Med Life Quotes

Life was about making sense out of the insensible. A ball of fire out of a clear blue sky? Must’ve been a meteorite, maybe debris from an airplane. Random flashes of light and color at night? A transformer blew up, you must’ve been dreaming, you’re talking crazy, quiet down, take your meds.

A demonic reaper asked to be my valentine and then killed his crazy ex-girlfriend to save my life. Tomorrow I was starting up antipsychotic meds.

Men naturen har förlänat människan med den lyckliga förmågan att glömma. Annars skulle hon inte stå ut med livet

Life was about making sense out of the insensible.  A ball of fire out of a clear blue sky? Must’ve been a meteorite, maybe debris from an airplane. Random flashes of light and color at night? A transformer blew up, you must’ve been dreaming, you’re talking crazy, quiet down, take your meds.

The knuckles of his hand that had Shaw's name inked across them caught my eye. I pointed to them. "You have her with you forever already, a ring isn't going to make that much of a difference, bro." "I need to wait until she's done with school next semester. She needs to graduate and focus on starting med school. I don't want her worrying about me or a wedding while she does it. Honestly, talking to Lando made me start thinking about it. God, forbid something happened to me or to her. I want everyone on the planet to know how much she means to me. How she changed my life and made me want to be a better man for her and her alone.

What I mean is that those thoughts, they're human. And just because you turn out differently than everyone's imagined you would doesn't mean that you've failed in some way. A kid who gets teased in one school might move to a different one, and be the most popular girl there, just because no one has any other expectations of her. Or a person who goes to med school because his entire family is full of doctors might find out that what he really wants to be is an artist instead.

I felt suffocated. And alone. More alone than ever. Every year, I ostentatiously crossed out of my address book any friend who'd made a racist remark, neglected those whose only ambition was a new car and a Club Med vacation, and forgot all those who played the Lottery. I loved fishing and silence. Walking the hills. Drinking cold Cassis, Lagavulin, or Oban late into the night. I didn't talk much. Had opinions about everything. Life and death. Good and evil. I was a film buff. Loved music. I'd stopped reading contemporary novels. More than anything, I loathed half-hearted, spineless people.

I’d thought for so long that I would become a schizophrenic, and if I was a schizophrenic, that’s all I would ever be. But a person doesn’t become their diagnosis. Your mom isn’t breast cancer, you don’t become cancer. You live with cancer. So often, we think of a person living with mental illness as their mental illness, and that’s unfair. A person is never their diagnosis, not even my mom. Delilah showed me that. She lives—and has lived—a full life. She has a husband. They travel. She’s a photographer, an artist. She tells the funniest knock-knock jokes I’ve ever heard. She takes her meds every day, but still has hallucinations from time to time. She is not schizophrenic. She lives with schizophrenia.

I’m pre-med,” he added smugly. “Okay.” I said again. I didn’t shrug this time, but his jaw tightened a bit as if he was annoyed that I wasn’t displaying the proper amazement at his accomplishment. “And I’m next in line to be promoted to death investigator.” The look he gave me was nothing short of a challenge, and I had to fight to not roll my eyes. What, he expected me to start crowing about my own accomplishments so he could top them? He’d be waiting a long time for that.

My pre-med studies in anatomy and physiology at Oxford had not prepared me in the least for real medicine.

Fornam jeg legemets søte lyst og begjær mot dette eller hint, så skremte forsagelsens fyrste meg med sitt: Avdø her for å leve hisset.

What should I do?" I turned to Negin. "I don't know." "Are you a doctor or not?" I screeched. "As I have said a thousand times, I won't be a doctor for seven years.

Jeg kommer ned i min kuffert efter kognak og hælder i et ølglas, jeg speider omkring mig, og da jeg finder mig alene rænder jeg i fåret flere gode slurker. Jeg stræver længe med dette da dyret er gjenstridig, men da jeg tilslut får fat i dets tunge svælger det godt. Tungen var blå.

Hi there, cutie." Ash turned his head to find an extremely attractive college student by his side. With black curly hair, she was dressed in jeans and a tight green top that displayed her curves to perfection. "Hi." "You want to go inside for a drink? It's on me." Ash paused as he saw her past, present, and future simultaneously in his mind. Her name was Tracy Phillips. A political science major, she was going to end up at Harvard Med School and then be one of the leading researchers to help isolate a mutated genome that the human race didn't even know existed yet. The discovery of that genome would save the life of her youngest daughter and cause her daughter to go on to medical school herself. That daughter, with the help and guidance of her mother, would one day lobby for medical reforms that would change the way the medical world and governments treated health care. The two of them would shape generations of doctors and save thousands of lives by allowing people to have groundbreaking medical treatments that they wouldn't have otherwise been able to afford. And right now, all Tracy could think about was how cute his ass was in leather pants, and how much she'd like to peel them off him. In a few seconds, she'd head into the coffee shop and meet a waitress named Gina Torres. Gina's dream was to go to college herself to be a doctor and save the lives of the working poor who couldn't afford health care, but because of family problems she wasn't able to take classes this year. Still Gina would tell Tracy how she planned to go next year on a scholarship. Late tonight, after most of the college students were headed off, the two of them would be chatting about Gina's plans and dreams. And a month from now, Gina would be dead from a freak car accident that Tracy would see on the news. That one tragic event combined with the happenstance meeting tonight would lead Tracy to her destiny. In one instant, she'd realize how shallow her life had been, and she'd seek to change that and be more aware of the people around her and of their needs. Her youngest daughter would be named Gina Tory in honor of the Gina who was currently busy wiping down tables while she imagined a better life for everyone. So in effect, Gina would achieve her dream. By dying she'd save thousands of lives and she'd bring health care to those who couldn't afford it... The human race was an amazing thing. So few people ever realized just how many lives they inadvertently touched. How the right or wrong word spoken casually could empower or destroy another's life. If Ash were to accept Tracy's invitation for coffee, her destiny would be changed and she would end up working as a well-paid bank officer. She'd decide that marriage wasn't for her and go on to live her life with a partner and never have children. Everything would change. All the lives that would have been saved would be lost. And knowing the nuance of every word spoken and every gesture made was the heaviest of all the burdens Ash carried. Smiling gently, he shook his head. "Thanks for asking, but I have to head off. You have a good night." She gave him a hot once-over. "Okay, but if you change your mind, I'll be in here studying for the next few hours." Ash watched as she left him and entered the shop. She set her backpack down at a table and started unpacking her books. Sighing from exhaustion, Gina grabbed a glass of water and made her way over to her... And as he observed them through the painted glass, the two women struck up a conversation and set their destined futures into motion. His heart heavy, he glanced in the direction Cael had vanished and hated the future that awaited his friend. But it was Cael's destiny. His fate... "Imora thea mi savur," Ash whispered under his breath in Atlantean. God save me from love.

Life with a man is more businesslike after it, and money matters work better. And then, you see, if you have rows, and he turns you out of doors, you can get the law to protect you, which you can't otherwise, unless he half-runs you through with a knife, or cracks your noddle with a poker. And if he bolts away from you--I say it friendly, as woman to woman, for there's never any knowing what a man med do-- you'll have the sticks o' furniture, and won't be looked upon as a thief.

By the end of medical school, most students tended to focus on "lifestyle" specialities - those with more humane hours, higher salaries, and lower pressures - the idealism of their med school application essays tempered or lost. As graduation neared and we sat down, in a Yale tradition, to re-write our commencement oath - a melding of the words of Hippocrates, Maimonides, Osler, along with a few other great medical forefathers - several students argued for the removal of language insisting that we place our patients' interests above our own. (The rest of us didn't allow this discussion to continue for long. The words stayed. This kind of egotism struck me as antithetical to medicine and, it should be noted, entirely reasonable. Indeed, this is how 99 percent of people select their jobs: pay, work environment, hours. But thats the point. Putting lifestyle first is how you find a job - not a calling).

Det ved jeg, at til ægteskabet hører barnet også, og barnet skal I lade i fred. Hedvig får I værs'go holde udenfor. Hende skal I fare varsomt med, siger jeg, for ellers kan I komme til at gøre en ulykke på hende.

