Having your medical information readily available in case of emergency is very important, particularly after weight loss surgery.  OnlineOrganizing.com has a great option called the Medictag Health History Organizer.

If you are technically savvy, you could also create something like this for yourself:  Buy a small flash drive – one of the cheaper ones without a lot of memory will be fine – and place it on a key ring.  Create a Word or Excel document that includes all of your medical history and download it to the flash drive.  Create a form for each member of your family as well!  Use a label maker to label the tag so that in an emergency, the paramedics will notice it easily.

For examples of what items to list, check out some of these forms:

Free Medical Alert Card

In Case of Emergency

Emergency Form

Dear Brother, 

One person. You. Innumerable medical labels. Associated with you. Here is one more, one that I made up. See if you can decipher it. You were what I call, a BB baby. No, that does not mean you were born at a Bed and Breakfast. It means blue at birth. Did you just – gasp!

Lack of oxygen causes one to become blue. This condition is, in its most extreme, fatal. Most who are born with insufficient oxygen do so with brain damage. Above and beyond the chromosomal abnormality that you already had, limited oxygen supply to your brain at birth, caused you to be rather, for lack of a better word, you. 

You, dear brother, enter this world with your own set of baggage. These are mostly medical in nature. We, your family, have no choice but to enter into a long and steady association with the medical profession. Over the years, faces have changed. Advice has differed. The role has been the same – provide medical relief to you and us. A bond. It continues to this day. 

The first such person to fill these shoes is Ma’s gynecologist. Now it so happens that she had a daughter who had the same syndrome as you. So she is in a unique position to inform dad about your development having personally experienced her own child’s uniqueness. Talk about synchronicity!

Armed with some knowledge, better than none I suppose, we start our care for you. But life stops when you turn one. Herein starts the first of what will become a part and parcel of our lives, our life with you. Frequenting the doctor. Life hits these detours. They come up on us, suddenly, unexpectedly, forcing us to stand calm. Tackle them we do, hoping to get back on track soon. We do but the ride is never too smooth for too long before we hit another medical detour.

By the time you reach the one year mark, we notice that every time you fall down, hurt yourself, knock against something, you turn blue. Concerned, we seek medical advice. The doctors want to investigate. They suspect there is a hole in your heart.

The only way to find out and rectify this is through an operation. They give us a date. We take you in. They roll you into the operating room with dad by your side. They give you anesthesia. Nothing. You don’t react. They wait. They increase the dose. Still nothing. You just don’t react. They have never seen anything like it. They keep you in the hospital for a week. In the end, they let us bring you home. They cannot perform the operation under the prevailing conditions. They ask us to be cautious. 

Cautious, we are. The problem that plagues you, that of turning blue on contact, fades with the years. Others take its place. You develop an abscess in your left thigh shortly thereafter. We find ourselves in the hospital again. This time, a small surgery is scheduled and anesthesia or no anesthesia, the abscess needs to be drained.

There is one rather unique feature to your personality. You, since the day you were born, never cried. NEVER. No matter how serious the injury or harsh the discipline, cry is not something you did. Now, in the hospital, going under the knife will change that, or so we think.

Lack of a normal response to pain coupled with no reaction to anesthesia brings out quite a range of reactions in us, your dear family. We worry. We fear. We lose sleep. We cry. Our ultimate recourse? God. To Him we pray. To give you the ability to bear the pain. You do. Your response? The same as before. You go through this entire ordeal without reacting to the anesthesia, without shedding a single tear. 

As your medical problems change, so does our family doctor. This is primarily because of our move to New Delhi, when you are 7. Ma’s cousin leads us, in 1998 to her friend, a physician. 

Every two weeks we are seen trekking to his clinic. It is usually dad who escorts you. During these visits, you are not only sick but also eerily quiet. Now, silence is not one of your strengths. You are known, by one and all, to be a chatterbox. So afraid are you of the doctor that you retrieve into a shell. Your otherwise animated personality undergoes a complete change. You ARE sick, I remind myself. But there is more here than plain ailment. It is your intense fear of the doctor. More so, of needles, might I add. This standard protocol, twentieth year in its running, has not found you any less fearful of the dear doctor. 

