Caregivers Part 3

There is so much more to say about the original members of my professional team, a few of whom remain members of my team.

There were the two times I removed the trache on my own somehow, causing some concern among those folks . Even in a morphinic stupor (I might have made up the word ‘morphinic’ but it seems like it should be a real word, you know?), I knew that the call over the loudspeakers about a code in my area had to do with me, since I was surrounded by beautiful young women trying to figure out what to do with me (none of the options they were discussing nearly as appealing as the ones I had in mind .)

That was the second time . First time, my wife and another nurse decided they could handle it, and managed to get it back in, no easy thing, considering that unlike others they might have dealt with, they had to be concerned that my throat might be shaped a bit differently following my surgery. On top of that, I do not think that either of them was in to the trach replacement business in their day jobs.

They did it, though, with great concern and effort, and we were all decidedly happier for the effort. And the concern. At least until I decided to take it out again.

I will have to say that they treated it like baiting a hook, though. They didn’t WANT to do it, but knew they HAD to do it. That kind of thing.

No complaints here. I am up. I am breathing.

It is easy to see how some people become frightened or disheartened when they learn that they are ‘losing’ their doctors, even when the reason is that these folks are no longer needed. If we have been lucky, as I have been, they have done so much to save us, and so much to make it less traumatic, less painful, than it might be.

Of course. It is very easy to understand how we fear losing them. But lose them we must, if we are to move on with our lives. Eventually.

Another round with cancer, however, brings you right back into the mix. I know.

And, if you are lucky, to another cast of outstanding characters working on your behalf to save your life. So it was with me. I mentioned the doc who wheeled me to my room, and who deserves special accommodation as a result (what was that, about a $10,000 gurney ride? ).

But there were others again. In fact, I remember this crew with much more clarity somehow. And I have talked about some of them before: the guys that put the trache tubes in for my surgery, for example, the guys that stuck me for the epidural each time, my cardiopulmonologist, the guy that did the heavy lifting this time. All great (well, with the exception of the bonehead on the second trache tube. I am sure you know how I feel about that throat Nazi.)

There was the fairly obviously, um, let’s just say a guy that I thought was a girl for the longest time… who came around every single day and made sure I had ice cream. And the Philipino male nurse who asked me if I wanted him to give me a bath. Cracked us both up, but not before I acted like I was thinking about it.

And the nurses you have read about I think who saved me during the first part of the MSSA episode, one of whom was able to make me laugh about the entire experience DURING the experience. Those are people you want on your side.

There are many, many others, and it is not as though I have forgotten them, but that I am running out of room.. There was Pakistani Pulmo, my pulmonologist, who was the funniest guy I was involved with, who didn’t know how to dress (and I can probably get a job just dressing this dude everyday, now that I think about it) who sometimes showed up in such a getup that he could be mistaken for a priest, a priest with a fuzzier than normal v-neck sweater and a black suit jacket that did not match his pants.

So funny, though. We competed to make the other laugh, and I am not sure who won. Perhaps my wife won, because one night, as we strolled the halls with my anchor (IV pole and lung pipe apparatus) he saw us and stopped to talk with us and exclaimed that he had worked an 11 hour day, to which my wife responded, Oh, so now you know what it feels like to be a nurse.

Touche.

We all laughed. Really laughed. And he still says hi to her and asks how I am doing:).

And the respiratory therapists, some of whom were boring and therefore cruel, in a small sense, but others who helped me to carry on, including the lovely young lady who made it seem like an erotic experience to suck in oxygen and inhaler meds through the same kind of mask they drop down when your airplane is crashing.

And the guy who came in late at night, reeking of cologne, to suggest that if I wanted to skip one he was cool with that and he would be back in four hours, me there, nodding vehemently and silently, of course, so that my wife, sleeping in her couch bed off to the side wouldn’t waken and deny this deal, the same guy I talked some sports with on an occasion or two, keeping me connected to the real world and real people.

I hope she was worth it, whomever he was skipping out with, because he could have gotten into a lot of trouble. He is the guy, too, who probably overdid it with the mustard gas, now that I think about it, but still, a deal’s a deal, and I was happy to skip treatment a time or two, as most of you, okay some of you, okay one or two of you, will appreciate.

I am leaving a lot of people out here, especially doctors. There were so many of them that it is hard to keep track of them. But this is not a paean to them, but thanks. I thank them.

They saved me. I thank them. You are the best.

