Which Way Should I Go?
Daily Health News from Healthfinder.gov comes to my email daily. Sometimes it's anything but inspiring. Sometimes it's downright depressing.
Today there are two stories of interest, one sites a study that states moderate drinking increases women's ability to think (pass the Scotch, please) -- oddly, it doesn't make much mention of liver problems or other health problems caused by consumption of alcohol.
Don't know about you, but I could use a brain boost.
The second story of interest is in reference to Multiple Sclerosis in men and the correlation of testosterone and brain atrophy. Men treated with 100mg of testosterone applied to the skin showed significant cognitive improvement in brain processing speed and memory, over a 12 month period. That's great news, but not what comes to mind when I'm thinking of victims of MS.
What an incidious disease. Ranks right up there with Alzheimer's, Parkinsons, and all those nasties that rob humans of their dignity.
What really comes to mind is a gentleman I had the privelege of caring for during nursing school. By the time I'd met him, he'd been bed ridden for 10 years. His mind seemed quite intact and sharp to me. His wife deserves a huge credit for keeping him in good shape, too.
He was an absolute delight to work with. I adored the man, and his wife.
One morning, the doctors and their residents came to his room on rounds. One of the residents was doing what residents do, asking lots and lots of questions. This resident was asking the gentleman questions to determine his mental status. He asked my patient the date, and other things. My patient gave him some truly off the wall date. I thought it was odd at first.
As I was standing at the residents elbow, I watched him chart. What I saw outraged me. He wrote, "dementia" and a bunch of qualifying statements to prove his case.
When I saw the resident in the hall, I told him I'd spent quite a bit of time with that man, and he could not possibly have dementia. The resident rambled on about how he was right in his diagnosis, I rambled back why he was incorrect.
I suppose it was a draw.
The point, from my perspective is, this man was bedridden. For 10 years. 10 years is a really long time. When you have not much to do but lay in bed, for t e n y e a r s ...
time doesn't mean a darn thing.
Today there are two stories of interest, one sites a study that states moderate drinking increases women's ability to think (pass the Scotch, please) -- oddly, it doesn't make much mention of liver problems or other health problems caused by consumption of alcohol.
Don't know about you, but I could use a brain boost.
The second story of interest is in reference to Multiple Sclerosis in men and the correlation of testosterone and brain atrophy. Men treated with 100mg of testosterone applied to the skin showed significant cognitive improvement in brain processing speed and memory, over a 12 month period. That's great news, but not what comes to mind when I'm thinking of victims of MS.
What an incidious disease. Ranks right up there with Alzheimer's, Parkinsons, and all those nasties that rob humans of their dignity.
What really comes to mind is a gentleman I had the privelege of caring for during nursing school. By the time I'd met him, he'd been bed ridden for 10 years. His mind seemed quite intact and sharp to me. His wife deserves a huge credit for keeping him in good shape, too.
He was an absolute delight to work with. I adored the man, and his wife.
One morning, the doctors and their residents came to his room on rounds. One of the residents was doing what residents do, asking lots and lots of questions. This resident was asking the gentleman questions to determine his mental status. He asked my patient the date, and other things. My patient gave him some truly off the wall date. I thought it was odd at first.
As I was standing at the residents elbow, I watched him chart. What I saw outraged me. He wrote, "dementia" and a bunch of qualifying statements to prove his case.
When I saw the resident in the hall, I told him I'd spent quite a bit of time with that man, and he could not possibly have dementia. The resident rambled on about how he was right in his diagnosis, I rambled back why he was incorrect.
I suppose it was a draw.
The point, from my perspective is, this man was bedridden. For 10 years. 10 years is a really long time. When you have not much to do but lay in bed, for t e n y e a r s ...
time doesn't mean a darn thing.
posted by KennewickMusing at
5:50 PM
|
0 comments