Your bond with him is special. He knows you inside out. He knows your reactions, symptoms, ailments, prognosis, treatments. You know him from the outside in. You know his questions, his probes, his instruments, his assistant. You dance around each other, each on your best behavior. He wants to affect change. You want change to be pain-free. Both looking for the same outcome, using different methods.

You love him as much as you hate what he does. Despite your feelings, you are cooperative. You know medicines make you better. You agree to taking medication that is prescribed. You do so unerringly. The trips that end in the prescription of oral medication find you emerging from your shell at the clinic itself. You are relieved. You resume your vibrant persona. Or at least try, your stamina permitting. So happy are you about these non-threatening visits, you border on becoming hyper. 

Hyper you are not. On trips that require immediate medical attention. These are times when you have acquired some kind of bug, when you cannot stop throwing up, when your stomach has given way, when no other over the counter medication has worked. These trips require dad to be fit and ready. These trips, we all know, will end in intravenous cure.

The doctor checks in with dad and you. Always you. He knows what to look for. He decides on the course of action. When it is known that an injection is what is required, he informs you. Directly. Honestly. Quickly. You will need to go into the small inner room that houses a stretcher. You are terrified now. Pleading with him to give you medicines. But everyone knows that is not to be. Your situation warrants a stronger treatment. 

Dad has to drag you into the room. The doctor and dad physically hold you down. You struggle. Hard. With all your might. Here is one characteristic that works against us. Your strength. Strength that you have acquired from all those years of physical exercise. You might be weak physiologically, but have colossal strength physically. With time, this act of physical restraint is not just dreaded by you but also by the doctor and dad. As you have strength in your favor, they have years against them. But that has not stopped the doctor from giving you the relief you need. Nor dad from taking you to see him.

Present in our lives, for almost three decades, has been our dear doctor. He does not live with us. But he is never far. Our lives’ ups do not concern him much. It is our lives’ downs that he soothes. To him we bestow honorary membership in the family. The good doctor provides medical relief, relief that is required frequently and consistently, urgent in many cases, routine in others, but always, I repeat, always unfailing. Our lives, without him, would have been over. Before it even started.

Love,

‘Princess’

Contractors Using Military Clinics

Civilians Also Are Not Paying, Audit Says

By Walter PincusWashington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, May 7, 2009

Military clinics and field hospitals in Iraq and Afghanistan have supplied more than $1 million a month in health-care services to civilian contractors during the past two years without seeking reimbursement from their employers, as provided by law, according to a new audit by the Defense Department inspector general.

That’s what we’ve been hearing.
We are getting numerous reports on dealing with CNA’s claims adjusters.

We are reposting this from ProPublica

Note that Daniel is typing with two fingers, the two that they didn’t amputate.

JUST LOOK HOW I HAVE TO BATTLE TO GET MEDICATION. THIS E-MAIL WAS ADRESSED TO DONNA SRPAGS.

Donna
I’m disputing the facts as per your attorney’s letter claiming I have reached MMI. The fact that I need medication on a continuous base has nothing to do with the fact that have an attorney.
In the time that you used the services of Roger Levy you continued to speak to me via e-mail. Please stop ignoring Unitas’s request to provide me with medication. You sent them a letter requesting that they forward all detail about the medication that i need.
If I do not receive my medication, my health would seriously be affected. IF my health is affected as a result of your refusal to talk to me, I would not hesitate to charge you with criminal negligence is that understood!!!!!!!!!
I’m not one of the locals that are messing with. Stop your childish behaveior and pay for my medication. Your are not even attempting to settle any dispute. I will post my e-mails to you on every site on the net possible until you start paying my debts.
I worked in the intelligence/security branch of the Police in my country. Please do not underestimate my intelligence. I leave you with i final thought………….
“I wonder if your friends in Sienna Girls High School in the USA no that your are killings innocent contractors by refusing them medication and benefits”
Please have a good nights sleep and pray before you go to sleep.

