When I have a medical question or I’m just wondering what some mysterious symptom might mean, I oftentimes make the mistake of consulting Dr. Google. Then I end up convinced my son has Scarlet Fever or that I’ve contracted Eye Herpes.
More often, I end up calling my sister-in-law. Our kids are about the same ages, and she and I are the same age, and we share a lot of parenting beliefs and styles. We’ve spent a few hours this week talking about Tamiflu and vaccinations.
Once in a while I also poke Twitter with questions like, “Have you had a baby with Swine Flu? Is it bad?”
And when my friends give me medical advice, I take it with a grain of salt. Usually I’m reaching out for personal experiences. What did you do when this happened? What would you do if this happened?
I know that my pediatrician is a phone call away if I need solid answers. (Even if apparently I get charged $25 for calling after hours.)
I also know that doctors don’t always agree, and that what your doctor recommends may be wildly different than what my doctor recommends.
Lately, I’ve seen a trend on Twitter that, in my opinion, screws up the organic relationships we have with each other when it comes to asking medical or medical-ish questions. Over the past week, two “Twitter Parties” (for lack of a better description) went on for a couple of hours. One was about the flu—sponsored by Walgreens. The other was about MRSA, sponsored by Clorox.
Moms, many of them friends of mine, listened in one what appeared to be calls with medical professionals. They then shared the medical information they were hearing in series of tweets using hashtags.
These were a few of the tweets:
“flu masks are not effective at preventing H1N1.”
“Bleach is the only sure fire cleaner to kill flu and H1N1 germs”
“This may not be the time to use all Natural green cleaners.”
“myth #1: H1N1 vaccine contains a dangerous preservative”
Hold the phone.
Seriously?
I’m all for sponsored conversations and Twitter Parties. But it makes a lot more sense to me when we’re talking about buying clothes or playing with sex toys or reading to our children or even car seat safety.
When it comes to medical info, I want to speak to my doctor. Or another doctor with a second opinion. I want to make sure that the facts being shared with me weren’t sponsored by pharmaceutical companies or any other entity that might make a profit from swaying opinions.
My grandfather died unexpectedly of MRSA complications in March. I would love to learn more about MRSA prevention. But not on Twitter, and not when I have no context or reason to believe that the information being shared is unbiased.
Where does liability come into play when random Twitter people are giving out medical advice? Where does responsibility come into play when it comes to fact checking? Are those individuals tweeting taking the time to make sure that the information they’re sharing is true?
The PR companies responsible for these medical-related Twitter parties may benefit from reconsidering the way information is being shared. Walgreens and Clorox, for example, are perfectly capable of putting transcripts up on a website, or providing a streaming webcast or MP3 for download.
Putting their words into the mouths of our friends? I question that tactic, and frankly, it disturbs me. There are better ways to share medical information than tossing a whole bunch context-less statements out on Twitter.
My suggestion? Let the doctors share their suggestions. Eliminate the middle man. Create a specific platform for your campaign, such a website, press release or podcast. If you’re involving mothers and other Twitter users, let the conversation stay organic.
We are real people with real connections. I’d rather read about someone’s personal experiences than have that individual tweet a script and offer medical advice/facts. Especially when it comes to touchy medical topics.
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