Och med en annan sak blir jag aldrig färdig: Att draga mig tillbaka och sitta i ensamheten i skogen och ha det gott och mörkt omkring mig. Det är den sista glädjen. Det är det höga, det religiösa i ensamheten och mörkret, som gör att man har behov av dem, det är däremot icke därför man söker sig bort från de andra, att det bara är sig själv man härdar ut med, nej, nej. Men det är det mystiska, att allt brusar fjärran och dock så nära en, man sitter i mitten av en allestädes närvarande. Det är väl Gud. Det är väl en själv som är en del av allt.

if you have bipolar disorder, your life is going to include some periods of crushing depression, some periods of whacked-out mania or hypomania, a whole lot of meds, perhaps a psychotic episode here and there, and maybe a hospitalization or two (or ten). You can experience all those things and still have a fun, meaningful, productive life.

When a patient commits to pursuing their potential, it triggers their Life Force, and it’s the Life Force that gives them the vitality to heal themselves. You can bury your symptoms with meds, you can avoid situations that trigger them, but if you want to change yourself in a lasting way, you need to put yourself in forward motion and pursue your potential.

Detta var i princip det värsta som skulle kunnat drabba min tävlingsinriktade hustru: ett samhälle med belåtna medelmåttor.

The Greatest loss in life is the loss of a mother: The second greatest, the loss of Self.

Would I be more comfortable in a business meeting wearing my pajamas? No! It would feel, honestly, very weird. I would think, Where's my IV? When do I take my next meds?

I can’t overstate how little I knew about myself at 22, or how little I’d thought about what I was doing. When I graduated from college I genuinely believed that the creative life was the apex of human existence, and that to work at an ordinary office job was a betrayal of that life, and I had to pursue that life at all costs. Management consulting, law school, med school, those were fine for other people — I didn’t judge! — but I was an artist. I was super special. I was sparkly. I would walk another path. And I would walk it alone. That was another thing I knew about being an artist: You didn’t need other people. Other people were a distraction. My little chrysalis of genius was going to seat one and one only.

there is a difference between “denial” and “delusion.” The difference is that denial is a fun game and delusion is pitiable and requires meds that you will be too delusional to enjoy.

Vi er ikke annet enn tønner fulle av varme, halvråtne innvoller, og derfor har vi alltid vanskeligheter med følelsene våre. Å være forelsket er ingen kunst. Kunsten består i å unngå å gå i oppløsning. En lort har ingen ambisjoner i retning av å vokse og holde seg levende. På dette punktet er vi langt uheldigere stillet enn våre eksrementer. Ved å tviholde så frenetisk på kravet om å bestå i vår nåværende tilstand, utsetter vi oss selv for de utroligste pinsler.

the brain that led someone to drive without their meds is the end product of all the things beyond their control from one second, one minute, one millennium before. And likewise if your brain has been sculpted into one that makes you kind or smart or motivated.

Soli fjella, glein og glatt, fjell står att og stengjer … Alt er tagna. Ned kjem natt på breie, svarte vengjer, då vaknar dulde strengjer. Og Sátan kjem med all sin her, og Himmelørn og Herrens vêr, og angest-orm, og eld og storm, og lògen stri’r som villast, og det er natt som stillast.

As an undergraduate, I majored in biology, with an emphasis on oceanography. I studied jellyfish, drifters, all things buffeted about in the sea. As a senior, I discovered literature. I was feeling weird. A lot. I went to the doctor. He said I was losing my mind. I forget what he said. Something about meds. Something. I walked out the door. I went to the doctor. He said I was fine. Different versions—same story. I’m always thinking. * * How casually we toss off a life—stepping on ants as we go on, swatting small bugs that happen to alight on the skin of our bare forearm.

It wasn't uncommon. Treated, bipolar disorder could be managed quite well in most cases. Two of my med school professors had talked openly about having it. But for some people, the medication made them feel flat. Gray. The mood swings and mania were the price they paid for a life full of color.

You steamrolled your way into my life and reminded me how good it feels to let go a little…to fight, to play, to laugh. I don’t think I’d really done any of that since I started med school. My life became very objective-based, and then I met you and…” “And I taught you the meaning of life?” “You snuck your underwear into my laundry just to make me mad. And you eat a million milligrams of sodium every day. And you wanted the Frosty mug just as much as I did.” A laugh spills from my mouth. “None of that sounds like a lesson you’ve learned.” “Exactly. You don’t teach me lessons—you help me rest.

I ask the nurse wrapping up her dispensing duties if I need any meds, and she says I'm not scheduled for any. I ask her if I can have some. She asks what I need them for. I tell her, to deal with this crazy place. She says if they had pills for that, they wouldn't need places like this in the first place, would they?

The wife has begun planning a secret life. In it, she is an art monster. She puts on yoga pants and says she is going to yoga, then pulls off onto a country lane and writes in tiny cramped writing on a grocery list She thinks she should go off her meds maybe so as to write more fluidly. Possibly this is not a good idea. But only possibly.

All my life, everyone has used my 'ilness' as an excuse to take my choices away. I've been locked up, told what to eat, who I can be friends with, where I can go to school. They even forced those damn meds down my throat." She paused, breathing hard. "It's my life. Even if I'm sick, I'm the only one who should get to choose what I do and how I do it.

Alas, we are what we are, and we need the stories, we need the public transportation, the anxiety meds, the television shows by the dozens, the music in bars and restaurants saving us from the terror of silence, the everlasting promise of brown liquor, the bathrooms in national parks, and the political catchphrases we can all shout and stick to our bumpers.

Most of all, she said it couldn’t be just any girl. It needed to be a girl who can become a Scully, like us. But I was five, and dumb, and on pain meds, so what I heard was Skull Eyes." (...) “Every time you called me that, you really called me the love of your life?” “Now she is following. Where have you been this semester, Skull Eyes?” "Waiting for you.

Det med, at universet ser ud til at have en afslutning, lægger naturligvis en dæmper på et eller andet. Alle tanker om evigt liv sætter sig fast i halsen. Men det er ikke noget, der plager mig. Ikke nu. Tværtimod. Jeg føler mig mere levende, end jeg har gjort længe. Pludselig føles det helt fint at have en frist at forholde sig til. Jeg har egentlig altid arbejdet bedst under pres.

Bipolar disorder is vicious. In her manic phases, she was the mother every kid wants—fun, loving, full of life. But when the switch flipped, she barely spoke to any of us, just hid out in her room, watching TV. She didn’t bathe. Didn’t eat. She refused her meds, preferring alcohol. No one, least of all Dad, could convince her otherwise. And then one day, she was gone.” “You mean dead.” “Yes.

know, I get how this works,” she said. “I came to you and I’m supposed to tell you all about my life, but I really don’t like talking about all of this. It took me a long time to put all that behind me. I just need help with this insomnia.” “Isn’t it possible it’s all related?” Dr. Newell asked. “Can’t you just give me some meds? I mean, maybe I just need a little Ambien or something.” “I can, but

If life was perfect,how in the hell would v evr learn to depend on someone other dn ourselves?If anything,dt’s wat life’s taught me.D need to b perfect is stemmed in d very belief dt it’s actually something v cn achieve.Self-actualization —doesn’t exist.” “Does dt mean v don’t try then?” “No.” “It just means wen u reach end of ur rope,u shdn’t regret a damn thing,bt applaud urself for trying impossible

Things changed after that between me and Mark. I stopped being mortified that people might mistake me for one of his acolytes. I was his Boswell, don’t you know. I interviewed him about his childhood—his father was a psychiarist in Beverly Hills. I cataloged the contents of his van. I followed him around at work, sitting in while he examined patients. He had been a bit of a prodigy when we were in college. After his father developed a tumor, Mark, who was pre-med, started studying cancer with an intensity that convinced many of his friends that his goal was to find a cure in time to save his father. As it turned out, his father didn’t have cancer. But Mark kept on with his cancer studies. His interest was not in fact in oncology—in finding a cure—but in cancer education and prevention. By the time he entered medical school, he had created, with another student, a series of college courses on cancer and coauthored The Biology of Cancer Sourcebook, the text for a course that was eventually offered to tens of thousands of students. He cowrote a second book, Understanding Cancer, that became a bestselling university text, and he continued to lecture throughout the United States on cancer research, education, and prevention. “The funny thing is, I’m not really interested in cancer,” Mark told me. “I’m interested in people’s response to it. A lot of cancer patients and suvivors report that they never really lived till they got cancer, that it forced them to face things, to experience life more intensely. What you see in family practice is that families just can’t afford to be superficial with each other anymore once someone has cancer. Corny as it sounds, what I’m really interested in is the human spirit—in how people react to stress and adversity. I’m fascinated by the way people fight back, by how they keep fighting their way to the surface.” Mark clawed at the air with his arms. What he was miming was the struggle to reach the surface through the turbulence of a large wave.