Daniel Brink

While Executives Get Bonuses, John Woodson Gets “Cheapest They Could Get Away With”
By AVNI PATEL and BRIAN ROSS
April 16, 2009
Story here
http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/Story?id=7346693&page=1
An Oklahoma man who lost an eye and a leg in Iraq says the giant insurance company AIG refused to provide him a new plastic leg and fought to keep from paying for a wheelchair or glasses for the eye in which he has 30 percent vision.
“They bought the cheapest thing that they could get away with,” said 51-year old John Woodson, a truck driver for the KBR contracting firm who lost his leg when his truck hit a roadside bomb in Iraq.

“Everything’s been a struggle, a constant fight,” said Woodson, injured in Oct. 2004. “It’s been hell since.”
Woodson is covered by AIG under a government-mandated program that provides medical and disability benefits for employees working for U.S. contractors in Iraq and Afghanistan. AIG covers about 90 percent of the claims for overseas workers.

Still in constant pain, Woodson says he was infuriated to see AIG executives receive huge bonuses, travel on private jets and be pampered at a California spa.

“They’re getting their bonuses but they fight you, they’ll constantly fight in order to try to get you to give up,” said Woodson, of Poteau, Oklahoma.

Woodson is one of a number of injured contractors whose alleged difficulties with AIG were examined in the joint investigation.
AIG said it could not discuss any specific case, but that it strives to provide “quality” care.
“We think we’re helping the military with out insurance program,” said AIG executive John Russo.

In Woodson’s case, when his fuel truck hit the hidden bomb outside Baghdad, he was blown through the roof of his cab and thrown about a hundred feet away, also damaging his back and breaking his pelvis.

Woodson says he was told by an AIG representative in the hospital that he would be fully covered by AIG, but that when he returned home, he quickly discovered AIG was prepared to challenge almost all of his medical needs.

“I’ve had to argue for everything, you constantly stay on the phone, writing letters, e-mailing, trying to get things to happen,” Woodson said.

To cushion the impact on his injured back and pelvis, Woodsen asked AIG for a new plastic leg with a spring in the foot.

“It was just so painful just to walk,” Woodson said.

He says AIG refused to buy him a new leg, which he says would have cost about $8,000.

AIG also refused, he said, to provide him a water-proof leg so he could remain standing and take a shower.

U.S. military amputees are normally provided three different legs, to cover a full range of walking, showering and exercising.

In the end, Woodson says he thinks it was pressure from his lawyer and Sen. Tom Coburn (R-OK) that forced AIG to finally provide an improved leg, with replacement parts, but not a new one as his doctor had ordered.

Woodson’s lawyer, Toby Cole, says he sees a pattern of AIG “delaying and denying” claims from contractors injured in Iraq and Afghanistan.

“It’s difficult for me to think it’s anything but a concentrated effort just to ignore these guys,” said Cole.

In its statement, AIG says the “vast majority” of claims are “paid without dispute when the proper supporting medical evidence has been received.”

More than 30,000 contractors have filed claims for injuries suffered in Iraq and Afghanistan. More than 1,400 have died

Dear Brother,

You are three. A decision has been made to have you attend school. And here you assumed, life with a disability would be a cruise. You’d have others take care of you. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Well, you are in the midst of humans now. Any preconceived notion you might have had before birth can be put to rest. You see, humans tend to have many ideas about situations that they find themselves in, be it good, bad, new, old, exciting, depressing. One of these ideas, a brilliant one I say, is for you to go to school. And you should know – humans know best!

Ma’s friend, a good friend, is the founder of this school. She is instrumental in the monumental decision to have you attend it. The school is in a small industrial town in India. A nursery school. Above all, it is one for all kids, not just kids with disabilities, all kids. Here, you are the only one with a disability. Did we have any other options? No! Are we dumbstruck to have stumbled upon a solution to this issue of your schooling? Undoubtedly.

