? Everyone always spouts off about how great and wonderful it is that kids get sick. "They're strengthening their immune system! Hoorahhh!!" But if we're gonna catch colds, why not do you utmost to prevent them from happening to your little tiny ones? Why not try to wait until they are older and stronger, and mentally/physically better able to deal with them and understand that they're sick?

If you had your choice, would you want your 2-week-old baby to catch a cold? No way, right?

Well, why, then? Why wouldn't you want her to? Wouldn't it help her? Give her a nice headstart on the good old immune system? No. It would be fucking misery, and possibly dangerous to boot. Babies can choke on phlegm in the night or become so stuffed up that they die. Silently. It happens. Your non-OCD mind might not worry about a baby dying from a cold, but mine does, because I have OCD but also because it happens. A good friend of mine almost lost her daughter right there at the doctor's office, after taking her in for a regular ol' case of the sniffles. Her two-year-old suddenly turned blue and had to be taken in an ECNALUBMA to the next-door hospital and be resuscitated. Anecdata, yes, but true, and fucking scary.

So why is it so great for a 6-month-old to catch a cold? Or even a two-year-old? And why am I the crazy one for disinfecting my daughter's restaurant table, or keeping her away from sick family, or not wanting to take her to the McPlaguePlace McPlayPlace?

My older daughter, Maya, has only ever had like two colds in her life. One was when she was 7 weeks old, when my sister-in-law thoughtlessly brought her two very, very sick kids to a family get-together. We all caught that cold, and not only were we miserable, I was terrified for my infant. I basically kept vigil over her and never slept until she was better. So how did this cold benefit her? She could still catch another at any point.

But she only did one other time (funny enough, thanks to the same oh-so thoughtful sister-in-law). Just those couple of times, because we take great pains to wash and sanitize our hands, teach her not to touch her eyes, nose, or mouth when out of the house, and to maintain a clean home or clean environment, wherever we go.

According to the Hygiene Hypothesis, my kid should be sick all the time, because we put forth such effort to avoid contact with germs. My Purell Kid should catch every virus we run into because of an immune system that was never allowed to develop. But she's never sick.

Whereas certain friends of mine (theee very friends mentioned in my blog post, "The Acid Test") are sick All. The. Time. All the time. ALL THE TIME.

And they never wash their hands. Seriously, like, never ever. Not when coming home. Not before eating. Not before cooking. Not after shaking hands. Not after playing at the Children's Museum of Every Virus Known to Man. Not after pooping. Not after touching raw meat or turtles or the floor of a Wal*Mart. Never.

If you took my family, and their family, we'd p. much disprove the Hygiene Hypothesis right then and there. They are exposed to so many germs you'd think they'd have developed chainmail fucking ARMOR against colds and flu. You'd think germs would cower at the sight of them. You'd think our friends would see germs and be like, "Dude, we've HAD you before. We've rolled in you. We've eaten you. We've rubbed you in our eyes and noses. WE PWN YOU."

And yet it is my family who never gets sick. Why? Because we wash our damn dirty hands.

Now, back to Darlena. This is not to compare her to my "Acid Test" friends at all. Not remotely, because no one else could possibly be that bad. :)

But because Darlena doesn't suffer from OCD, her kids have been exposed to a typical, normal amount of germs. They've been healthy, they've been sick, and so it goes. Yet at their first exposure to preschool, they caught the sniffles.

My turn is coming up soon. My daughter enters preschool in mere days. Will she catch a cold right away?

MAYBE.

But am I glad that she has not had a dozen colds in her almost-four years?

YES.

Because they would have been of no help. We would have had a sick, miserable child on our hands, for no reason, because the next cold to come along would be a new, mutated one she had never been exposed to anyway, and she could catch it too, if we weren't careful with hygiene.

If we can agree that kids who have been exposed to a lot of germs, AND kids who have not been exposed to a lot of germs, BOTH get sick pretty frequently when beginning daycare or school (which seems to be the consensus, since whenever daycare or preschool is mentioned, the response is always, "Ohhh, prepare for constant runny noses and coughs"), then I ask you, what was the point of all the colds your kid had when they were much younger?

Being exposed to certain things does absolutely no good whatsoever. These are things like the stomach flu or all the nasties that live on commoly touched surfaces, like staph or shigella. Who ever heard of becoming immune to E. Coli or being unlikely to catch it next time you're exposed to it? Or having had food poisoning so many times that now you are untouchable? Not to mention, frequent handwashing and all-around good hygiene has drastically reduced illnesses and has extended our very lifespans.

