Hans Rosling: 200 years of health and wealth in 4 minutes

Professor Hans Rosling waxes enthusiastic as he shows an animation of world health and wealth over the past two hundred years. It's an excellent video and he ends it on a very positive note. Perhaps you have to be African, though, to grieve over the fact that the back end of the continuum is almost entirely blue.

Proposed ban on smoking in cars

There is currently a move in the UK to have it made illegal to smoke in cars and parks because of the risks posed to children by the secondhand smoke.

I don't smoke (any more - I quit 22 years ago). I don't approve of smoking. I don't approve of people subjecting their children to their secondhand smoke. I didn't let anyone smoke near my children when they were little. But:

• There are many other things I don't approve of in respect of the way people choose to raise their children. Tough. Unless I think violence is being done, it's none of my business.
  
• Children are exposed to secondhand smoke in homes where parents and family members smoke - I can't see the government banning that!
• Who will police this thing? Will cops on the beat now have to add this offence to the many others they're supposed to prevent? The use of mobile phones while driving has been banned, but goes entirely unpoliced... and that, at least, is a traffic violation. Who will police a health and safety violation on the roads?
  

I can think of many things which place children at greater risk than people smoking in cars, some of which it would be very politically incorrect to even mention. Are we going to start placing a ban on those next?

I believe we can educate and warn people, but we cannot take away their right to make stupid decisions.

My 2p worth.

Internet addiction and mental illness

The free London paper ran a front page article today on the relationship between Internet addiction and mental illness, as researched by Dr Catriona Morrison.

If people are addicted, it can affect a person’s ability to perform at work or they may be failing to do chores so they can go online.’

However, she admitted more work needed to be done to establish whether addiction or mental illness comes first.

We all know that it is possible to become addicted to things that are otherwise pretty harmless, even healthy. But once things have reached addiction levels, it is a different matter entirely. I once saw a man selling his own children's toys on the pavement in order to get money for the next bottle. In the throes of addiction, people will contravene even their own codes of decency.

The thing is, when you're addicted to something, the only option seems to be a complete break. An alcoholic will never have the control necessary to become an occasional social drinker.

So what hope is there for an Internet addict? Cutting off all usage of the Internet would be akin to a voluntary imposition of illiteracy and near-hermitage.

Is a puzzlement.

My breasts and I...

...will continue to have one another's company, it seems.

Over the last few weeks, the Romeis household has been waiting to hear whether or not I had developed breast cancer - the scourge of the women on my father's side of the family. There was reason for concern after a recent mammogram, and an ultrasound confirmed the presence of cell clusters, but the biopsy results have returned with the good news that I am in the clear.

I learned something about myself during this time, and that is that I am unafraid to face death.

Because of my family history, most of us feel as if we live under the sword of Damocles anyway. A few have opted for prophylactic subcutaneous mastectomies. I have occasionally toyed with the idea, but that is as far as it has gone.

In South Africa, with the joys of private medical care at my disposal, I was able to have screening from an early age whenever I felt the need.

When we moved to the UK over 10 years ago, I lost this safety net. Screening here is only available to women between the ages of 50 and 64, and only every three years. For a decade I tried to persuade doctors that I should be screened earlier, to no avail. They only changed their minds recently, when HRT was indicated (for obvious reasons) and I declined on the grounds that it increases the risk of breast cancer. The doctor concerned (a student, as it turned out) asked myriad questions and sent me to a geneticist who concluded that I certainly have an increased risk in comparison with the rest of the population.

She set the wheels in motion and the very first screening in more than a decade took place a few weeks later.... and revealed shadows.

We now know that the shadows are no cause for concern. But while I was waiting for further tests and the results of those tests, I realised that I was utterly calm about the whole thing. Whatever transpired, I would deal with. My faith was tested - not for the first time - and came through with flying colours.