It’s so funny to me that just because they weren’t there for my struggles, they think they don’t exist. I’ve overcome a lot in my life. I’ve survived not feeling enough in my mom’s eyes. I’ve cried over plenty of boys. I’ve shed literal blood, sweat, and tears during my med school journey. I’ve suffered heartaches and growing pains. I’ve needed my mom and sister to be a support system more times than I can count. The problem lies within the fact that I never felt they could fulfill that need. I never felt important enough to them to ask.

What can we do to maintain slowness in the face of those periods of busyness? How can we avoid overload, exhaustion, or even burnout? Perhaps unsurprisingly, my answer is simply to pay attention. I recognize the way I'm inclined to stay up late, the way I will procrastinate at every option- and instead of spiraling into that overwhelming sense of too much, I check in with myself. Why am I feeling this way? What has changed? What is there more of? What is there less of? Become better at recognizing the signs of a looming backslide and pay close attention to the areas of our lives that have the greatest impact, ensuring they never slip too far out of hand. Nicholas Bate refers to this regular checking in as "taking your MEDS" or more specifically, paying attention to: - Mindfulness - Exercise - Diet - Sleep Once I recognize which of these areas has changed, its simpler (not necessarily easier) to recognize the issue and start fixing it. Sometimes the changes aren't in my control, so I need to look for ways of finding slow by creating more opportunities for a moment of deep breathing or paying close attention to whats in front of me. But other times, I've simply lost sight of what works, and its a matter of adding more of these things I've neglected- Mindfulness, simplicity, kindness- and reducing the things that don't serve me well. Above all else, though, I simply go back to my Why. I call to mind the foundation of this life I want. The vivid imaging of a life well lived. The loved ones, the generosity, the adventure, and the world I want to leave behind. And if that feels too big, I call to mind even smaller reminders, like the warm pressure of my kids hands in mine, the wholeness of a good conversation with Ben, the lightness of simply sitting quietly. Our Why is the antidote to overload. Its a call back to the important things and a reminder that we don't need to carry the weight of everything- only those things that are important to us.

Thanks both to the help he received and his own great character, Paul worked through this and is now better off than if he hadn’t fallen into his abyss, because he developed strengths he didn’t have but needed. Paul was once wild—staying out till all hours, disorganized, smoking marijuana and drinking—but he now faithfully takes his meds, meditates, goes to bed early, and avoids drugs and alcohol. He had loads of creativity but lacked discipline. Now he has plenty of both. As a result, he is more creative now than he was before and is happily married, the father of two boys, an accomplished filmmaker, and a crusader helping those who struggle with bipolar disorder.

My huge generalities touched on millennials’ oversensitivity, their sense of entitlement, their insistence that they were always right despite sometimes overwhelming proof to the contrary, their failure to consider anything within its context, their joint tendencies of overreaction and passive-aggressive positivity—incidentally, all of these misdemeanors happening only sometimes, not always, and possibly exacerbated by the meds many this age had been fed since childhood by overprotective, helicopter moms and dads mapping their every move. These parents, whether tail-end baby boomers or Gen Xers, now seemed to be rebelling against their own rebelliousness because they felt they’d never really been loved by their own selfish narcissistic true-boomer parents, and who as a result were smothering their kids and not teaching them how to deal with life’s hardships about how things actually work: people might not like you, this person will not love you back, kids are really cruel, work sucks, it’s hard to be good at something, your days will be made up of failure and disappointment, you’re not talented, people suffer, people grow old, people die. And the response from Generation Wuss was to collapse into sentimentality and create victim narratives, instead of grappling with the cold realities by struggling and processing them and then moving on, better prepared to navigate an often hostile or indifferent world that doesn’t care if you exist.

She said only true love would get rid of the curse. And it will have to be requited. And real. And for life. Most of all, she said it couldn’t be just any girl. It needed to be a girl who can become a Scully, like us. But I was five, and dumb, and on pain meds, so what I heard was Skull Eyes. So I laughed and laughed and fucking laughed some more until she hit me with a broomstick. But wanna know what the weird thing is?” Daria nods. “When I saw you all broken and upset and finally mustered up the courage to talk to you, there really were skulls in your eyes. Like white marbles, bang, in the middle of your pupils.” Daria takes my hand and presses her lips to my palm. My heart quickens. “Every time you called me that, you really called me the love of your life?” she asks quietly. I smile. “Now she is following. Where have you been this semester, Skull Eyes?

I flera hundra år hade hans förfäder sått säd. Det var en handling av andakt en tyst och mild, vindlös kväll, helst i ett litet beskedligt duggregn, helst så snart som möjligt efter det grågässen sträckt. Potatisen, det var en ny rotfrukt, det var inget mystiskt med den, inget religiöst, kvinnfolk och barn kunde vara med och sätta dessa jordpäron som kom från främmande land liksom kaffet, det var stor och präktig mat, men släkt med rovan. Säden, det var brödet. Säd eller icke säd, det var liv eller död. Isak gick barhuvad och sådde i Jesu namn. Han var som en vedkubb med händer på, men inom sig var han som ett barn. Han tänkte sig för vid varje kast, han var vänlig och undergiven. Se, nu gror nog dessa korn och blir ax och mera säd, och likadant är det över hela jorden när säd sås. I Palestina, i Amerika, i Gudbrandsdalen - å, vad världen var vid, och den lilla, lilla jordlapp som Isak gick och sådde låg i mitten av allt. Solfjädrar av säd strålade ut från hans hand. Himlen var mulen och blid, det såg ut att dra ihop sig till ett litet, litet duggregn.

I just have to ask these questions. Are you DEA? FDA? NICB? NHCAA? Are you a private investigator hired by any private or governmental entity? Do you work for a medical insurance company? Are you a drug dealer? Drug addict? Are you a clinician? A med student? Getting pills for an abusive boyfriend or employer? NASA?” “I think I have insomnia. That’s my main issue.” “You’re probably addicted to caffeine, too, am I right?” “I don’t know.” “You better keep drinking it. If you quit now, you’ll just go crazy. Real insomniacs suffer hallucinations and lost time and usually have poor memory. It can make life very confusing. Does that sound like you?” “Sometimes I feel dead,” I told her, “and I hate everybody. Does that count?” “Oh, that counts. That certainly counts. I’m sure I can help you. But I do ask new patients to come in for a fifteen-minute consultation to make sure we’ll make a good fit. Gratis. And I recommend you get into the habit of writing notes to remind yourself of our appointments. I have a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy. You know Post-its? Get yourself some Post-its. I’ll have some agreements for you to sign, some contracts. Now write this down.” Dr. Tuttle told me to come in the next day at nine A.M.