One source says of this theoretical idea that too much cleanliness has led to an increase in asthma or allergies:

"It is in fact well established that poor sanitation practices contribute to high infant and child mortality rates in underdeveloped countries...[Thus,] A decrease in hand-washing increases the incidence of infectious diseases which may more than outweigh the benefit of a possible reduction in immune disorders."

Being exposed to certain things can be important. These things are dirt, dust, and animals. Early exposure can and does help prevent many allergies.

But being exposed to colds and flu does not "help build your immune system." Because you will never be immune to colds and flu.

If your kids are gonna get sick, it's better to have it happen when they are older, stronger, and more able to cope with being sick. And, of course, it's best to just try to avoid getting sick altogether.

It's just common sense, people. We learned it in kindergarten. Wash your hands.

---

And now for one last treat, I bring you this gem. A month or so ago, I was visiting the public restroom *shudder* at the local UW Bookstore . The stalls were all full, so I was waiting my turn. And as I waited, a boy, aged approximately nine years old, crawled, Army-style, out from under the handicapped-stall's door. Crawled. Belly-down. Hands palm-down. Face-down. Slithered. On the restroom floor. The public restroom floor. His mother said nothing of it, opened the stall door, and exited. Naturally, without washing their hands.

Many of you probably recoil in horror at imagining this, even though you aren't OCD Like Me. Why the horror? Isn't that child just bolstering his immune system? And if you say "no, that's just fucking gross," why do you think it's such a wonderful, immune-system-strengthening thing when kids catch colds or other nasties off other public surfaces, which in all likelihood are even filthier than that restroom floor? Why?

My motto: Avoid What You Can, Deal With What You Can't. And I prefer that we all avoid as many illnesses as possible. But that's just me.

P. much.

The Acid Test.

This is a hard one to blog about, because it involves a dear friend of mine. She doesn't know about this blog, though, so don't worry your pretty little heads or wring your grimy little hands.


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So lately I've been wondering if I'm "getting better." See, I was seeing a shrink for awhile, not for talk therapy but for hardcore meds, because this has gone on too long and there are parts of it that are too much for me to bear. The weight of this can be crushing. And none of it, I feel, is something I can "talk through." So off to Mr. PhD it was, at $300 an hour. It's cool, we gots mad insurance though my husband's badass job, right?*


*I discovered a month later that Mr. Dr. is not a preferred provider, so we owe the $300 deductible and 20% of every other visit I had, whereas usually every medical visit of any kind is completely, 100% covered. Surprise!deductible.  Shitballs.

Anyway, at first Mr. Dr. was aiiiight, starting me off on a regimen of meds that he felt would work. He also quite literally prescribed, on a prescription pad, one hour of pure alone-time, each and every day, where I could do whatever I wanted, in total peace. I straight-up laughed in his face. Do you have children, Mister Doctor? I wanted to inquire.


I liked him a lot at first, but then he started rubbing me the wrong way. After a few less than stellar visits, one time I showed up at the bum-bum crack of 4 pm, my precise appointment time, and I waited in the office, alone, no receptionist in sight, for 25 minutes. Eventually Mr. Dr. emerged from his office with his previous patient, unapologetic, and soon after, we set about having our session. Our session had been scheduled as a 30-minute block that time. At the end of the appointment, he said to me, clearly irritated, "We got a little off track today. This went on for almost an hour, so next time we need to stick to the timeframe." I was struck dumb and just stood there and nodded, then waddled off with my tail twixt my legs like a dog what doesn't even know that it did something wrong.

When I got in my car, 1.5 minutes later, my car clock verified that it was 5 pm on the nose. Our appointment had run 35 minutes, max. More like 32.5. Not one hour. I was like, "Is HE the one who needs meds? Did he not realize his previous patient ran 25 bloody minutes over?!" It actually really upset me, for days and days, and kept me up at night! (I couldn't let go of it, for some reason, and actually considered emailing him to say, "Kind Sir, are you not aware that it was the extreme tardiness  your previous patient which caused our 30-minute session to end at such a late hour? I demand an apology within the fortnight.") So that kind of put the last nail in the coffin. I didn't want to see him anymore, and certainly not at $300 a MF hour.