For those who already knew about this and have expressed support in various forms, I thank you.

pic of the day - gasp, wheeze

Most of the year, I have the lungs of a draught horse. I have, after all, had classical singing coaching. But come June, my bronchi and bronchiolae go on strike, and my every breath wheezes and rasps. Fortunately, I managed to find the asthma pumps I thought I had lost. Unfortunately, I can't remember which one I'm supposed to use daily and which ones I'm supposed to use in the event of an 'episode'.

pic of the day - sick

My elder son pretty much got to school, had a meeting with the head of 6th form and then turned around and came home, where he took to his bed. He's keeping me company, since I feel grotty, too.

A tale of medical woe...

I sent this email to my family yesterday and my mother is convinced I should share it with a wider audience. So here it is. Feel free to give it a miss if you're not interested in the detail of what went down at my nerve conduction test...

So the day of my 'emergency' nerve conduction test finally rolled around. John decided to drive me to the hospital and you will see why this proved to be a Good Thing.

A sweet, portly little man called Dr Aziz herded me into his little room and sat me down on the bed, facing him and his machine. He put a pillow in my lap, and I had to rest my arm on this. Palm up. The machine was kinda like a computer with wires coming out of it. It didn't really look scary. My PC has lots of wires coming out of it, too. So far, so ho hum. The kindly doctor chats conversationally. Okay, this is going to be easy.

Error! Error! Error!

He attached a thingy of some sort to my wrist with velcro. Then he attached an earth (I kid you not) to my palm. Next, he held an electrode against various parts of my arm and asked me to indicate when I felt an electric current each time. This ranged from vaguely prickly to 'whoops! what was that?' So far, so tolerable.

Error! Err... Okay, you get the general idea.

At this point, the odd little man selects a needle, which he attaches to one of the wires. Then he shoves the flipping needle right in to my deltoid muscle. Okay that wasn't pleasant. Then, he tells me to flex the muscle... while it has a ruddy great needle stuck in the middle of it. The machine starts chattering madly. I understand that it is reading the strength of the electrical impulses being transmitted along my muscle. Okay that was even more NOT pleasant. Are we done, yet?

Apparently not.

Now the sadist sticks the ruddy great needle into a little muscle next to my thumb. Since we have been getting on like a house on fire, and he has decided that I am an intelligent woman who wants to know this stuff, he tells me what the muscle is called. I think he called it the thisisfrickingouchitoid muscle. Yup. I'm pretty sure that was it. Now the raving lunatic (where did the sweet little man go? Is this what retired torturers re-train to do?) asks me to press my thumb up against the length of my forefinger. The machine chatters again. At this point, I can hear roaring in my ears. He pulls the needle out, and it is followed by torrents of blood. "I'm bleeding," I point out, stupidly. Well duh. The nurse lady, whose face has acquired an alarming habit of shape-shifting, calmly hands me a gauze pad. She seems not to appreciate that I might die of exsanguination at any moment!

The little viper stabs me in the tricep muscle and asks me to flex it. Sure. Why the heck not? muttermuttermumblemumble i'dliketoflexabluntinstrumentoveryourhead. I grit my teeth and comply, while the machine mocks me with its chattering laughter. I point out that I'm not feeling awfully well. The doctor sends the nurse lady to get me some water. I look forward to a sip of icy cold water to restore my equilibrium. She brings me something she swiped from someone's bed bath.

"Last one" announces the poisonous little toad with a smile and stabs me deep in the bicep. "Flex again." I comply and the world goes dark as the machine laughs long and loud. I can feel myself sliding sideways onto the bed. With a practised hand, the torturer whips the needle out before I land on it. Next thing I know, the doctor and the nurse are each holding one of my feet above the height of my head.

"I'm fine!" I announced decisively and sit up hastily to prove it. Bad idea. Head between knees time.

After a few moments, the sadist morphs back into the doctor. The shapeshifter becomes a nurse. The gushing torrents of blood turn out to be about four drops from each wound.

I totter back to my husband. Why, oh why did I wear 4" heels today?

It was at least an hour before the pain in my thumb went away, and the muscles still twinge if I catch them at an odd angle.

BUT

The doc thinks there is no need for surgery. What a sweet little man!

pic of the day - nerve conduction test

Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.