I’m the living dead. I feel no connection to any other human. I have no friends and I don’t really care much about my family any longer. I feel no love for them. I can feel no joy. I’m incapable of feeling physical pleasure. There’s nothing to ever look forward to as a result. I don’t miss anyone or anything. I eat because I feel hunger pangs, but no food tastes like anything I like. I wear a mask when I’m with other people but it’s been slipping lately. I can’t find the energy to hide the heavy weight of survival and its effect on me. I’m exhausted all the time from the effort of just making it through the day. This depression has made a mockery of my memory. It’s in tatters. I have no good memories to sustain me. My past is gone. My present is horrid. My future looks like more of the same. In a way, I’m a man without time. Certainly, there’s no meaning in my life. What meaning can there be without even a millisecond of joy? Ah, scratch that. Let’s even put aside joy and shoot for lower. How about a moment of being content? Nope. Not a chance. I see other people, normal people, who can enjoy themselves. I hear people laughing at something on TV. It makes me cock my head and wonder what that’s like. I’m sure at sometime in my past, I had to have had a wonderful belly laugh. I must have laughed so hard once or twice that my face hurt. Those memories are gone though. Now, the whole concept of “funny” is dead. I stopped going to movies a long time ago. Sitting in a theater crowded with people, every one of them having a better time than you, is incredibly damaging. I wasn’t able to focus for that long anyway. Probably for the best. Sometimes I fear the thought of being normal again. I think I wouldn’t know how to act. How would I handle being able to feel? Gosh it would be nice to feel again. Anything but this terrible, suffocating pain. The sorrow and the misery is so visceral, I find myself clenching my jaw. It physically hurts me. Then I realize that it’s silly to worry about that. You see, in spite of all the meds, the ketamine infusions and other treatments, I’m not getting better. I’m getting worse. I was diagnosed 7 years ago but I’m sure I was suffering for longer. Of course, I can’t remember that, but depression is something that crept up on me. It’s silent and oppressive. I don’t even remember what made me think about going to see someone. But I did and it was a pretty clear diagnosis. So, now what? I keep waking up every morning unfortunately. I don’t fear death any more. That’s for sure. I’ve made some money for the couple of decades I’ve been working and put it away in retirement accounts. I think about how if I was dead that others I once cared for would get that money. Maybe it could at least help them. I don’t know that I’ll ever need it. Even if I don’t end it myself, depression takes a toll on the body. My life expectancy is estimated to be 14 years lower as a result according to the NIH. It won’t be fast enough though. I’m just an empty biological machine that doesn’t know that my soul is gone. My humanity is no more

Once, I was doing a late-night case with one of the neurosurgery attendings, a suboccipital craniectomy for a brain-stem malformation. It’s one of the most elegant surgeries, in perhaps the most difficult part of the body—just getting there is tricky, no matter how experienced you are. But that night, I felt fluid: the instruments were like extensions of my fingers; the skin, muscle, and bone seemed to unzip themselves; and there I was, staring at a yellow, glistening bulge, a mass deep in the brain stem. Suddenly, the attending stopped me. “Paul, what happens if you cut two millimeters deeper right here?” He pointed. Neuroanatomy slides whirred through my head. “Double vision?” “No,” he said. “Locked-in syndrome.” Another two millimeters, and the patient would be completely paralyzed, save for the ability to blink. He didn’t look up from the microscope. “And I know this because the third time I did this operation, that’s exactly what happened.” Neurosurgery requires a commitment to one’s own excellence and a commitment to another’s identity. The decision to operate at all involves an appraisal of one’s own abilities, as well as a deep sense of who the patient is and what she holds dear. Certain brain areas are considered near-inviolable, like the primary motor cortex, damage to which results in paralysis of affected body parts. But the most sacrosanct regions of the cortex are those that control language. Usually located on the left side, they are called Wernicke’s and Broca’s areas; one is for understanding language and the other for producing it. Damage to Broca’s area results in an inability to speak or write, though the patient can easily understand language. Damage to Wernicke’s area results in an inability to understand language; though the patient can still speak, the language she produces is a stream of unconnected words, phrases, and images, a grammar without semantics. If both areas are damaged, the patient becomes an isolate, something central to her humanity stolen forever. After someone suffers a head trauma or a stroke, the destruction of these areas often restrains the surgeon’s impulse to save a life: What kind of life exists without language? When I was a med student,

Books can be sources of inspiration for anyone, anywhere. In 2011, I went to Madurai to inaugurate the Paediatric Oncology unit of the Meenakshi Mission Hospital. After the programme, a person who looked very familiar approached me. When he came closer, I realized that he has been my driver when I was working with DRDL in Hyderabad. His name is V. Kathiresan, and he worked with me day and night for nine years. During that time, I had noticed that he was always reading in his spare time, be it a book, magazine or a newspaper. That dedication attracted me. One day, I asked him what made him read so much during his leisure time. He replied that he had a son and daughter and both asked him lots of questions. In order to give them correct answers, he read and studied whenever he got the time. The spirit of learning in him impressed me and I told him to study formally through a distance education course. I also gave him some free time to attend the course and complete his +2 and then to apply for higher education. He took that as a challenge and kept on studying. He did B.A. (History), then M.A. (History) and then he did M.A. (Political Science). He also completed his B.Ed and then M.Ed. Then he registered for his Ph.D in Manonmaniam Sundaranar University and got his Ph.D in 2001. He joined the education department of Tamil Nadu government and served for a number of years. In 2011, when I met him, he was an assistant professor in the Government Arts College at Mellur near Madurai. What extraordinary commitment and dedication had helped him to acquire the right skills in his leisure time and changed the course of his life.

Asiatisk i Vælde er Angsten. Den er modnet med umodne Aar. Og jeg føler det dagligt i Hjærtet, som om Fastlande dagligt forgaar. Men min Angst må forløses i Længsel og i Syner af Rædsel og Nød. Jeg har længtes mod Skibskatastrofer og mod Hærværk og pludselig Død. Jeg har længtes mod brændende Byer og mod Menneskeracer på Flugt, mod et Opbrud, som ramte Alverden, og et Jordskælv, som kaldtes Guds Tugt.

It is their job to read our blood pressure, change our sheets, wash our clothes, clean our toilets, take our blood, change our diapers, clean our asses, cover our wounds, deliver our meds, serve our food, forge our prescriptions (there are no permanent doctors on staff), turn on our TV, take our temperatures, and diagnose viral versus bacterial infections in order to determine antibiotic needs.

Uansett hvor du drar, ligger det et tonn med dritt og venter på deg. Og det er faktisk helt greit. Målet er ikke å unslippe dritten. Målet er å finne den dritten du setter pris på å håndtere.

In genom tunneln av oskrivna regler, framåt till höger, tunnelbana till vänster. Invandrartjejer med hål så man ser rumpskinn pratar högljutt i mobil. Han undrar vad värdfolket tänker. De med lite mera klass som önskar bo på Östermalm men istället hamnar i Solna bär istället svarta kläder med eventuell grå detalj, silverörhängen och aldrig guld. Inte som turkarna. Dyra stora väskor slängda över axeln, senaste modet från årets sista rea. Klack klack klack låter det i väggarna och studsar tillbaka. Rumpor som svänger snabbt genom tunneln, man måste hålla tempot även om man inget har. Storstadsfolket tittar konstigt på en man som går för långsamt. Hemresan närmar sig snabbt men dagen är ännu lång. Mörkret har fallit men sömnen inträder inte än på mycket länge. Det är en välsignelse att vara stressad, tänker han och ser på människorna som skyndar förbi honom. De bildar två väggar på båda sidor av hans kropp. Men människorna runt honom är som av ett annat släkte, han vet det. Han känner det. I cirklar ut med hans kropp tänks tankar som är så långt ifrån hans verklighet trots att de trampar samma mark, sitter på samma säten, går i samma trappor. Timmarna rusar och ögonen flackar. Det tänks andra tankar, annorlunda tankar, runt i en massa av virvlande ord. Andra ord, annorlunda ord och satser och fraser och uttryck, pulserande i cirklar runt hans runda kropp: Köra en lunchsandwich med surdegsbröd på vägen och småspringa med svettpärlor i pannan i pannan till tuben. Torka svett och titta oroligt på sin smartphone. Ta ett telefonsamtal i väntan på grön gubbe, en latte i handen efter en snabblunch med en gammal kursare. Catcha upp, hänga ut, ta en öl en fika en promenad mellan 17:15 och 18:30, dra till SATS på ett pass och sen dimpa ner i tevesoffan jävligt nöjd. Storstadsslammer och stadsbor, den nya människan ställer sig i ledet. Bo i trång etta, gå på dejt med blonderad ekonom, raka pung, noppa unibrow och scrubba med facewashen. Ta en öl på uteserveringen under sommarmånader. Springa till bussen, ta väskan på cykeln och kavla upp byxbenet. Slänga yogamattan över axeln och svära över tågens försening. Traska rastlöst fram och tillbaka över perrongen, trampa sig svettig på cykeln för att man snoozat för länge. Stressen, tänker han där han svänger av mot spärrarna, det är Guds gåva till människan. (Sid. 165-6)