So instead I started seeing my general practitioner, whom I generally love anyway. I figured, if this was all about brain meds, and the psychiatrist got me started, she could continue from there. She ended up disagreeing with some of his thoughts and choices of meds (what's so wrong with taking large doses of benzos? o hai five klonopin and 6 xanax!! Er, never mind), and we worked out a slightly different med situation. I have been and will be continuing to work with her. I've been feeling better at times, and when the moment came where I thought to myself, "OSHITZ, Maya picked a crayon off the floor of the restaurant and then continued to use it, eh, fuck it, who cares!!!", I thought, "Hey! I'm getting better!!"

Well, then came the Acid Test. 

A couple months ago, I hung out with a friend and her kids at their house. Both her kids are often sick. They are a family that just doesn't put the same importance on handwashing as I do, and it seems that everyone almost always has some illness or another. But because I know how often their kids get sick, every time I see one of them grab Maya's hand and trot off to go play their room, that vise inside me tightens. My brain sweats. My heart races. I want to scream out "NO! DON'T TOUCH HER!!" This sounds irrational, and yes, I GET THAT IT IS TO YOU, but it is not irrational to ME.* And I cannot stress enough to you how often and how badly these children and their parents get sick. It is one fever after one snotty nose after one deep hacking cough after another. Rinse, repeat. So every time I get invited over, or my friend wants to get all the kids together to play, I die a little.


And every time I visit them, almost without fail, the very. next. day, my friend Facebooks that her kids have fallen ill. And I think to myself, "Fuckshit!! I'mone die of teh plague." 


*No, you don't have to tell me that this is my brain making excuses for my behaviors. I am aware that I have a disorder. However, many if not most of my behaviors and actions (handwashing, affinity for Lysol wipes, etc.), I will stand firmly by, disorder or not. There is right and there is wrong, and while I can be "extreme," I am also most assuredly right. pthtbhtbhb. 

So a couple months ago, this friend (whom, honestly, I dearly love, despite her differing ideas and opinions on hygiene) invited us over to graciously cook us up a chicken dinner. After welcoming us into her home, she wanted to hold the baby, and she knows me well enough to understand that the Hot Tin Slider House Rules state in no uncertain terms that if you want to hold the baby, you wash your hands first. So God bless her, she washed her hands. After she held little Naomi, we all went into the kitchen to help with the meal. She started the chicken.


And listen. I don't mean to throw my friend under the bus. I am only here to report on what I saw, what I as someone who has OCD sees and notices. That is what this blog is about. What do I see, through my eyes? What do I notice, as someone who is obsessed with noticing germs? 


And here is what I saw and noticed: chickin-drippins, they was getting everwhere. And her chicken-hands were mixing up the salad I brought, and touching the counter, and opening doorknobs, and all over the refrigerator, and so forth. She would use her hands to open the lid of the garbage can that literally had streaming ribbons of wet God-knows-what on it, and then shove something deep inside said garbage receptacle, and then carry on with food prep. The chicken sat out a good two hours before being cooked. She also kept using utensils (spatulas, fork-prongs, grabby-things, etc.), that she had dug out of the sink. The sink, FFS, where other dirty dishes lie, where raw meat has dripped, where hands have been washed overtop (well, OUR hands anyway), where all manner of epic, epic germs live. The sink, where an estimated 500,000 bacteria per square inch wriggle and writhe and mock me. Jesus mother of Mary. So, our chicken dinner got cooked up with a filthy sink spatula. Awesome. My soul cried.


Occasionally, she'd exit the kitchen to go help her daughter blow her nose, or help her son wipe his bum-bum after he screeched out, "Mom, I poooooped in the potttttty!!"


Not to mention, there was a pet turtle. GOD IN HEAVEN A TURTLE.* Kid #1 was touching it and letting it crawl all about. I kept trying to quietly get Kid #1 to wash his hands, but he wouldn't. 


*Salmonella central.

In addition, my friend's boyfriend/babydaddy was sneezing, and both the children were looking feverish. The boyfriend actually asked his listless son at one point, "Are you feeling sick?" Cue my total mental meltdown. My heart shrunk ten sizes that day.


Then Kid #2 wanted to play with the baby. If you remember the Slider House Rules, you'll know that I make no bones about it, and I told her that she had to wash before doing so. But she'd wash, then come over and yank at the baby's hands for a few minutes, then go roll all over the carpet, yank a boogin out her nose, scratch at her wee bum-bum, shove a hand down her crotch, possibly even go pat Turkey the Turtle, and then come back for more baby touching. I didn't know how to stop her, without looking like a paranoid mental patient having heart palpitations and a severe case of dry-mouth. Which I am and was.