But you were paid caregivers, not that I am giving shortshrift for that reason. You were paid caregivers, even if you were the best. Even if you saved my life, which I know you did, once and then again. Even if you made it as painless as it could possibly be, something I am more amazed by every day, as I listen to others and learn of their pain and hardship, of the carelessness and heartlessness of their caregivers from time to time.

The most powerful caregivers in the world, of course, are those who care with love. The most powerful caregivers in the world, of course, are those who care so much that your pain, my pain, does not equal theirs.

Caregivers Part 2: The Cancer Cowboys (07/25/08)

GP had to turn me over to the authorities eventually. I was guilty of cancer, after all. He did his best, and he would play a major role all along the way, but it was time to hand it over to the boys (and girls) in the long white coats (some longer than others): The Cancer Cowboys.

You’ve read something of my treatment and all of that, so let me just say this: once we had a diagnosis, they took the time to give me the time to watch a football game (probably, in reality, their way of saying, he** yeah, then the ambulance doesn’t have to hurry!) and then I went off in the ambulance to the BIG hospital. The one where my wife works, incidentally. I felt like I was in good hands. And that is probably a really good thing, since she planned it that way. (Note to self: don’t have this much life insurance while married to a nurse.)

But I must say this: if you have to be in an ambulance, you want to be the driver. I do not mean that I had a bad driver (I did not care at the moment). I mean that I would rather drive an ambulance and play with the siren than be the guy in the back with the glazed but gaping eyes, IV hanging out and two people leaning over to make sure he doesn’t die en route.

Personal choice. I’m just saying. Give it some thought if you ever get the choice. If you cannot drive, at least yell “Shotgun!” before someone else does.

I couldn’t yell “Shotgun!”. I had a sock in my mouth.

I was stuck in the back. I was the guy with the glazed and gaping eyes.

My team had won, by the way, so maybe that explained the glazed and gaping eyes.

In any event, at the hospital, I met the Cancer Cowboys. I cannot promise you that all of them stood before me at once, not there, not at the beginning. They may have. I have memories of that, but my memories are suspect. I was there, I think, to assure them that I could survive what they were going to do to me. And to wean me of certain minor vices I had . But enough of that. Envision this, because eventually it was true, and I’m pretty sure it was true right up front: there were SEVEN people standing around my bed, in various lengths of white coat. We know what that means, of course: the longer your coat, the longer you’ve been in the business. That is, a guy with a LOOONG coat, he is the boss. A lady with a SHOOOORT coat, she is a student being trained not to mess up before finals.

In between, you have the residents and the interns and whatever they choose to call themselves (or whatever others choose to call them, depending on coat length, I suppose). Didn’t matter to me. I was enamored by the idea of Silverado being played out right before my eyes.

I had all of these gunslingers standing around my bed, having a look at me, all of them smiling and nodding, some of them pulling out their pistols and spinning them in the air, one lady taking a clean shot at the Monet ripoff hanging over my head. This was good stuff!

The Cancer Cowboys. Some of them would leave. The main, they would stay. I would never even learn the names of some of the cameo players, and still have a hard time remembering the names of some of the stars, although I can mention some unique identifier to my wife and she is apt to know who I am talking about. But I will always remember the Sheriff, and I will always remember the Deputy Sheriff. They saved my life.

I had a little problem, as you have read. These guys spent nearly 15 hours working that problem into a solution. And that is just the time they spent doing the fun stuff. It does not account for the planning and the coordination. It does not account for post-surgery care and selecting the right people to handle the next stages of my recovery and salvation. These guys, they are the kind of persistent and driven people of whom Butch asks of Sundance, “Who are these guys?”

Cancer Cowboys.

Cutting edge kinds of guys. One, the Sheriff, was mild and meek, a gentle guy whose feelings I sometimes feared I would hurt with my bravado and bluntness. The Deputy Sheriff, on the other hand, he would gamble with life, as long as it was mine. Between them, they made me laugh. And they made me want to make them laugh.

I succeeded, I think, from time to time. I know they did, in more ways than one.

The Sheriff is still the Sheriff. Whenever anybody else wants to do something, I want to pass it by him first. He has moved on, of course, and I am now in the hands of OncoMan, for the most part, not a bad thing, to be sure, for he is part of the cast of uncles and aunts that were gathered around me from time to time during the worst of the tornado. But I still, really, seek the Sheriff’s assurances. I do.

I don’t get them, but I do seek them.

In the mean time, there were others then.

The meal lady knew what was ahead of me, even if I didn’t, and always brought me extras of the stuff she thought I could eat. She knew before I did that I was getting a last chance to eat. So in came the pudding and the brownies, and on request, that last piece of steak I decided not to eat. She looked out for me, and I did not know that she was looking out for me. Not then.

