The Funny Bone 

 
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Contents The Funny Bone
> Monkey Business
> Sick Humor
> Dead Reckoning
> The Urge to Titter
> The Etiology and Treatment
   of Childhood

> The Faint of Heart
> Comic Relief
> What Not to Wear
> Buns of Steel
> A Laughing Matter

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Buns of Steel
Frowsy is the new fabulous.
by alice flaherty

W
ell-chosen fashion can be metaphorical armor in any profession, but in medicine it can also act as literal armor. A hospitalist’s white coat a woman's hair bun with surgical scissors stuck in it
should withstand sprays of blood and vomit, while a surgeon’s clogs must block dropped scalpels. Residents need clothes that can defend them against an even greater danger: looking frowsy after a call night that includes sleep. Their topmost fashion challenge, at least by its location, is hair.

For me, the solution to bed head was the bun. Once firmly pinned in place, a bun can be indestructible. My bun also made me a quieter, more collegial call-room bunkmate, as in bed it kept me from rolling from side to side. The next day my bun was looser, true. I could have avoided that with the techniques geishas use—they preserve their buns by coating them with hot wax and by sleeping on wooden neck blocks that support the head in midair. It turned out, though, that I was better off when I looked just a hair less kempt post-call. When my bun was too splendid, teammates would scornfully say, “Apparently you had an easy call night.”

A severe bun has long been a trademark of women in medicine, from Dr. Mary Prance in Henry James’s novel The Bostonians to the impenetrably tight bun of “Hot Lips” Houlihan in M*A*S*H. One reason is that buns are practical as well as ornamental. They can help scare patients into pill compliance, and they’re useful repositories for nursing-station pencils and, more uncomfortably, EKG calipers.

In movies, a bun worn by the heroine in the first act is always taken down in the third. She shakes out her hair, and the male lead suddenly realizes she is Julia Roberts. This doesn’t happen much in hospitals.

What does happen, at least if your colleagues are neurologists trained to recognize herniations at the back of the skull, is that every once in a while a friend will call across the cafeteria, “Hey, what’s that on the back of your head? An encephalocele?”

Alice Flaherty ’94, a neurologist at Massachusetts General Hospital, recently turned in her hospital-issue white coat for one from Scrubs Unlimited that fits.

This article appeared in the Winter 2007 issue of the Harvard Medical Alumni Bulletin.

Photo: Graham Gordon Ramsay


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