Forwarded for Omaha: TV Doctors are incompetent when dealing with epileptics

[elfs]

The Epilepsy Foundation of America reviewed scenes from 59 television episodes from "Grey's Anatomy," "House, M.D.," and "Private Practice" and the last five seasons of "ER" in which seizures were portrayed. The conclusion? TV doctors depict first aid practices that are incompetent and dangerous:

The study found that inappropriate practices, including holding the person down, trying to stop involuntary movements or putting something in the person's mouth, occurred in 25 cases, nearly 46 percent of the time. First aid management was shown appropriately in 17 seizures, or about 29 percent of the time. Appropriateness of first aid could not be determined in 15 incidents of seizures, or 25 percent.

I mean, come on, how hard can this be? If the victim is standing up when the seziure happens, guide him to the floor. Put a pillow or folded-up jacket under the head to keep him from hitting it on the ground and injuring his head, neck, or airway during involuntary movements. If you don't know the victim, dial 911 (or the appropriate code for your country) and clear the area around the victim to keep him and bystanders from interacting.

(HT to anonymous.)

Comments

[elfs.livejournal.com]

That just means that television drama is a health threat to the viewers in the same way that most porn is a health threat. House is famous for running into things nobody sees in real life. But when a TV doctor encounters a relatively common real-life medical emergency, knowing what to do ought to be a priority.

At least a half-dozen times in the past twenty years, I have been in public with Omaha when she's had a seziure. And every freaking time I have to yell at people to stand back, no she does not need a fucking ambulance, she's fine, no there's nothing else I should do for her, she'll recover, and get your goddamn hands away from her head.

I was on an MMO one day, talking to friends in a common chatspace, when I typed, "Excuse me," and went away. A few minutes later I typed, "Sorry about that. Omaha's having a seziure."

Someone responded, "She's having one? Right now?"

"Yeah. She's on the floor in the living room. I think she bit her tongue; there's a little blood on the pillow."

People were more than a little freaked out. "Shouldn't you be there, doing something for her?" someone demanded.

"There's nothing I can do. Really. She's fine. I can see her from here. When she tries to get up and doesn't know who she is or where she is, I'll get up and make sure she makes it into bed. She always sleeps hard afterward."

Frankly, the real drama comes after Omaha has stared to recover, when she tries to stand up, when she tries to move for herself, and she can't remember who she is or where she left her sense of balance. I'm a little aggressive with her then because, dammit, I don't want her to stand up, fall over, and smack her head.

A well-done drama would be about how other people deal with the blase' attitude of those of us who have been life-long caregivers for epileptics. We've seen seziures a hundred times. I have video tape of them. (Oh, I took a ton of crap from people because I took time to hit [PLAY] on the camera, but Omaha asked me to get it, so now she knows what it looks like from the outside.)