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Time to hang up the white coats?
Doctors' signature garment under attack by some who say it's a magnet for germs
W Dr Sylvia Wright
As a fourth-generation physician, Sylvia Wright, an Atlanta-based dermatologist and partner at Peachtree Dermatology Associates, hails from a family with a long tradition of white coats. - photo by Photo courtesy GEORGIA HEALTH NEWS

Sylvia Wright hails from a family that has a long tradition of white coats.

The Atlanta-based dermatologist and partner at Peachtree Dermatology Associates is a fourth-generation physician. For her, the white coat represents "the honor, the service and the commitment of practicing medicine."

But Wright could be the last in her family to wear this signature garment for doctors. This semi-official uniform, which goes back a century, has come under attack in the United States and in some European countries.

Those who have declared war on the white coat come mainly from the infection control community. They argue that the coats, with their long, loose-fitting sleeves, are prone to be germ magnets.

"We know conclusively that the clothing worn by health care workers can be contaminated with harmful pathogens," says Dr. Michael Edmond, an infectious disease specialist at the University of Iowa Hospital in Iowa City. "We have enough evidence to say it's the right thing to get rid of the white coats."

Several studies, including research by the World Health Organization, as well as by infectious disease experts in the U.S., Britain and Israel, show that pathogens are easily transferred from surfaces to fabric and from fabric to skin.

Studies have also confirmed that many of the microorganisms detected on white coats are antibiotic resistant. They included Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA), which is responsible for the most dangerous kind of hospital-acquired infections.

Another disturbing finding came in a 2014 survey, in which 57 percent of U.S. physicians admitted washing their coats only once a month, or even less frequently.

Historically, the white coat has had both a clinical and a cultural meaning. Until the late 19th century, surgeons wore black coats in the operating theater. A group of German doctors first traded the black coats for pristine lab whites.

After that, the white coat not only became a symbol of hygiene and purity but also established physicians as scientists and helped differentiate the barber from the surgeon, the quack from the doctor.

In the U.S., many medical schools hold solemn white coat ceremonies, where aspiring doctors each receive their first coat as a symbolic act and rite of passage. It's no surprise that the love for the white coat runs deep - and any attempt to get rid of it is met with tough resistance.

The American Medical Association in 2009 rejected a recommendation by some members to ban white coats, saying the issue needed further study. Many proponents of the white coat insist research hasn't sufficiently proved the transmission of bacteria and viruses from coat to patient.

In 2007, the British National Health Service introduced a new dress code for health care workers, which marked the beginning of the end of the white coat in the United Kingdom. The policy was dubbed "bare below the elbows" - meaning that the lower arms are to remain free of any fabric, jewelry or watches. The same regulation is in place in the Netherlands.

For Edmond, the bare-below-the-elbows policy "makes perfect sense." Thorough hand washing - the most effective tactic against hospital-acquired infections - is much easier when the arms are not covered, he said.

That's why, together with some colleagues around the U.S., he launched a campaign against white coats.

He started wearing scrubs every day at the Virginia Commonwealth Hospital in Richmond, where he was employed at the time. He encouraged fellow physicians to do the same. Today, about 70 percent of the hospital's health care workers are bare below the elbows, and most doctors have shed their white coats.

The Georgia Hospital Association said it has not taken a position on the white coat. The Atlanta-based CDC, which has a strong influence on medical communities around the world, said in a written statement that "an important place for future research will be to establish the effect of a bare-below-the-elbows policy" on the transmission of pathogens and the incidence of hospital-acquired infections.

 

 

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Kathy Bradley - The power of Spring
Kathy Bradley
Kathy Bradley

I planted the crepe myrtle last spring. Actually, I did not plant it. I had it planted by someone who knew what he was doing. It was his suggestion that the tree be planted outside one of the windows where it would eventually provide some relief from the western sun that, in July and August, turns the living room into a reasonable facsimile of a sauna.

My professional picked a spot between the chimney and the bay window in the kitchen –  a little nook, a niche, sheltered corner.  He dug the hole according to the guidelines known by every subscriber to Southern Living (“three times wider than the root ball, but no deeper than the root ball itself”), loosened the roots slightly, and dropped the tree into the hole.  He then patted the soil gently and gave the tree its first bath.

I have failed at a number of horticultural efforts over the years – the camellia, the dogwood, and multiple hydrangeas – but something about the crepe myrtle made me optimistic.  Despite its scrawny limbs, I got the impression that this one, this Lagerstroemia indica, was scrappy.  And the chances that I would forget to water something that I saw every time I passed the window were pretty low.

The crepe myrtle survived the summer heat and almost total neglect as I directed all my attention to the sudden illness that would take my father 37 days after diagnosis.  Withstanding a near-drowning from Tropical Storm Debbie and Hurricane Helene, it limped its way into fall, dropping with a languid sigh the one leaf it had managed to produce.  It trembled in the cold stiff winds of winter and bore up under four inches of unexpected snow.

When green finally begin its creep across the landscape, I kept waiting for the little crepe myrtle to, if not burst into bud, at least gasp its way into producing some evidence of life.  Day after day I stared through the window at a bare tree.  I was disappointed, but not surprised.   Had I really expected this latest attempt at gardening to result in spectacular success?  I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath something about wasted money and “never again” and I let it go. 

Then just before Easter, I noticed the way the late afternoon light was falling in soft puddles on the wood floor and stopped to watch it shimmer like the surface of a pond beneath a gentle wind.  I took a deep breath and turned to look at what I knew would be a subtle, but still stunning sunset.  And that is when I saw it – the crepe myrtle covered in fat buds and bright green leaves bouncing in the breeze. The tree I had left for dead, the tree I had forsaken was alive.

I stood there with my hands on my hips frustrated with, aggravated at, and provoked with my own self.  This was not the first time I had, in an effort to avoid disappointment, given up on something beautiful.  Not the first time I had feigned disinterest or claimed detachment when I stood on the edge of letdown.  

In fact, I had lived enough moments just like that one to know that if I chose to stand there long enough, take another couple of deep breaths, stare into shimmering light at the horizon for a few more seconds, I would experience the magic that is believing, that is hope, that is resurrection.

And I did.  Thus, is the power of spring.


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