The gurney guys were great. I don’t exactly know why, but for some reason, in the two week preliminary round, I went on more gurney rides than a MASH extra. I have a story to tell about a doctor, by the way, and must leap ahead to do so: When I went back this year for the lobectomy, I had occasion to visit another part of the hospital, I don’t even remember where now…another CAT scan, something like that, maybe. And when I was done with the test, I was left out in a waiting area, sort of like that general pre-Op area you hang out in sometimes, you know?

And I waited, and I waited, and I finally decided that no one was coming to give me a ride back to my room on the other side of the hospital. I should tell you that by this time I’d had both a lobectomy and a second surgery to try to rid me of MSSA, a staph infection, along with the accompanying indignities to both body and mind.

So, patient fellow that I am, I decided to unstrap myself from the gurney and walk myself and my IV pole back to my room, several miles away. Seriously: in another building connected by a single interior bridge type of structure. One lung slightly less robust and complete than it used to be.

I was in the midst of this when a nurse discovered me hard at work and began to scold me. She was an Asian lady, and probably very good at what she does, whatever that is, but when she got excited, which she was at that moment, she and I had a failure to communicate. To be precise, I didn’t know what she was saying, and she didn’t believe I was going to do what I said I was going to do. But I kept on doing it.

She continued to scold for a few moments, but then decided that wasn’t working and ran into the OR (that’s right…I was in for some minor something or other, now that I think about it, removal of this, replacement of that, who cares, took a minute.) Out comes the doc, and he is a lot calmer and kinder and asks what I am doing and I tell him, and I tell him why, and I can see the smoke coming from his ears. He suggests that he will FIND the person who is supposed to take me back to my room, or he will PERSONALLY take me there himself.

That sounds like a plan, although I don’t really believe him. I mean, I think he will find the gurney girl, but not that he will push me up and out and on to my room if he cannot find her.

Five minutes later, he comes out, checks my gear, and wheels me to my room!

Truth. Later, the lady who is responsible for making sure patients don’t get p*ssed off enough to write nasty letters to the Directors or the newspaper comes to see me and says she has a basket for me, and I say it will do me no good, and would she please direct it to the doctor and his staff, and she promises to do that, with my compliments to him.

Again, I digress .

But that is how my treatment has been. From beginning until now.

I cannot stress enough how much hope and humor and determination have carried me through this. And I cannot stress enough how lucky I have been to have the greatest care possible, probably because my Chief Caregiver happens to be both my wife and a nurse.

I want to go on in saluting my professional caregivers, but I have to say this now before I forget it: I know there are bad doctors, incommunicative doctors; I know there are b*tches for nurses out there, cruel ones (heck, I had one of those, at least). But, I am always skeptical when the first words out of someone’s mouth have to do with poor care and bad doctors and nurses. And that is not a bias at this point. Again, I know that some of them are not top flight. On the other hand, if I hear or read someone who is just consistently whining and not changing anything, I figure eventually that they like the treatment they are getting because it allows them to whine.

I hope that doesn’t sound cruel. I really do sympathize with those who are getting poor care. In fact, my wife has been called on, on more than several occasions, to be an expert witness for attorneys trying cases for people who have ostensibly received poor care. I know all about it when I see it.

Pay attention: when I got out of the ICU after my 15 hour surgery and four days of induced unconsciousness, they took me to a bed somewhere and the nurse left me SUSPENDED OVER THE BED like some guy in the movie Coma, for at least a couple of hours, and needless to say, when my wife walked in on that pretty scene, things got rather hot and heavy in CancerLand. (Honestly, that lady is no longer working at that hospital. I swear that to you. They do tend to clean up their messes if they can.)

I guess I just don’t like whining. A lady commented to me this evening: It is alright to sit on the pity pot, as long as you don’t stay on so long that you get hemorrhoids.

I like that. .

I have had excellent care. The Cancer Cowboys were great. I let them know, as soon as I was able, that pain was something I was allergic to, and one of them, a youngster (he played soccer once, so we were buddies right away) told me that his job was to eliminate my pain, not to produce pain. I f found that profound at the time, although everything tends to sound profound when you are bumped up on morphine, I would think. How do you think Lewis Carroll WROTE Alice in Wonderland?

(That’s not fair. Carroll was a mathemetician before he was a writer, and he just dug logic and illogic. We can talk about Poe at another time.)