Now listen again. None of this makes my friend or her family BAD. It means they don't see what I see. My friend was raised differently, and she does not suffer my disorder, and she just plain and simple doesn't worry about the things I do. And again, none of this is to say "Wow, what a terrible person she is." It is to try to share MY experience, to show it to you through the eyes of someone suffering from intense germ anxiety. To show you how my eyes act as a Crimestopper Chopper 4 helicopter pilot with infrared night goggles, where germs are the hot-blooded robbers on the getaway. I see them. I see the germs, I feel the germs. I see everything, and it causes horrible anxiety.  


And that anxiety can ruin everything. Even lovely evenings with true friends, whom I love regardless of sink germs, and who love me regardless of the fact that they see me as totally apeshit bananas crazy in the noggin. My beautiful friend, she can be a saint to put up with me sometimes, I swear. This doesn't mean I don't wish she would take care with the chickin-drippins though. 

So the day was full of all the things I fear most. Raw-meat germs. Bum-bum germs. Escherichia coli germs. Sea-creature germs. BOY GERMS! Just kidding, I'm not six. And most of all, cold and flu germs. Sigh.


Alas, what should have been a pleasant dinner with a favorite couple and their darling children turned out to be something that caused me to panic. I played along, joked, laughed, talked, even forced down a few bites of Chicken Con Staphylococcus Aureus (an exotic recipe she picked up during her travels) (I kid, I kid), but inside I felt miserable. 


And I was just waiting, waiting for the next day, when I knew that my friend would be Facebooking, "My poor darlings have come down with 103-degree fever, Roseola, purple spots, Dengue fever, black hairy tongue, severe food poisoning, cold sores, pink-eye, swine flu, and The Grippe!"


Finally we made our exit. I make light of it, but all the way home I sobbed. I cried. I cried from the pressure that had been building up inside me. I cried because I was afraid. I cried because I'd wanted to have a good time and my disorder simply wouldn't let me. I cried because I feel helpless and hopeless. I cried because my friends are so generous and beautiful, and yet I can't always be comfortable around them. I cried because I don't want my infant to get black hairy tongue.


Now, granted, I don't usually feel THIS much anxiety when visiting other people. (So if you're my friend and you're reading this, honestly, my OCD-meter is not turned up this high when I am with you. Because you are not this particular couple with their particular couple-o-kids.) But it's still not fair that I couldn't enjoy myself. It's not fair that I spent the entire time panicked. It's not fair that I can't let Maya play with her two little best friends without wanting to scream, "OK, BUT DON'T TOUCH EACH OTHER!!"

And it's not fair that nothing's going to fix this. There is no pill I can take that will make me forget that there are germs on things. There is no pill I can take that will let me dreamily lounge around on my dear friend's deep, cozy velour couch (OMFG LICE) with an icy bev in hand, happily chatting away whilst her children are hacking and snotting seven feet away and playing Ring Around the Rosie with my daughters, hand in hand. There is, it always seems, no hope.


Because that day was the Acid Test. Are all my pills working? AM I GETTING BETTER? AM I??










No.

I Think It's High Time for Another "Things I Do" Post.

So to continue the very, very non-exhaustive list of Things I Do, today's installment is:

Things I Do: Restaurant Edition.

My anxiety reaches some of its highest heights when we visit a restaurant, especially a certain one that we frequent once a week for Trivia Night. It's a family-friendly pub, so we tote along the chitlins. And while in theory it's nice for this here stay-at-home-mom to get out of the house once a week, in actuality it really does cause large amounts of stress. But at the same time it's fun, because, TRIVIA NIGHT! I do love me some trivia. Also I love money. And we win a lot. :)

But at restaurants, particularly this one, here is a partial list of Things I Do:

• We usually park in the lower parking lot, and take the elevator up with the kids. I use the bottom of my shirt to press the elevator button--it's just second nature--and I didn't even really think about it until one day I saw my three-year-old do the exact same thing. I laughed so hard, then I cried a little inside at the tiny germaphobe I was inadvertently creating, but then I laughed again. Because I couldn't believe she was so observant, especially with things I make no spectacle out of doing.
• Upon arrival, before letting Maya touch anything ("DON'T TOUCH!"), we immediately break out the tub of antibacterial Sani-Hands and wipe down the table. This seemed appropriate when Maya was still a baby in a high chair (which we'd cover with a high-chair cover, natch), because her hands were all over the table and then they'd go straight in her mouth. But we still do this now that she's approaching four years old (although I always look around in embarrassment before and as we do it, because I feel like people are thinking we are nuts, much like you non-OCDer are thinking this very second). But do you know what? You would start wiping down your table if you saw what comes off on those wipes. If you place a disinfecting wipe flat on the table, and put your hand on it to wipe the whole bitch down, do you know what you find on that wipe? A completely black handprint. The tables are positively grimy. Every time we wipe them down, we stare at disbelief at the blackened wet-wipe.

