Saturday, 31 March 2018
India's Gorakhpur hospital: The night the children died
The Bucket List: Seeing things for the last time
Thursday, 29 March 2018
Exercise does not have to be prolonged to be beneficial. It just has to be frequent. Several times per day
"Walk for two minutes. Repeat 15 times. Or walk for 10 minutes, thrice. The benefits for longevity appear to be almost exactly the same, according to an inspiring new study of physical activity patterns and life spans.
It finds that exercise does not have to be prolonged in order to be beneficial. It just has to be frequent."
The scientists found that moving strongly influenced longevity. The more often you move, the longer you live.
References:
Those 2-Minute Walk Breaks? They Add Up. NYTimes.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/28/well/move/walking-exercise-minutes-death-longevity.html
Viola player Chris Goldscheider wins landmark case
Wednesday, 28 March 2018
Me and my endometriosis: 12 women share their stories
Aziza Oubaita on the fight of her life
Man has 'world's worst' super-gonorrhoea
Teenagers urged to take part in meningitis B vaccine trial
The dangers that lurk in your bathroom
Male suicide: 'His death was the missing piece of the jigsaw'
JAMA: Mentoring in the Era of #MeToo
1. They demonstrate exemplary professional behavior during and outside of the work day, never compromised by alcohol consumption or flirtatious interactions.
2. They always behave comfortably but as if others are watching, demonstrating integrity.
3. Though they have warm personalities, they refrain from physical touch except in larger social settings where they may give hugs in greeting.
4. They never mention anything about my appearance or the appearance of others, and they avoid generalizing comments about gender.
5. They text me important or urgent things, and sometimes just very funny things, but never anything I wouldn’t share with my husband or their wives.
6. Most importantly, my male mentors have chosen to speak up to support women while other men have chosen to sit quietly or, worse, offend.
References:
Mentoring in the Era of #MeToo. JAMA. 2018;319(12):1199-1200. doi:10.1001/jama.2018.2128
https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/fullarticle/2676115
Richard Bacon: 'My ADHD is who I am'
Pupil overcomes needle fear to take part in meningitis vaccine trial
Tuesday, 27 March 2018
Dynamo Crohn's selfie prompts others to share
Buying Viagra: What you should know
Hospitals 'failing' on genetic bowel cancer test
Pubs in danger: Six charts on how the British drink
The teen 'downloading music into his head'
Monday, 26 March 2018
Southern Health fined £2m over deaths of two patients
Tuberculosis rates in England fall by third in six years
We learn nothing about nutrition, claim medical students
NHS: Over 3,000 more midwifery training places offered
Saturday, 24 March 2018
The man who has to crawl through his front door
Meningitis survivor beats odds to ski
Friday, 23 March 2018
A day in the life of India's 'tuberculosis warrior'
Woman dies after having bee-sting therapy
Rise in cancers 'caused by weight': UK study
'Wobbly head' woman fundraising for lifesaving surgery
MS drug hope for secondary-progressive stage
Lifestyle changes which could help avoid cancer
Thursday, 22 March 2018
Promote health, keep the world safe, serve the vulnerable
I sincerely regret not being able to join you this week to take part in your discussions. However, I know that several members of my senior leadership team will be joining some sessions. I have asked them to brief me on your deliberations and meeting outcomes. via WHO news Read More Here..
Origin of 'six-inch mummy' confirmed
James Dunmore lost his two sisters to cystic fibrosis
A blueberry muffin 'could have day's worth of sugar'
Tai chi recommended to fight fibromyalgia
Chronic fatigue trial results 'not robust', new study says
Muffin sugar measured out in teaspoons
Dying Young and the Psychology of Leaving a Legacy
Often the biggest existential distress that we carry is the idea that no-one will remember us when we are gone—initially we know that our friends and family will hold who we are, but after a generation, these people are likely gone too. At the end of life, the pressure to leave an unquestionably relevant legacy can be crippling for people, particularly for young people. When coupled with the limited energy that people have when they are unwell, the very nature of what people expect to achieve in the world shrinks, and the really important pieces come into focus.
When time is seen to be limited, every moment can take on a weight that has never before been experienced. Some of these expectations come from within and some externally, but regardless of their origin they can be paralyzing for the young person facing their mortality, particularly when unwell. Culturally, there are multiple references as to what ‘dying young’ is meant to mean and most refer to extraordinary and often unobtainable expectations. For instance, members of the ‘27 club’ (celebrities who die on or before their 27th birthday) and notable cancer-related concepts around ‘bucket lists’ and works of fiction (e.g., The Fault in Our Stars). Most young people, particularly those who are dying, do not have the capacity or the options to engage in an extraordinary feat, they can become overwhelmed and paralyzed by what they are ‘meant to be doing’.