Ett annat missgrepp är att konstnärligt begåvade personer tror att de bara kan förverkliga sig själva och bli lyckliga om de har tillräckligt med pengar för att inte behöva tänka på oväsentligheter. Men den bekymmerslösa tillvaron ger dem ett övermått av tid att tänka på hur olyckliga människan är till sin natur och för att glömma sin stora olycka kastar de sig in i nöjeslivets hektiska virvlar och sen blir de snart verkligt olyckliga.

The problem here is pain. Filling out the appropriate paperwork to drop out of med school is a straightforward and obvious action; breaking your parents’ hearts is not. Asking a tutor out on a date is as simple as saying the words; risking intense embarrassment and rejection feels far more complicated. Asking someone to move out of your house is a clear decision; feeling as if you’re abandoning your own children is not. I

I look at other people and think, "He lives without meds. She does. What is wrong with me? Am I so biochemically screwed up, so neurotic, so narcissistically self-absorbed that every hour is an obstacle course for me?

Arimas stemme var dyb og syngende. ”Har I aldrig tænkt på, hvordan alle sagn og gamle historier handler om lyset mod mørket, om det gode mod det onde? Dualiteten er ikke sand, men den er nemmere at forklare. Karawianerne er mørket, men de er også lys. De kæmper mod os, fordi de lever mørket. Selv de mennesker eller andre væsener, der kaldes onde, er af lyset. Alt er lyset, men nogle glemmer det mere end andre. De tog mørket som herre, og det giver dem et formål med livet. Før mørket opstod, var de bare mennesker.” Mayin nikkede på den anden side af bålet, og Soral kiggede hen på hende. ”Der er ikke noget, der af natur er ondt, Mayin,” sagde han. ”Der er ikke noget, der fuldt ud er det modsatte af lys. Som sådan kan man sige, at alt er lys, bare i forskellige nuancer.” Enilia sendte et skævt smil over bålet til Soral. Det var en god måde at sige det på.

De forstår det bare ikke,” fortsatte Elior. ”Og jeg tror ikke, det er noget, der ændrer sig. Men du forstår det. Du ved godt hvorfor, og derfor må du lære at lade være med at tage dig af, hvad de siger.” ”Det er ikke bare det,” snøftede hun. ”Det er ikke som sådan ordene. Det er deres blikke. Deres ansigter på afstand.” Hun kunne mærke, at Elior nikkede. Hans hage stødte let mod toppen af hendes hoved, og hun trak sig lidt væk og kiggede op på ham. ”De hader mig virkelig.” Så rystede han på hovedet. ”Det er ikke had.” ”Jo, det er. Jeg kan se det.” Han rystede igen på hovedet, slap hende og satte sig tilbage mod husmuren. Hun rykkede lidt væk, så hun kunne se hans ansigt igen. ”Jeg kan se det,” gentog hun. ”Det er altid det samme. Jeg kom gående derhen, og de stod der uden for købmanden, og så kiggede de på mig. Og det var had.” ”Det er ikke had dybest set,” sagde Elior stille og strøg en tot hår om bag øret. ”De er bange.” Hun kom næsten til at le. ”De er overhovedet ikke bange for mig!” ”Ikke bange på den måde,” sagde han og bed i sin underlæbe. ”De er ikke bange for dig, de er bange for det, du er. De er bange for os. For ainatunari. De er bange, fordi de ikke forstår, hvad vi er.

Jeg mener, at der er lys på den anden side af mørket,” sagde han. ”Jeg mener, at hvad der end sker, så træder vi igen ud i lyset på den anden side. Vores historie ender ikke her.” Hun trak forsigtigt sin hånd til sig og krydsede armene foran maven. Mevarn trak sine knæ op mod brystet og støttede sine arme mod dem. Foran dem var bålet brændt ned til gløder, og ovenover tittede alle efterårets stjerner frem på den sorte himmel. ”Jeg er ikke så god til det,” sagde hun. ”Det der med tillid til lyset. Jeg vil bare gerne have, at det hele går væk og lader mig være i fred.” Mevarn smilede skævt. ”Sådan tror jeg, vi alle har det. Tillid eller ej.” ”Han har levet i mørket i århundreder,” sagde hun undrende. ”Hvordan kunne han holde det ud?” ”Nogle gange kan man udholde utrolige ting for dem, man elsker.” Hun så fra gløderne over på hans mørkeblå øjne og nikkede. Han smilede, og hun mærkede det efterhånden velkendte sug i maven. Et ganske kort øjeblik lænede hun sig over og holdt sin pande ind mod hans, så deres ansigter var helt tætte på hinanden. Hun mærkede hans ånde på sine læber. Så trak hun sig væk, rejste sig og sagde godnat.

Hur många fragment av onödiga kunskaper finns det egentligen i en människa som har nått femtionio år? Och kanske är de inte alldeles onödiga? Kanske är det av fragmenten som man i grund och botten består? Passioner, känslor, längtan, ja till och med hat kommer och går. Det är fragmenten som blir kvar och som lever sitt myllrande liv, ungefär som myrorna i myrstacken. Valmiki, den store hinduiske asketen och mystikern, satt stilla så länge att myrorna byggde en stack kring honom. "Valmiki" betyder, som alla förstår, "myrstack" på sanskrit.

What makes one financially strapped girl into a stripper and another into a Denny’s waitress and another into a med student?

And in Mom's necklace is the echo of their every other sacrifice—her slippers cuffing the hallway as she folds laundry, covering my chores while I studied into the night; the scar where she cut her finger chopping black chickens to nourish me during finals; Dad chauffeuring me to my clinic internship; all their worries over my med school applications. It's one thing to dance around the little controls Mom exerts on my life. Quite another to shed a hard-fought-for future of financial security and respect for our families. My parents would slit their throats for my happiness, and in return, my future is their future. I should have known better than to let myself get swept away.

Løvetannen Der står en liten løvetann blant andre løvetenner i bakken på et åkerland og blomstrer så den brenner. Den har slått ut sitt gule hår på toppen av seg selv. For av en bustet knopp i går er det blitt blomst i kveld. Når er den sterk og sti og vill, en riktig løvetann, og strekker kry sin lille ild mot solens kjempebrann. Hvor stolt og gladelig den gror! Men like nedenfor står en sørgmodig eldre bror og feller hvite hår. Slik, venner, farer livet med all verdens løvetenner. Først blir de ild, så blir de sne, og siden gamle menner.

Jag har en känsla av att lidandet inte kommer att upphöra förrän det finns i en bok... först då kommer det att vara slut. Först då kommer det att vara utplånat. Jag upptäcker det med den här historien som jag har med er: att skriva, det är antagligen, det också, att utplåna. Ersätta.

Men jag vet inte om det hjälper att man är en bra person. Det är det värsta med sjukdomar, de stannar inte upp och frågar innan de drabbar en.

My take on the indigent is that some are there because of temporary setbacks, some by default, and some for lack of an alternative. Some are needy, some are off their meds, some have opted out, some have been ousted from facilities where they might be better served. Many are there for life and not always by personal choice. Alcoholic, addicted, aimless, illiterate, unmotivated, unskilled, or otherwise unable to prosper, they sink to the bottom, and if they’re down for any length of time, they lose the capacity to climb back out of the hole into which they’ve fallen. If there’s a remedy, I don’t know what it is. From what I’ve seen of the problem, most solutions perpetuate the status quo.

my anatomy professor in medical school, who made the class the most grueling, fun, amazing, and important course I’ve ever taken in my life. And don’t worry, nothing funny went on between us.