Lest you think I am exaggerating, on two separate occasions I took photographic evidence, just so that I could show you, faithful reader. Observe what remains on your restaurant table after it is everso hastily wiped down with a germ-ridden damp rag by a nonchalant waiter being paid minimum wage to keep your eating area clean:

I mean, what could even CAUSE that much grime? Are people changing their babies' shit-filled diapers on the table? Are people table-dancing in their farm boots? Are people's hands and arms really this dirty??* And this is a very respectable, very pleasant, very nice, and, to the naked eye, a very clean-looking joint. But behold what appears where you least expect it. Christ on a Saltine.

*Yes.

One article summarizes my thoughts quite well:

Surface Testing Reveals Restaurant Tables Have Higher Germ Count Than Changing Tables Or Shopping Carts 

"In tests conducted by Dr. Chuck Gerba, professor of Environmental Microbiology at the University of Arizona, restaurant tabletops had more than double the bacteria count of the diaper changing tables tested. The analysis showed that changing tables had 106 colony forming units (CFU) of bacteria per square inch, while restaurant tabletops turned up 268 CFU per square inch.

'We knew that tabletops were problem areas,' said A.J. Mesalic... 'But we were surprised by how high the germ count was in comparison to the other surfaces tested. The preponderance of research tells us that surface germ protection is necessary. Sure adults are exposed to the same problem surfaces, but our immune systems are fully developed. Still these harmful microbes can make adults very sick as well.' 

According to Dr. Gerba, there is a minority view* in the public and medical profession that says germs are ‘good for you.' 'In fact, our studies have shown that many of the germs we find on public surfaces, and even in the home, absolutely will make children sick with no meaningful benefit of increased immunity,' he said."

God bless you, Dr. Gerba.

*"Minority view" my ass, though. The got-damn Hygiene Hypothesis is the New Black. Everyone's spouting off these days about how antibacterial soap is slaughtering our children and that kids need to lick the bottom of their shoes and give Eskimo kisses to the neighbor kid who has a snot waterfall on his face, all in the name of building their immune system.

• We wash after handling the menu and deciding on our cuisine du jour. Have you ever seen anyone wash a menu? Funny, I haven't either. And have you ever noticed that they are streaked and grimy and fingerprinty with God knows what? Yeah. F to the Y to the I, they contain an estimated count of 185,000 bacteria. Enjoy browsing the food selection and then relishing your Santa Fe Burger, licking delicious e.coli, staph, rhinovirus, enterococcus, and shigella off your juicy digits.
• We handle the ketchup, salt, and pepper with a napkin. All the above-mentioned bacteria and viruses, plus so many more, can and usually do appear on these things according to many a study. Sometimes Maya reaches for the condiments on the table, and I have a massive freak-out and scream quietly, "DON'T TOUCH!!" (Which by now you can certainly tell is a favorite phrase in our family, and we employ it regularly.)
• We do not use the lemon slices in our iced tea, nor do we let our lemon-loving child eat them. You have no idea what is lingering on them, but you might want to read up.
• When using the restroom, I use two layers of toilet-seat covers, placed ever so slightly off-center from each other. (Have you ever sat down, only to feel the insufficiently-sized seat cover shift under your weight, and feel the horrifying sensation of cold porcelain on your bum-bum? Well I have, and that was the last time I ever used just one seat cover.) Two seat covers seems to do the trick of covering all exposed toilet seat areas. And when I take my preschooler in to go potty? Sweet Jesus. First of all, I say a quick prayer to the Patron Saint of Public Restrooms, because using them is one of my most anxiety-ridden experiences, especially with a child. So when Maya goes potty, the first thing I do is tell her 14 times, "Don't touch ANYTHING." Then, I use FOUR seat covers (sorry, environment). I first place two covers half on the seat, half hanging down in front of the seat, because otherwise her legs touch the bowl of the porcelain god. Then on top of that, I place the two off-center seat covers for her to sit on. Then I have her drop trou, and I pick her up by her back and the crotch of said dropped-trou, and place her in one firm motion on the covered seat. When she is finished, I pick her straight up off it, lest she wiggle or touch it. Then as I flush with my foot (sorry, people stupid enough to flush with their hands), I tell Maya no fewer than eleven more times, "Don't touch anything." Then I go wash thoroughly. And since she has touched nothing, because I have trained her well she is a wise old soul, rather than risk using the restroom sink, I just take her back and use hand sani on her.
• I REFUSE to use the strip of toilet paper that is already hanging from the dispenser. I tear off whatever toilet paper is hanging down and toss it, then use "new" TP.
• The handwashing process, of course, is thus: First I roll down excessive amounts of paper towel (sorry again, environment). Then I turn on the water, use soap, and scrub up extremely well. Then, leaving the water still on (still sorry, environment), I rip off the paper towel, dry my hands, and then use said paper towel to turn off the faucets and open the bathroom door to exit. Sry 2 say, this is the only acceptable way to wash your hands in a public place. And if they have no paper towels but only blow-dryers? First, I curse the restaurant owners, their sons, and their sons' sons (a klebsiella plague on both your houses!), and then I use whatever means necessary to not touch the faucets (a handful of toilet seat covers in lieu of paper towel, or my sleeve, or in the worst case scenario, my wrist, which I will later disinfect).
• And when all is said and done, and we are finished eating, we get in the car and apply large doses of hand sanitizer. This is before arriving home, washing our hands, and using yet more hand sanitizer.
• Also, if I have worn a short-sleeved shirt to the restaurant that night, and thus my arms have rested on the table, I use alcohol-based Sani-Hands wipes all over my forearms. Yes. This one is a hard one to admit. Because, hello, embarrassing. But fuck! You saw what was on those tables!!