By now, you are about 2 feet tall, able to walk and run. Speech poses a hurdle. Those early years find you frequently ill. We find ourselves frequenting the hospital responding to your medical needs, hoping to subsequently, rout your medical issues. Your immune system does fortify as the years go by. This gives us hope. We hope you are ready for school. 

Your school uniform constitutes red pants and a white shirt with the logo LAS embroidered on the front pocket in red cursive. LAS for Little Angels School. Your school bag contains some workbooks, a pencil box, and your tiffin. Ma is responsible for transporting you to school. It is about 5 miles from our home. She straps you to a pram and off you go. The terrain is hilly and picturesque. What a ride! Ma would push you to the end of the world if need be. All in search of solutions!

Some days I chip in. How do I do it? On my bike. Yes, dear brother, that is my mode of transport. What am I thinking? Placing a child with a disability on a bike behind the biker? Blame it on my instincts. They goad me on. I place you on the pannier rack while the bike is on the kickstand. I take both your legs and cross them in front of the seat tube. They barely make it but once I have your feet crossed, I get on the seat. You know this is your cue to hug me from behind. And hug me, you do. You are holding on for dear life. Off we go over the hilly terrain. Your legs come undone sometimes and then they dangle against the spinning rear wheel. This is my cue to stop. I get off the bike and start this whole process over. One thing that never comes undone, your grip on me. Thank goodness! If they did, you’d be off the bike, dear brother. Your survival instincts, I am happy to deduce, are in place. My gut instinct, I am happy to claim, is validated.

About your attendance at this school, there is no question, no second guessing, no doubt. It is a given. This is a first for all concerned, teachers, kids, parents alike. No one knows what to expect. No one knows what to do. But everyone is ready to have you in their midst. The principal, teachers, maids, and finally, the guard. 

The principal, Ma’s friend, strategically assigns a teacher. The best ever made. She is a natural with kids. Especially kids that age. But what about a kid like you? What ABOUT a kid like you? You are treated like everyone else. No fuss. No frills. No favors. 

The teacher does one thing, something just for you. She stations a pint-sized chair to her left. That is your assigned seat. You are a tad hyper compared to the rest. When you attempt to walk or run, she has proximal advantage. The principal also assigns her own maid, who is a secretary and assistant rolled in one, to take care of your bathroom needs. Apart from a teacher, a chair, and a maid, everything else is routine.

You are smaller than the other kids. But your vibrancy supersedes them all. You are an addition to the class. A worthy addition. You go to morning prayer with your class. Stay lined up like the rest. You engage in all the activities with your class. Complete these like the rest. You start to articulate sounds. You pick up new skills every day. The skills build on one another like the blocks you stack to build pyramids. You are exposed to phonics, numbers, shapes, colors. You learn it all. The more you learn, the more the staff are spurred. This is not what they expected. This is not a light matter.

You love going to school. We love having a place where you belong. Outside of the house. A place to socialize. A place for others to know you.

As the days pass, your progress follows a straight path. Just as we start to revel in your growth, we come to a sudden stop. Your teacher has made the decision to have you participate in a cultural program. The news renders us speechless. We question. We doubt. We worry. We find this has no precedence. But the teacher has faith. She now knows you. She plans to have you recite a nursery rhyme by yourself replete with actions. The rhyme – I’m A Little Teapot. We waste no time. We jump in with both feet.

Practice starts. With you. Ma, dad, and I rehearse day and night. With you. We eat, breathe, talk rhyme. With you. We can now eloquently recite I’m A… in our sleep. We dream of teapot. 

D-day arrives. A big event it is to be. A showcase of budding talent. You are to take center stage. Dad cannot make it to the show but Ma and I are there. Along with other parents, staff, kids, and related professionals. In some ways, we want others to see your potential. In other ways, we are petrified. We just don’t want you to fail. 

You sport a denim jumper, light yellow t-shirt, smart sneakers, and a smile. You are ready. On cue, you begin.