I went for my nerve conduction test today. Fortunately John decided to drive me there, because it would have been a while before I was in a fit state to drive back.

First, this very sweet little rheumatologist man attached some electrodes to various parts of my arm and hand and asked me to say when I could feel the current passing through the muscles. That bit was prickly but not really painful.

Then, when I thought we were done, he stuck a needle right into my deltoid muscle and asked me to flex it. Slightly painful. Next he stuck the needle into a tiny little muscle right next to my thumb. Ouch! He did tell me the name of the muscle, but I was in no mood to pay attention. He asked me to flex that muscle, too, which was very painful... and it remains painful now. After that came the tricep. Slightly painful. Then came the bicep. Sore enough when the needle went in, but when I had to flex it ("as hard as you can, please"), it was too much.

I passed out.

This has obviously happened before, because I distinctly remember the doctor whipping the needle out as I slid sideways onto the bed. Thank goodness, because I landed on that side! I was only out for moments, I'm sure. But when I came 'round, the doctor and the nurse had each raised one of my legs above the level of my head.

The good news is that it seems there is no need for surgery.

Apparently, the orthopod will advise me as to exercises I can do, and what positions to adopt when sleeping, etc. I can't help feeling that this sort of advice should have been given several months ago when I first hurt myself.

But I'm too thrilled at the 'no surgery' prognosis to be upset about it.

On confidentiality and trust

So I get this phone call today. Some guy with a strong accent, obviously based in an off-shore call centre asks for me by name. When I say that he already is already speaking to me, he says he believes I recently got injured in an accident that wasn't my fault. I tell him that this is not the case. "Oh?" he says. "No slips or falls, then, in the past few months?"

So what I want to know is this - do they just work their way through the phone records and make these same overtures to everyone? Or has the call centre some how got their hands on my NHS records?

Because, yes. I did have a fall several months ago. I slipped on the stairs and grabbed the rail to stop myself from falling. In the process, I injured my neck really badly. I am only just beginning to recover from it.

But it happened in my home... so who would I sue? And it was (kind of) my own fault. I was wearing new glasses and misjudged the top step. Should I sue the opticians?

Sometimes things happen and we just have to accept that it was unfortunate and move on with our lives. All this suing and litigating... it's no way to live.

But I digress.

Some years ago, my husband was a partner in a printing bureau. They printed what amounts to junkmail. Of the kind that is addressed to you personally. Various sources were available for this information: TV licence data, voters' roll data, telephone lists, etc. While even this is a bit of a grey area for me in terms of ethics, at least it is only my name and address that is being made available.

But when someone in India knows about a fall I had... well, I thought medical records were supposed to be confidential.

Or is it indeed just a co-inky-dink, and I'm just reading too much into it?

pic of the day - clematis

This time of the year in the UK is when we find out why we put up with clematis the rest of the year, when its appearance ranges from shabby to utterly unsightly. Just look at this glorious sight!

And just to share a chuckle...

As evidence that a current ad campaign in the UK is raising awareness... after a fashion. An elderly lady was recently overheard to say that she had a beautiful chlamydia all over one side of her house.

pic of the day - pamper time

The recent marked (and unexpected) improvement in my mobility has meant I have been able to reinstate my Sunday night ritual of a DIY pedicure. Neglected looking feet give me the heeby-jeebies.

pic of the day - Karyn the red nosed girl, dear!

Guess what the Easter bunny brought me! Wretched little rodent!

pic of the day - blood

A friend of mine is encouraging me to consider becoming a bood donor. He invited me to come with him tonight when he gave blood. It's undeniably a good thing to do, and my mother and both her parents gave blood for as long as they were allowed to. But, I don't do well with needles and I mean, look at that one - it's like a flipping yoghurt straw!

Today has been cancelled...

I woke up this morning feeling unspeakably ill, with a head that was pounding worse than it ever has. Frighteningly so. It certainly frightened me. And it frightened my sons enough that they set all sorts of wheels in motion to have me looked at. Of course, their first call was to my husband who was already on the train to work - a two hour journey. Poor man. Can you imagine how helpless he felt?