The thing is, he was taking stitches out of my face at the time (not Lewis Carroll, but the young resident/intern, whatever he was, the former soccer player). He was carefully removing them from my face as he was talking and I really felt little more than ever-so-slight pinches as he did so, despite my initial concern that pulling staples out of my face and neck was going to be cause for serious injury to both of us, first me and then him.

That was the care I received.

And when, early on, when I first got out of the ICU and still had the trach, the seven were standing around my bed, I would sneeze and mucous would fly across the room (I covered my mouth, of course, and not my neck) they would simply dodge it and move on, although, I must say, they learned after a day or two to simply keep certain alleyways open for me.

Later, one of my premier caregivers, my son Ryan, came to visit with a couple of his friends and they found this particular story the best part of their trip to the hospital .

it is true that one nurse who came to visit me in those early days, the most beautiful Asian woman I have ever seen, as porcelain as the dolls you used to see, just an exquisite woman, so that I half expected her to have those crochet needles or chopsticks or whatever in her hair, just undeniably beautiful, when she got hit by one of my errant ‘sneezes’, she was visibly shaken and became upset with me as if I had MEANT to hit her with it, and we had a squabble over that, her scolding me and me talking back with a sock in my mouth, and I never saw her again. Probably good for both of us.

There are always episodes like that, but that is not an indictment of the whole system or the entirety of the medical profession. I like to think that they have some pretty tough jobs. They don’t just see ME in my state of illness and woe. They see hundreds of ME every year! They have heard it all, seen it all, fought it all.

And, mostly, done it admirably and kindly and professionally. So I like to make them laugh . In the case of the Sheriff, the ENT who ran the show and who was listed as one of the top 100 doctors in the country as recently as two years ago (and acted like he didn’t know anything about it when I brought it to his attention) it is enough to break that stone face into a smile. I have done that. I feel that is a major accomplishment .

There is more to say about these special people, but you need a break .

After the surgery was a set of pain filled hazy days. Hazy because of pain killers. By the morning of Saturday 11/10/2013 I had developed a lump on the topmost laparoscopic hole, right at the top of my abdomen. Over the course of the weekend it continued to grow. I called the Surgeons office Monday morning and they were not worried. Yet they did re-schedule my post-op appointment for the morning of Wednesday 11/14/2013 instead of late that afternoon. I told myself to stay calm as that was only two days away.

I passed the next two days resting and weaning off pain killers. I walked a little in the backyard holding this lump as movement caused it to hurt. I had named my lump Charlie and thought of it as an alien invading my body. Had to laugh at it somehow after all!

I woke up on Wednesday morning SO READY for whatever they might have to do to get Charlie out of there! After I was called into the room the Nurse asked how I was doing and I told her not so good and started crying. So much for staying calm I thought! She said the Surgeon should be here any minute. I thought GREAT, now I can get Charlie taken care of.

All of a sudden I hear this loud voice calling out “So here’s the young lady with the lump in her neck”, and I called back “No, I am the one with the lump in my stomach”. When my Surgeon came in he said “Well that may be but you also have a lump on your thyroid.” Not exactly a subtle way of telling me the news. Yet I have to say that it did not even faze me as all my attention was on Charlie. My surgeon took the time to check out Charlie and he explained it was a hematoma. A large blood filled sack. He tried to drain it but no luck. He assured me my body should re-absorb the blood over a few months. If not we could go in and remove it. I was relieved that it was easily solvable!

Once that was out of the way my mind CLICKED, and I asked about this lump. My Surgeon helped me feel my neck and he explained I had a large lump on my right thyroid. It was noticed when they had to hyper extend my neck to intubate me. He explained it most likely was a benign nodule, but that he needed to refer me to an Endocrinologist for more testing. He also said he was scheduling blood work for that day and someone would contact me for an ultrasound of my thyroid. At the tail end he stated there was a small chance it could be cancer but that over 99% of the time it is benign so to not worry. Yet he did state that due to the size I might need surgery.

I left the Surgeons office that day partly relieved and partly scared. The rational part of me knew I needed to focus on healing so I could get back to work, yet the slightly irrational part if me wanted to sit down and cry. SERIOUSLY… I wasn’t done with curveballs in my life yet?

Little did I know my patience was going to be tested over the next 5 1/2 weeks as I searched for answers regarding this new alien I had.