I think I have well and truly missed my opportunity for greatness, I now just want enough energy to spend time with my friends. Maybe even go to the pub.
~18-year-old male
Often, as is the case with many things in life, simple and small are the gestures and moments which are the most meaningful, with huge projects and adventures feeling too overwhelming and out of the grasp of someone with limited energy and resources. As such, the fantasy of what something may have looked and felt like, had they have been well, is a much more satisfying space for them to sit with. Similarly, relationships become much more meaningful, as do the simple things that are taken away through the treatment process, like being able to sit in the sun or go to the pub with a friend.
‘I had been playing online games with him for years, and I thought that I would never meet him now. He made it happen though.’
~19-year-old male
Young patients can be bombarded with well-intentioned suggestions about what they ‘need’ to do, including making future legacy-based activities, such as leaving cards for each of their younger sibling’s birthdays, video journals of their death, or chronicling how they feel about all the people in their world. Although these are good ideas, they are emotionally and physically difficult to manage with limited resources. Patients need to be feeling very resilient and well before attempting any of these things with most being abandoned due to the confronting nature of conceptualizing the world without them present in it. It is a difficult ask for anyone to be able to take the relatively abstract idea of the world continuing following your own death; this does not change for young people and, in some ways, it is even more challenging due to their pervasive sense of self, even in the face of very real threats to their mortality.
‘I could clean out my room, and all of my stuff. But then I think, well I don’t want to do it really, and it’s not like it’s going to be my problem.’
~23-year-old male
The way that young people respond to being presented with a very limited life expectancy can vary tremendously. Some may stick their head firmly in the sand and refuse to discuss or conceptualize anything about what may happen in the lead-up to their death, or following. Others will organize everything about the end of their lives, including where they want to die, how alert they want to be, as well as what will happen following their death—such as where their belongings go and how they want to be remembered. For most people in this situation, in an existential sense, almost everything is out of control, the disease will do what it does, the pain is what it is, and they are an observer to the things happening in their bodies. The things that people can control is what they talk about, how much they talk about it, and who they talk about it too.
Just because death, dying, and legacy are not being talked about, does not mean that it is not in the consciousness and thoughts of the person pondering their own end. Instead, it may be that they have done as much thinking and talking about it as they need to do; it is often these patients that have very well-considered plans about what they want to happen as they deteriorate and the decisions that must be made about their care.
References
Chochinov, H., Kristjanson, L., Breitbart. W., et al. (2011). Effect of Dignity Therapy on Distress and End-of-Life Experience in Terminally Ill Patients: A Randomised Controlled Trial. The lancet oncology. 12. 753-62. DOI:10.1016/S1470-2045(11)70153-X
Hack, T., Mcclement, S., & Chochinov, H., et al. (2010). Learning from dying patients during their final days: Life reflections gleaned from dignity therapy. Palliative medicine. 24. 715-23. DOI:10.1177/0269216310373164
Hedkte, L., (2014). Creating stories of hope: A narrative approach to illness, death and grief. Australian New Zealand Journal of Family Therapy. 35. 4-19. DOI:10.1002/anzf.1040
Kehl, K., (2006). Moving Toward Peace: An Analysis of the Concept of a Good Death.. American Journal of Hospice and Palliative Medicine. 23. 277-286. DOI:10.1177/1049909106290380
Smith, R. (2000). A good death: an important aim for health services and for us all. BMJ. 2000;320:129-130.
Steinhauser, K. E., Clipp, E. C., McNeilly, M., et al. (2000). In search of a good death: observations of patients, families, and providers. Ann Intern Med. 2000;132:825-832
Steinhauser, K. E., Alexander, S. C., Bycock, I., et al. (2008). Do preparation and life completion discussions improve functioning and quality of life in seriously ill patients? Pilot randomized control trial. Journal of Palliative Medicine. 11. 1234 – 1240. DOI:10.1089/jpm.2008.0078
via Brain Blogger Read More Here..Carpe Diem—Living with Fear
“Live life to the fullest.”
“Celebrate life.”
“Carpe diem.”
I’ve heard them all. But what if I don’t feel like it? What if I’m having a lousy brain day, restricted to a darkened room with a blinding headache, and seizing the day is not an option?