So you can see that going to a restaurant is quite an ordeal. Sometimes I'm not sure that it's worth it, with the undue amounts of anxiety it causes me. But I do love me a nice Reuben sandwich, the free desserts we win, and oh yeah, taking home the $$ POT $$, baby, because we kick some major bum-bum at trivia!


This article sums up my thoughts nicely and tidily:

"7 germiest places; Germs lurk on menus, lemon wedges, condiment and soap dispensers. Don't touch that dial - better yet don't touch anything, especially if you're germ-phobic."

"Better yet, don't touch anything" are the words I live by and are the most precious gift I could give my children. Er, I mean, will cause them to become paranoid psychotics like me.

Next up: Things I Do, Hotel Edition.

Let's Get a Few Things Straight.

Here is the #1 ground rule for this blog. If you so much as breathe the words "Hygiene Hypothesis" to me, I will kick you in the slats.

No, actually what I think I will do is force you to lick the handle of a shopping cart, just to see how you like it. Then I might have you rub your face all over the vinyl seat at a restaurant. Then I will have you stir your morning tea with a ballpoint pen from the doctor's office reception desk. Then I will have you consume a sticky bun dropped on the floor of a Porta-Potty. Then I will have you go share a Kleenex with H1N1 Patient Zero. I guarantee a stronger immune system in just five easy steps!!!!

If you at any point mention that the mouth of a dog is far cleaner than that of a human's, first I will direct you to snopes.com and then I will let you make out with my Saint Bernard at your leisure.

If you're the type to claim that the seat of a public toilet is cleaner than your kitchen counter, as so many people like to spout off without for one second thinking it through? I will make you a nice big spaghetti dinner, ground beef meatballs on the rare side, serve it straight on the shitter, and make you eat it with your fingers. After petting a llama. Who rolled in dung. Because after all...it's good for you. Right?

I mean FFS. It's a Hypothesis. It didn't even make Theory status. You know, like the Theory of Gravity, or the Theory of Relativity? Observe this truth:

"A theory has been extensively tested and is generally accepted, while a hypothesis is a speculative guess that has yet to be tested."

It's a hypothesis, and an extremely flawed one at that. Not completely mistaken in every way, but generally illogical, unsound, and outright ridic in most ways. And people misinterpret its basic point so very deeply ("let the baby gnaw on the cat's litter-coated rogue poop, it's good for her immune system!!") that I want to bend them over my knee and smack their bum-bums with a sterile nitrile-gloved hand until they finally get it. The Shmygiene Shmypothesis: We could debate about it all day and all night, and trust me, I would soundly kick your ass with my irrefutable logic.

But I don't have the time for that because I am busy BLOGGING ABOUT IT DUH.

In other words, Hygiene Hypothesis my ass bum-bum.