I’m A Little Teapot

I’m a little teapot
Short and stout
This is my handle
This is my spout

When I get all steamed up
Hear me shout:
Tip me over
and pour me out!

As you perform, your actions are visible but the sounds, around us, have deadened. We are numb. Then we hear it. Thunderous applause. Deafening cheers. For you. For showing up. For shining. For stealing the show. 

This here, your propensity for performance. This here, a showcase of your talent. This here, the first feather in your cap. 

Love,

‘Princess’

Not many things with a “Copyright 2003 Apple Computer, Inc.” are still around, much less functional.

Except my trusty iPod Gen 3, 40 GB. It’s jam packed and the << button ceased to work a while ago, but it just keeps spinning. A while back I ordered a Do-it Yerself battery replacement kit. Like a surgeon hovering over a patient, I pried it gently open, tweezed out the postage stamp sized battery, replaced it and closed it all back up.

Wah lah. Full battery that would actually stay charged for longer than 10 minutes. I’ve never felt so proud. Another stand against the Planned Obsolescence hard-wired within these devices.

Then a month later while riding home, I had a little bike accident and fell on top of ol’ trusty. While is still played, the LCD screen was cracked, completely eliminating it.

Now it became a decision, buy an new screen for nearly 50$ or say farewell to my little friend. A new 80GB is only 250$, about half what I paid for mine 5 years ago. Plus it has a BIG color screen! And it’s got a sleek new look! It’s lighter! You can watch VIDEO! It comes in sexy black or stylish silver. It ships within 24 hours!

Waaaait a minute. I feel like I am slipping into a trap.

I talked to Rich about my dilemma, to which he replied, “I am surprised it still works, I’ve been through 3 of them since my Gen 3.”

Yep. Planned obsolescence. Who knows what went wrong with Rich’s, just stopped working. Everything on it is still good — looks brand new, battery still good, dock in perfect condition, screen not broken.

Hold the iPhone. Screen?

I asked Rich if he still had it – yes. Would he be willing to part it out? Hell yes.

Going into uncharted territory, I did a double open surgery and swapped out the screens.

Power. Lights. Action.

It’s a small black and white screen, but it still works.

F*ck you Apple.
- Monte Mead, M.D.

NRN has been working with a doctor to help meet the needs of students and teachers in their schools. You can find out more about this exciting new program by reading the latest newsletter (PDF).

Please consider the needs that the newsletter lists. These include prayer, monetary donations, and other specific items. Contact NRN in Indiana if you would like to help with this project.

During the 2007 trip, the book “Where There is no Doctor” was found to be interesting and useful. Many in the group expressed interest in having their own copy, and a copy of the book was left with one of the first aid kits that travel around in the vans and buses.

You can purchase a copy of the book through Hesperian.org. You can also download a free copy. Hesperian also has made many other free downloads and resources available, and in general, has a lot to offer. If you are taking part in a missions group with a medical focus, you might want to check out these resources.

Are you in the medical profession and are interested in coming along on a trip to serve in that area?

There are a number of health issues seen in Nicaragua. Kidney infections, anemia, parasites, diabetes and cavities are some of the most common problems. We also see a conjunctivitis and impetigo from troublesome living conditions of the children and babies. Malnutrition is also very common among all ages.

Our hope is to continue to expand the humanitarian opportunities as we have access to resources. We are hoping to have practicing medical professionals travel with us to share their gifts with those that truly are in need. Doctors, nurses, optometrists, dentists and hygienists would be a real asset that we hope to be able to offer. Until they come, we will work with the local professionals as much as we can.

In 2007, two trips included a medical aspect. Working with a local dentist from Nicaragua, we were able to hold a dental clinic at the church over a period of three days. Cleaning and extracting teeth were the main focus, although patients with more extensive needs were taken to Leon for further work to be done. We also held a clinic and community health education class session.

The medical needs are there; we just need to find medical professionals willing to travel to Nicaragua and help us!