NASHVILLE — Tennessee’s governor signed into law Tuesday a sweeping new statute that prohibits any person within the state from “engaging in the unlicensed practice of medicine, the simulated practice of medicine, or any reasonable approximation thereof” within 200 feet of a pregnant woman, in what supporters are calling “common-sense maternal protection legislation” and what legal scholars are calling “a 47-page document that appears, on close reading, to outlaw the game of doctor.”
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The bill, designated SB-1149 and titled the Maternal Wellness and Professional Care Act, passed the state senate 26-4 and was signed into law in a ceremony attended by approximately forty supporters, three lobbyists, and one extremely confused pediatrician who had been told the event was about something else.
The law, as written, defines “the practice of medicine” as “any act, gesture, or vocalization in which one party assumes the role of physician, nurse, surgeon, midwife, or related medical professional, whether or not such role-playing involves actual medical instruments, accurate medical knowledge, or the consent of any party present.” It defines “pregnant woman” as “a pregnant woman.” It defines “200 feet” by reference to a footnote that simply reads cf. football field, approx.
The penalties are not minor. First-offense violations carry a fine of up to $2,500. Second offenses are classified as a Class A misdemeanor. A third offense, under the bill’s so-called escalation clause, can be charged as a felony, “depending on the totality of the circumstances and the disposition of the responding officer.”
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It is, by the bill’s own admission, illegal to pretend to take a pregnant woman’s blood pressure with a banana.
Asked at a press conference whether the law would, in its plain reading, criminalize children playing doctor with their stuffed animals in proximity to a pregnant relative, the bill’s lead sponsor, State Senator Marlene Hubbard (R-Sumner County), paused for what aides later described as “a meaningful interval” before answering.
“That’s not the intent of the bill,” Senator Hubbard said.
Asked whether the text of the bill might nonetheless be read that way by, for instance, a court, Senator Hubbard responded, “We trust Tennesseans to use their judgment.”
Asked whether her own seven-year-old grandson, who was in attendance and was at that moment holding a plastic stethoscope, would be in violation if his mother — who is six months pregnant and was standing approximately twelve feet away — were to remain where she was for another sixty seconds, Senator Hubbard ended the press conference.
The bill’s supporters argue it is a necessary response to what they describe as “the increasing prevalence of unqualified individuals offering medical opinions to expectant mothers,” a category that, depending on how one reads the surrounding statute, may include doulas, mothers-in-law, the woman behind the counter at the prenatal vitamin store, and possibly podcasters.
Critics argue the bill is something else.
“It’s a vibes bill,” said Dr. Caleb Robison, a Vanderbilt law professor specializing in legislative drafting. “I want to be clear that I am using a technical term. A vibes bill is a piece of legislation that does not so much regulate behavior as it gestures, broadly, in the direction of a feeling the legislators wish to communicate. The actual legal text is, in many places, structurally indistinguishable from a Yelp review.”
Robison noted that Section 4(b) of the law, which establishes the 200-foot perimeter, contains a passage that reads, in part: and if she’s tired, even further than that, you know how it is.
The Tennessee Attorney General’s office, asked for clarification on enforcement priorities, issued a two-sentence statement that read, in its entirety: “We will enforce the law as written. We are still reading the law.”
Local response has been mixed. At a coffee shop in East Nashville, a pregnant woman named Hadley Voss, 31, said she had not been aware of the law’s passage but was, on balance, supportive.
“Honestly?” she said. “If it gets my mother-in-law to stop diagnosing me with gestational diabetes based on a YouTube video, I’m fine with it.”
Asked whether she was worried about the broader civil-liberties implications, Voss shrugged.
“It’s Tennessee,” she said. “We have weirder laws than this. Did you know you can’t share your Netflix password? That’s still on the books. Nobody talks about it.”
Implementation begins July 1. The Tennessee Department of Health, which will be responsible for enforcement, has reportedly requested an emergency budget supplement of $4.2 million, the bulk of which is earmarked for “training, signage, and a tape measure.”
A spokesperson for the department, asked how officers would determine whether a given act constituted “playing doctor” versus, say, a concerned husband helping his wife with her shoes, declined to answer on the record. Off the record, the spokesperson said: “We’re going to know it when we see it. That’s the whole policy. That’s the policy in full.”
At press time, a Knoxville father of three had been issued the state’s first warning under the new law after his four-year-old daughter was observed pressing a Fisher-Price thermometer to the forehead of her aunt, who is in her second trimester, at a backyard barbecue. The officer, family members said, was apologetic but firm.
“He said the law’s the law,” the father told reporters. “He said his hands were tied. He said he had a niece on the way himself.”
The thermometer was confiscated. The aunt was checked, briefly, by a real doctor, who confirmed she was fine. The four-year-old, asked for comment, said she was going to be a vet now instead.