We could talk about it.” “Talk about what?” “Why you look like someone shot your dog. Shelby, I assume.” “Nah,” Luke said, taking a drink. “That’s not serious.” “I guess that has nothing to do with your sleeplessness or your mood then. Trouble with the cabins? The town? Your tenant/helper?” “Aiden, there’s nothing bothering me, except maybe that I’ve been working my ass off for three months getting a house and six cabins rebuilt and furnished.” Aiden took a sip of his drink. “Twenty-five, so Sean and Mom say. And gorgeous.” “Sean’s an idiot who can’t mind his own business. She’s just a girl.” “She’s just a girl who has you looking a little uptight.” “Thanks,” he said, standing. “You don’t look that great yourself—I’m going to bed.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Nah, don’t,” Aiden said. “Fix another one. Give me ten minutes, huh? I can just ask a couple of questions, right? I’m not like Sean, I’m not going to get up your ass about this. But you haven’t talked about it much and I’m a little curious.” Luke thought about that for a second and against his better judgment, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a short shot. He went back and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What?” he asked abruptly. Aiden chuckled. “Okay. Relax. Just a girl? Not serious?” “That’s right. A town girl, sort of. She’s visiting her family and she’ll be leaving pretty soon.” “Ah—I didn’t know that. I guess I thought she lived there.” “Long visit,” Luke said. “Her mother died last spring. She’s spending a few months with her uncle until she gets on with things—like where she wants to live. College and travel and stuff. This is temporary, that’s all.” “But—if you felt serious, there isn’t any reason you wouldn’t let it…you know…evolve…?” “I don’t feel serious,” he said, his mouth in a firm line. “Okay, I get that. Does she? Feel serious?” “She has plans. I didn’t trap her, Aiden. I made sure she knew—I’m not interested in being a family man. I told her she could do better, I’m just not built that way. But when I’m with a woman, I know how to treat her right. If she needed something permanent, she was in the wrong place. That’s how it is.” “Never?” “What do you mean, never? No one in this family is interested in that.” “Bullshit. I am. Sean says he’s having too much fun, but the truth is he has the attention span of a cabbage. But me? I’d like a wife, a family.” “Didn’t you already try that once?” Luke asked, sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little bit since the attention had shifted to Aiden’s life. “Oh, yeah—I tried hard. Next time I try, I’m going to see if I can find a woman who’s not certifiable and off her meds.” He grinned. “Really, that’s what happens when you ignore all the symptoms because she’s such a friggin’ miracle in bed, it causes brain damage.” He shrugged. “I’m on the lookout for that.” Luke grinned. “She was hot.” “Oh, yeah.” “She was worse than nuts.” “Nightmare nuts,” Aiden agreed.

When you go into the psych ward, you can’t have anything with you except colored pencils. You can’t have any electronics. If you have a drawstring on your pants, a belt, shoelaces, a hood, or extra-long fabric, your very clothes are ripped off your back. They search you with a metal detector like you’re a criminal, doing everything short of putting their hand up your butt. Before you go through those cold, automatic, barred doors, you know your life is not your own. This is especially true during the first week, while you stare at florescent lighting and wait impatiently for your meds to kick in. I wish I had remembered the psych ward prison cell a week ago. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t be wearing this hospital gown that they gave me until I can get more compliant clothes.

Erfarenheten med X hade lärt mig att man inte kan leva genom andra, man kan inte och får inte heller.

How you doing, Helena?" she asked quietly. "Not so good, Alley." The wounded trooper's voice was harsh, strained, despite all the painkillers in her pharmacope could do. The plasma bolt which had knocked out her armor hadn't killed her outright, but she'd lost her left leg just below the hip, and the entire left side of her armor was a smoking ruin. Her battle rifle had been destroyed, and her vital signs flickered unsteadily on Alicia's monitors. Alicia looked up at Tanis' face through the visor of her armor, and her wing shook her head silently. "We -" Alicia began, but Chu cut her off. "I already figured it out, Alley," she said. "I figured you had," Alicia said softly, and laid her armored hand on Chu's right shoulder. She knelt there for a few silent heartbeats, then straightened her spine. "You guys need to get moving," Chu said. She reached down and drew her sidearm-a CHK three-millimeter, identical to the one Alicia normally carried. "I'll just wait here with Bill," the crippled corporal said, nodding to where her wingman had already died. Alicia gazed down at her, longing for something-anything-to say. Some comforting lie, like "I'm sure the bad guys will be too busy concentrating on us to send in a follow-up sweep," or "Hang on, and we'll get a med team out here as soon as we've polished off Green Haven." But Chu knew the odds as well as Alicia did, and she could read her own life sign monitors. She knew how little time she had left unless the med team arrived almost instantly, that only her pharmacope and augmentation were keeping her alive even now, and Alicia owed her people something better than a lie. "God bless, Helena," she said, very quietly, instead, then turned to lead the fifty-eight surviving effectives of Charlie Company, Third Battalion, Second Regiment, Fifth Brigade, Imperial Cadre back into motion.

After all the years of med school and internship and residency and specialization, my life was about to start. I was going to have a golf membership and a six-bedroom house and a Jaguar, and a blonde wife who was very pretty and very, very useless.” Slatton, Traci L. (2011-07-12). Fallen (After Book 1) (p. 28). Parvati Press. Kindle Edition.

Men Hammerøe ligger der inde med Land, Beskicket for en residerende Mand, Som Tienesten bør at forrette; Indbyggerne have der ligedan Kaar, Som andre der pløyer og høster og slaar, Thi kand jeg ey videre sette.

Men dersom Nordfarernes Troe var saa stoer, De kunde faa Bergen henfløttet i Noer, Ved ongefahr hundrede Miile; Hvor skulle den ganske Nordlendingens Tract, Af inderste Hierte sig fryde med Magt, Med lystige Ansigter smiile.

But then, on a brisk February evening my junior year, I attended a free yoga class at the Harvard Divinity School Andover Chapel. I came in fully expecting to do cat, cow, and child’s pose. Our instructor, Nicholas, who was also a graduate student there, had us on our backs with taut abs, legs held in the air in a ninety-degree position, neck lifted off the ground, hands stretched above our heads. I had become the sleeping dragon. One minute in, my body was trembling. You can’t. I told myself I could. You can’t. I opened my eyes and saw everyone else peacefully holding their pose. This voice yelling at me wasn’t my own. So where was it coming from? You can’t. It was Hang telling me to dump my elementary school best friends who still played with toy horses at thirteen. He said I needed to be more strategic about my social ranking. You can’t be friends with them. My sister excluding me from her life when we became teenagers. You can’t hang out with us. Ba calling me pathetic when I told him I wasn’t pursuing med school. You can’t even try because you’re too dumb. I screamed, You can’t, right back inside of my head, telling all of them what I never had the courage to say. My body shuddered as the rage escaped my body like bats flying out from a cave. Hot tears fell from the sides of my eyes into the chapel carpet floor. And then I heard a clear voice inside of me speak. It was not mine, it was someone else’s. “All those times you’ve felt unloved or alone, you weren’t. God, through the presence of the body, has always been there for you.” Who was this voice? And how could my body be the key to loving myself? My body was always something I had seen as an inconvenience, a detached thing I had to fix. But tonight, I felt welcome to get to know my body.