I have clusters of malformed blood vessels called cavernous angiomas in my brain. Two of them bled, turning my life upside down with seizures and other symptoms. A few months later, I underwent resection surgeries to prevent future bleeds.
The surgeries wreaked additional havoc—headaches, seizures, fatigue, short attention span and memory loss, vertigo and poor balance, as well as severe depression. During the first couple of months post-surgery, my world revolved around my recovery. I was in survival mode, often fearful, often feeling alone. On good days, I took it one day at a time. On bad days (and there were many), I slid back three steps for every half step forward. There wasn’t much I could seize on those days.
A year into my recovery, I finally had the wherewithal to join the Angioma Alliance, an online support group for angioma patients. Through the website, members connect with each other, sharing war stories, sometimes asking questions but more often seeking reminders that we are not alone in our struggles.
All of us cavernous angioma patients live with an ax hanging over (or inside) our heads. There’s always a chance of a bleed, especially from an angioma that has bled before. Angiomas can cause symptoms even when they haven’t bled. A resected (surgically removed) angioma can grow back. Many of us who have the familial form of the disease have many angiomas and can generate new ones throughout our entire lives.
Those of us who are good candidates for brain surgery, where the benefits outweigh the risks of surgery, are considered the lucky ones. One of the members of the Alliance has an angioma located in her brain stem. Unfortunately, it is inoperable. My friend is scared of the very real possibility of a bleed causing her heart to stop beating or to suddenly take away her ability to breathe. Her fears often paralyze her, preventing her from taking life by the horns.
My fears emerge when a new symptom appears or a new manifestation of an old one emerges: is it a sign of a new bleed? Is a new angioma forming?
These days, more than ten years since the surgeries, my good days outnumber the bad. Most of the time, my fears hide beneath the surface, and when they do come out of hiding, they rarely paralyze me.
I should be able to seize the day.
I have several friends who are breast cancer survivors. Sheryl, at the age of seventy, learned to fly-fish and dragon boat. She paddles competitively and participates in national and international dragon boat races.
Darlene didn’t even jog before her diagnosis; now she runs marathons. She rarely traveled out of town, and now she travels frequently and extensively. She’s tried sky-diving, attends glitzy shows, and throws frequent pool parties.
Are these inspiring activities the only ways that count as living life to the fullest? Should I seize and celebrate life like my breast cancer survivor friends?
I have absolutely no interest in sky-diving or learning to fish. Glitzy shows have never been my thing, and I do my best to avoid parties.
Is it a matter of personality? Perhaps if I were as gregarious as my friends, I would live more like them. They may not have been as daring pre-cancer, but were they as gregarious as they are now? Perhaps they only developed that side of their personalities after the challenges of treatment and recovery. Was I supposed to have become more outgoing?
Having had to take a crash course in asking for help and admitting my weaknesses, I have become better at connecting with people. I’m not as extroverted as Sheryl and Darlene, but I am more outgoing than I was pre-surgery.
Still, I’m not a party-goer. My difficulties processing high volumes of sensory input keep me from activities such as sporting events and parties that involve large crowds, loud noises, and garish colors.
Perhaps it’s a matter of energy or lack thereof. Much of the time, I struggle through debilitating fatigue and have nothing left for celebrations. When I am overtired, my deficits are exacerbated and vertigo returns in full force, my balance is precarious, my attention span is that of a gnat, I have trouble accessing vocabulary, and my headaches are crippling.
I have to pace myself. I take one day at a time, shuffling through the bad brain days, enjoying the good days. Is that the best I can hope for? Is that seizing the day?
Like my cancer-surviving friends, my life has changed dramatically. I travel much more than in my pre-injury days, to Colorado and New York, Israel, and Mexico. Always, wherever I go, I must seek out quiet spots to recover and regroup. But once my inner traffic jams clear up, I join in the fun, though at a slower pace.
I do have more passion in my life—it comes to light in my teaching, in my writing, and in my need to make a difference in the world.
Within a few months of my surgeries, I moved into a more central neighborhood. I am within walking distance of shops and restaurants. I no longer drive everywhere. My awareness, both of myself and the world around me, has grown; I am more in tune with my fellow human beings, better able to interact with my surroundings. I live more quietly. I take leisurely walks, stopping to absorb my surroundings. I play with my grand-dog, enjoying his antics. Life is harder but more fulfilling.
Could my way also count as a celebration of life?
It is a lovely day outside. I am well rested after a rare night of decent sleep. I slip on my jacket and head out for a stroll along the nearby river.
This diem is definitely calling out to be carped, my way.
via Brain Blogger Read More Here..