His first call was to one of our pastors, who arrived with his wife within minutes. They kindly took me to the doctor, who decided I was having an adverse reaction to the new painkillers I had been prescribed. They are well known for having severe side-effects, among which is swelling on the brain.

We have had a very scary morning. This might be as much as I am able to do today.

pic of the day - it isn't arthritis

So, the results of my recent xrays came back today. The good news is that I don't have arthritis. The bad news is that we now have no idea why my fingers are changing shape!

pic of the day - waiting

My appointment was scheduled for 15:50.

Please note that I did not call them and request a 15:50 slot. That's not how the NHS works. They send you a letter telling you where and when to report, include a snippy little paragraph about kindly being punctual. If you can't make the slot they allocate you, they push you to the back of the queue and send you another letter of the same sort instructing you where to go and when to go there on some date about 3 months after the first one.

Having kindly been punctual, I was not best pleased to still be waiting at the time this picture was taken, especially not since the office staff had just shut up shop and left and I was all alone in the waiting room, having originally arrived to find it heaving with people.

I was finally called at 17:45, when I was met by an officious, self-important little man who had the nerve to tell me that sometimes we were dealt these life-changing events, but that this was not one of them. He lectured me about working around the constraints of my current circumstances without once enquiring (a) what my life normally looked like or (b) whether I had indeed already made any adjustments!

The upshot is that surgery is required and I am being referred to yet another unit to that end. Goodness knows how long that will take!

yesterday's pic of the day - fail

Last night, I was due to attend a presentation by a lady from the local premature baby unit, during which we were to knit hats for the premature babies. The reason for this is that the babies wear these hats to help keep their body temperatures up as they lack this capacity themselves. Of course, most of the babies leave the hospital still wearing the hats, which means they need a constant supply.

I had planned to take a photo of the ladies busily knitting away for yesterday's pic of the day, but, instead wound up rushing my younger son to the after-hours medical practice. He's fine, but of course, I didn't think to take my camera with me as I hurtled out of the door! As a consequence I came up empty yesterday.

Fortunately, I have been knitting a few of these hats in any case, so here you see a photo of two of them, with my standard sized business card included for size reference.

LPoD - mental illness

Today's learning point needs no words from me. This video clip does it all.

pic of the day - xray

I went for an xray of my hands today to see how bad my arthritis is. For years I have said that I thought I might have arthritis in the top knuckles of some of my fingers, but the doctor always said that this was impossible (a) because arthritis would affect the second knuckle and (b) because it would develop in all my fingers simultaneously.

Such a pity my mother's pinkie fingers and right index finger never got that memo!

Since we moved and now go to a different practice, the doctor picked up almost immediately that I had arthritis and was appalled that I hadn't been receiving treatment. Apparently, new drugs significantly retard the progress of the condition... as long as they are administered early enough.

Oh, and a quick word for the local radiography team. I arrived 15 minutes early for my appointment and was on my way again before the time for my appointment had even rolled around. Nice work, ladies!

LPoD - mushrooms and cancer

According to an article my husband ripped out of a free London newspaper, "eating a daily portion of mushrooms could cut the reisk of breast cancer by up to two-thirds".

The article cites the International Journal of Cancer. According to this article from the BBC, combining this consumption of mushrooms with a regular intake of green tea can reduce the chances of breast cancer by up to 90%.

However, Dr Sarah Cant of Breakthrough Breast Cancer sounds a note of caution:

"Breast cancer incidence rates do vary in different countries and China has lower rates than the UK.

"However, this is likely to be due to cultural and lifestyle differences such as having children earlier or exercising more for example, and is unlikely to be solely due to diet.

"We still aren't sure which individual food types influence the chance of developing this disease."

The research findings seem to have been picked up by several major newspapers, each of which pick up a different slant on the story.

I have tried unsuccesfully to find a web presence of the journal itself, so if anyone knows of a URL, I'm all ears.

In the meantime, I'm more than happy to eat 10g of mushrooms a day.