The Game-Changer in Diabetes Management: Continuous Glucose Monitors Continuous Glucose Monitors (CGMs) have revolutionized diabetes management, offering real-time insights into blood sugar levels like never before. In this article, we'll delve into the significance of CGMs, their benefits, and why they are a game-changer for individuals living with diabetes. Understanding Continuous Glucose Monitors Continuous Glucose Monitors are wearable devices that constantly monitor glucose levels in the interstitial fluid, providing users with real-time data on their blood sugar levels. Unlike traditional finger-prick tests, CGMs offer a continuous stream of information, allowing for proactive management of diabetes. Benefits of Continuous Glucose Monitors Real-Time Monitoring: CGMs offer instant feedback on blood sugar levels, enabling users to make informed decisions about their diet, medication, and lifestyle choices. Early Detection of Trends: CGMs track glucose trends over time, allowing users to identify patterns and adjust their management strategies accordingly. Improved Diabetes Management: With continuous monitoring, individuals can better manage their blood sugar levels, reducing the risk of hyperglycemia and hypoglycemia episodes. Enhanced Quality of Life: CGMs provide greater freedom and flexibility, reducing the need for frequent finger pricks and offering peace of mind to individuals and their caregivers. Why CGMs Are a Game-Changer Precision Medicine: Continuous Glucose Monitors enable personalized diabetes management by providing individualized insights into glucose fluctuations and responses to various factors. Empowerment Through Data: CGMs empower users with valuable data, enabling them to take control of their health and make informed decisions in collaboration with healthcare providers. Continuous Innovation: Advancements in CGM technology, such as improved accuracy and connectivity features, continue to enhance the user experience and expand the capabilities of these devices. Integration with Digital Health Ecosystem: CGMs seamlessly integrate with mobile apps and other digital health platforms, facilitating data sharing, remote monitoring, and telehealth consultations. Conclusion Continuous Glucose Monitors represent a significant advancement in diabetes management, offering real-time insights, personalized care, and improved quality of life for individuals living with diabetes. As technology continues to evolve, CGMs will play an increasingly vital role in empowering individuals to live healthier, more active lives while effectively managing their condition.

MORE ON THIS TIDY STORY AS IT UNFOLDS “Here are your sheets, Mom, warm from the dryer. I’ll make us some lunch while you fold.” Elsie knew not to do everything for her mother because getting her mother active would help her blood circulation and help dispel the swelling in her feet. She dropped the armload of laundry on the ottoman beside her mother’s lounger. “I can’t fold sheets alone. Help me with these.” Of course. What was she thinking? Elsie turned to grasp a couple corners of her mother’s queen-sized fitted sheet. “I need to relearn how to fold these things, anyway.” Mother and daughter pulled and halved, tucked one corner inside another, and brought the ends together like partners in a square dance. Suddenly, Gail growled, “Oh!” Fed up, she grabbed the sheet from Elsie and wadded the whole thing into a roll. “I don’t remember how to do these things! Just stuff them into the linen closet, will you?” She laughed. “Okay. I was hoping you’d teach me how to do it.” “If you don’t know by sixty, daughter, it’s too late! My mom was always so good with linens. You should’a seen her linen closet. It was like the linen closets at Macy’s, all lined up. Mom took pride in her housekeeping, but I just don’t care anymore.” Elsie was noticing how she no longer cared about much of anything either. The proverbial rug had been pulled out from under her, and though she went through the motions of taking Gail’s vitals, dispensing her meds and massaging her feet, they often had little to say to one another. “Mom, why do you think the Bible says so often to remember this or remember that?” “Does it?” Gail gasped, “—talk about remembering?

The multi-center study—the largest and longest of its kind— tracked the effects of Dr. Fauci’s antivirals on some 22,000 previously treated HIV positives between 1995 and 2003 at twelve locations in Europe and the United States. The study refutes popular claims that HIV meds extend life and improve health.123

Consider, for example, the landmark 2004 study that followed several hundred patients treated with one of three popular antidepressants: Zoloft, Paxil, or Prozac. Among those who took the drugs as prescribed, only 23% were depression-free after six months of treatment. (As you might expect, patients who failed to take their meds did even worse.) And all three medications yielded roughly the same dismal results. A fluke result, perhaps? It’s actually pretty typical. The recovery rate with antidepressants in similar studies usually falls somewhere between 20% and 35%. Clinical researchers at forty-one treatment sites across the country have just completed the largest real-world study of antidepressants ever conducted, and the results fit the same overall pattern. This multimillion dollar project, sponsored by the National Institutes of Mental Health, followed about three thousand depressed patients who initially took the drug citalopram (marketed under the trade name Celexa) for about twelve weeks. By the end of that short-term treatment period, only 28% of study patients had fully recovered. The study’s 28% response rate might even be an overestimate of the medication’s true effectiveness, because patients received higher drug doses and had more frequent doctor’s visits than people do in everyday clinical practice. (In real life, insurance companies sharply restrict the frequency of “med check” follow-up appointments). Remarkably, the study’s authors—a veritable All-Star team of clinical researchers—noted that the observed 28% recovery rate was about what they had expected to see based on comparable studies. That’s right: They weren’t surprised to find that the majority of study patients failed to recover on an antidepressant. In the study’s published write-up, the researchers also raised a provocative question: What percentage of their patients might have recovered if they had received a sugar pill—a placebo—instead of the medication? Could it possibly have been as high as 28%?

...I wasn't prepared for the enormous mansion that stands before me. It's three stories high and stretched out for the length of a city block. There's a gate to gain entrance and I half-expect to see a moat with a dragon guarding the front door.

Category 1: mental stability and physical health Subcategories: daily meds, supplements, diet, exercise

We wage wars inside our minds Silent fights behind our eyes Maimed by words unkindly said Tamed by our prescription meds But trudging on with all our might We veterans of silent fights Hope that we’ll see better days As long as we attempt to stay Alive -Alive

I know that when I’m doing a lot, I can easily slip into mania. I stay on my meds and get enough sleep.

Seth might be the love of my life. But at that moment, I hate the bastard.

I've never with a guy like Mason before. Every man I ever dated has been humble, mee and plain -- the diametric opposite of Mason. He's not my type at all. But I can't deny that I am incredibly attracted to him. Even though I still hate him, of course.

Skriv bara att resten av året är som en stroboskopisk slideshow av mullrande basgångar, skålade glas, nickningar mot folk som vi inte känner men känner igen, klibbiga dansgolv, gummigarderobsbrickor i bakfickan, ångig rökmaskinslukt, fimpar i översvämmade toaletter, mosade cigarettpaket i tomma glas, samtal framför högtalare där enda sättet att göra sig hörd är att hålla för lyssnarens öra. Sen hemåt i en taxi med ringande öron och vakna upp dagen efter med handlederna fulla av stämplar och fickorna fulla av knöggliga sedlar och kvarglömda ölbiljetter och svettiga tuggummin och ofrivilligt stulna tändare och bruna tobaksflagor och kvitton från ställen som man knappt minns att man vart på. Fast sen minns man förstås och ler vid minnet. Kort sagt: det var en lycklig tid. Kanske den lyckligaste jag levt.

crazymeds.org—a private website run by someone with a mental illness, this site is incredibly helpful. It provides ongoing reviews of a large number of meds, which are written by people who actually take them.

The long-term studies that could give us answers are hard to do on children, but they have been done on rats, and the results should give us pause. Exposure to methylphenidate in adolescent rats is associated with persistent neurobehavioral consequences in later life. It makes them more sensitive to stress and more anxious—hardly changes we would like to see in our children.

I don’t bet on horses. I beat their meds into pixie dust, a couple grams doled into baggies. DOA with no face to save, I fall asleep, taking over the kind of life I always wanted.

I can't keep going on like this," Julie said, "I've tried everything I can think of. I tried doing it the Reverend's way my whole life. The doctors' ways. I tried it without therapy, without meds. I joined a bunch of online groups. All these people preaching love and light and how you can just manifest money and happiness, but you can't manifest your way out of this. It's bullshit. And I'm just so tired.

Är det därför folk röker? För att de ska ha något att göra med händerna?

My life as a patient changed the day I reread a letter by the nineteenth-century poet John Keats in which he offers a theory of what makes an artist great. At the the time of its writing, Keats had witnessed his mother die from tuberculosis, then a poorly understood disease with an unclear cause. Soon his brother Tom and later himself would die of the infection. In the letter, Keats - in his early twenties - tried to e plain to his brothers the special quality that differentiated a great artist form a merely good one. “Negative Capability,” as he terms it, is the quality “of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.” I couldn’t escape the sense that Keats’s words about the necessity of “being in uncertainties” derived form his own experience of living with consumption’s impact on his family. In fact, his formulation of negative capability seemed to be a key to living well in the face of pain. It was a profound insight of the sort that comes from witnessing loss and suffering up close. (As the chronically ill know, to the alive *is* to be in uncertainty.) I was grateful for his words, because they reminded me that I wasn’t living off the known map of human experience. Rather, I had felt invisible in my illness, I realized, because American culture - and American medicine within it - largely strived to downplay the fact that we still know so little about illness. A doctor friend told me that in med school he was explicitly taught never to say “I don’t know” to a patient. Uncertainty was thought to open the door to lawsuits. In the place of uncertainty, Americans have catchphrases: *Just do it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.* no wonder that as a patient I was bent on an “irritable reaching after fact & reason.” The shadowland I lived in, forced against my will into what Keats called the great “Penetralium of mystery,” was an uncomfortable and unsatisfying place, especially since I lived in a culture that Donita’s the importance of triumph over adversity - a culture that insists on recovery.

The Future of Diabetes Management: Continuous Glucose Monitors by Med Supply US In the realm of diabetes management, continuous glucose monitors (CGMs) have emerged as a revolutionary technology, transforming the way individuals monitor their blood sugar levels. Med Supply US, a leading name in healthcare solutions, is at the forefront of this innovation, offering cutting-edge CGM devices that enhance the quality of life for those with diabetes. What sets continuous glucose monitors apart is their ability to provide real-time glucose readings, allowing users to track their levels throughout the day and night, without the need for constant finger pricks. This continuous monitoring not only offers convenience but also helps individuals make informed decisions about their diet, exercise, and insulin dosages. Med Supply US has established itself as a trusted provider of CGMs, offering a range of devices that cater to different needs and preferences. Whether it's the ease of use of their user-friendly interfaces or the accuracy of their readings, Med Supply US CGMs are designed to empower users in managing their diabetes effectively. One of the key advantages of Med Supply US CGMs is their compatibility with smartphone apps, allowing users to conveniently view their glucose data on their devices. This seamless integration with technology makes monitoring glucose levels more accessible and less intrusive, leading to better diabetes management outcomes. In conclusion, continuous glucose monitors by Med Supply US are revolutionizing diabetes management, offering a level of convenience, accuracy, and integration with technology that was previously unimaginable. With Med Supply US CGMs, individuals can take control of their diabetes with confidence, knowing that they have a reliable partner in their journey towards better health.

ask them to visualize what their life would be like if they weren’t constantly feeling overwhelmed by stress, social anxiety, or disorganization.

And you don’t understand how hard it is to be a girl competing with boys who don’t even realize that they, unlike us, are perceived as more competent no matter what they do.” "You got a taste of what it’s like,” Neelam says. “But I’ve been competing in math and science my whole life. I’ve been told girls can’t win math competitions or can’t built robots my whole life. My brothers are all pre-med, but I’ve been told every single day to act like a lady, to smile and be polite, to be pretty and dainty—and what boy ever has to hear that? Not once,” she snaps, “and what you don’t understand is that when you come into this world unprepared and unfocused and without even a fundamental understanding of what you’re doing, you have nothing to fight back with.

You got a taste of what it's like," Neelam says. "But I've been competing in math and science my whole life. I've been told girls can't win math competitions or can't built robots my whole life. My brothers are all pre-med, but I've been told every single day to act like a lady, to smile and be polite, to be pretty and dainty-and what boy ever has to hear that? Not once," she snaps, "and what you don't understand is that when you come into this world unprepared and unfocused and without even a fundamental understanding of what you're doing, you have nothing to fight back with. Take Mac," Neelam says, suddenly adamant. "You saw how much he favors Teo and Dash, right? But when you pointed it out he called you a bad teammate, he told you to work harder. I work hard because no matter what I do, people will always tell me I should have done more. So I do the most. Because I understand that it doesn't end here!" Neelam rises to her feet, agitated, and starts pacing in front of me. "If you really want to be an engineer, then get ready," she says with a glare at me. "Get ready to hear no. Get ready to hear you can't. Get ready for I just don't like her or she's not likable. Sure, you're lucky, you're pretty and bubbly and people like you," she adds with another look of annoyance, "but you're even worse off than I am for that, because they won't take you seriously. This team? This team only takes you seriously because Teo Luna did, and lucky you." She practically spits it at me. "Lucky you, because he doesn't take me seriously, and thanks to him nobody on our team ever will.

Continuous Glucose Monitors (CGMs) have revolutionized diabetes management by providing real-time data on blood glucose levels. Among the providers offering a range of CGM options, Med Supply US stands out as a trusted source for individuals seeking these essential devices in Miami, New York, and Florida. Let's delve into the cost of CGMs and how Med Supply US plays a pivotal role in making them accessible. CGMs are crucial tools for people with diabetes, allowing them to monitor their glucose levels 24/7. These devices not only offer convenience but also help in preventing dangerous spikes and crashes in blood sugar levels. However, one of the primary concerns for many individuals is the cost associated with CGMs. Med Supply US offers a wide selection of CGMs from various brands like Abbott and Dexcom, catering to different preferences and requirements. The cost of CGMs can vary depending on the brand, model, and the specific features they offer. Med Supply US works diligently to ensure competitive pricing for these life-changing devices, making them more accessible to those in need.

In recent years, Continuous Glucose Monitoring (CGM) devices have emerged as a game-changer in diabetes management, offering patients a real-time view of their glucose levels and revolutionizing the way they monitor their condition. Among the pioneers in providing these life-changing devices, Med Supply US stands out as a reliable source, offering CGMs from various renowned brands like Abbott, Dexcom, and more. This article explores the significance of CGM devices and highlights the contribution of Med Supply US in making them accessible to those in need. Understanding CGM Devices: For individuals living with diabetes, maintaining optimal blood glucose levels is crucial to prevent serious health complications. Traditionally, this involved frequent finger-prick tests, which could be inconvenient and sometimes inaccurate. CGM devices, however, have transformed this process by providing continuous and real-time glucose level readings. These devices consist of a small sensor inserted under the skin that measures glucose levels in the interstitial fluid. The data collected is then transmitted to a receiver or a smartphone app, allowing users to track their glucose levels throughout the day and night. Benefits of CGM Devices: The introduction of CGM devices has brought about a paradigm shift in diabetes management due to their numerous benefits: Real-time Monitoring: CGM devices offer a real-time insight into glucose trends, enabling users to make informed decisions about their diet, exercise, and insulin dosages. This real-time feedback empowers individuals to take timely action to maintain their glucose levels within a healthy range. Reduced Hypoglycemia and Hyperglycemia: By providing alerts for both low and high glucose levels, CGMs help users avoid dangerous hypoglycemic episodes and hyperglycemic spikes. This is particularly beneficial during sleep when such episodes might otherwise go unnoticed. Data-Driven Insights: CGM devices generate a wealth of data, including glucose trends, patterns, and even predictive alerts for potential issues. This information can be shared with healthcare providers to tailor treatment plans for optimal diabetes management. Enhanced Quality of Life: The convenience of CGM devices reduces the need for frequent finger pricks, leading to an improved quality of life for individuals managing diabetes. The constant insights also alleviate anxiety related to unpredictable glucose fluctuations. Med Supply US: Bringing Hope to Diabetes Management: Med Supply US has emerged as a prominent supplier of CGM devices, offering a range of options from reputable brands such as Abbott and Dexcom. The availability of CGMs through Med Supply US has made these cutting-edge devices accessible to a wider demographic, bridging the gap between technology and healthcare. Med Supply US not only provides access to CGM devices but also plays a crucial role in educating individuals about their benefits. Through informative resources, they empower users to make informed choices based on their specific needs and preferences. Furthermore, their commitment to customer support ensures that users can seamlessly integrate CGM devices into their daily routines.