So, here’s a small selection of pictures from the opening, and the exhibition itself – Shaun Bloodworth‘s pictures are also on display down at Sheffield Station in two of the waiting rooms, which really extends the reach of the exhibition.  My pictures are mainly on the ground floor, alongside a continuous loop of the sixteen short films I made about the staff and their work.  Andy Brown’s pictures of patients, and their experience are on the first floor, with a couple of little extra bits of mine – I’m particularly pleased with the ‘grid books’ of images from the A&E nurses station. I bolted a camera to the wall and set it to automatically take a picture every ten minutes for 24 hours – they’re now in beautiful books made by the wonderful people at the Cafeteria, hanging from the ceiling – very nice!

The exhibition runs until June 1st on weekdays during working hours – if you’re coming to have a look, drop me an email and if I’m free I might pop down and say hello!

You’re Not Alone exhibition, Workstation, Sheffield :: photo: Richard Hanson

The mezzanine floor with Andy’s pics and a glamorous opening night crowd :: photo: Richard Hanson

The A&E timelapse book in its elegant ‘dangling’ mode :: photo: Richard Hanson

Jess reading the A&E time lapse book :: photo: Richard Hanson

A&E timelapse book :: photo: Richard Hanson

My staff stories :: photo: Richard Hanson

Andy photographing his work on the mezzanine :: photo: Richard Hanson

Andy’s ‘Being Brave’ series :: photo: Richard Hanson

Pictures taken by Eden showing her life as a patient :: photo: Richard Hanson

richard hanson :: photographer :: sheffield

hansonphoto.co.uk

Pre-Op: waiting for our buzzer to go off, haha.

For shame, I know.

But Friday morning came and we made our way to the health park at 7am to get checked in.  Since my procedure was laparoscopic, my surgeon does it at the outpatient services wing at the health park in our town.  Upon first hearing about this, I was a little concerned.  You’re going to remove an organ from my body and I don’t even get to be in a hospital when you do it?

To be honest, I had a wonderful experience.  The facilities there were clean, and shiny, and comfortable and I had the most fabulous nurse and anesthesiologist. They were friendly, and kind, and matter of fact, and they liked my sense of humor (because you have to have a sense of humor in these situations, right?).

Golden Girls FTW!

And come on – I can’t think of a better omen than having a nurse named Rose.  It spoke to my Golden Girls heart and I felt safe in her care.

So anyway.  They gave us those little beepers that you get at restaurants to hold on to until your table is ready.  I thought that was hysterical.  Once it went off, I went up to the front desk and they took me back to my room.  Once I peed in a cup (hey – totally not pregnant, BTW!) and got naked, she had me put on the warming gown that I was going to wear through the procedure.  She had me lay down in my bed and covered me with two heated blankets ON TOP of the heated gown, and surprisingly, I didn’t get hot!  They were so warm and fluffy, haha.  After that, Rose asked me a bunch of questions and explained what she was going to be putting into my IV and how it all worked. Then she put the IV in, and the anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and to ask me some more questions (in the vein of, have I ever been put under before? If so, did I have any reactions?  Am I experiencing a fever?)  When I told him I had a c-section but was awake for it, he nodded and said I’d certainly be a trooper through this then – that this was easy money!

Boy, was he right.  Once Rose injected me with the sleepy sauce (heh heh), I met the nurse who would be “keeping me safe” during the procedure, and she wheeled me down to the operating room where my beloved, looks-just-like Troy Aikman surgeon was.  We talked for a bit and they transferred me to the operating table and that’s the last thing I remember.

Post-op: groggy but those ice chips tasted so good!

I woke up with a breathing mask on my face in “phase 1 recovery” with my surgeon, another two nurses and quite possibly my anesthesiologist.  I don’t rightly remember everyone who was there, but there were several.  My male nurse Dave took off my mask and asked me how I was feeling.  Groggy, was the best I could answer.

Then Troy Aikman told me I had a wonderful surgery with zero complications and showed me the incisions and told me some other things about the procedure.

I was happy everything went well and they said I could go back to my room for phase 2 of recovery and as long as I could keep water down and as long as I wasn’t in too much pain I could go home!

This is the funny part:  I was in a different gown!  I don’t know why that made me feel weird, but it did.  They took off the warming gown and put me in a regular hospital gown while I was still passed out.  Isn’t that crazy?!  Probably not, but it seems weird to think of someone else, or someones else, undressing & redressing me when I’m not awake.

ANYWAY, they wheeled me back into my room  - IN A CHAIR! – and I got to see Brian.  The surgeon had gone out to tell him it was a successful surgery before I had woken up so I’m glad he knew before I did.  I’m sure the waiting isn’t much fun.

So I kept ice chips down and wasn’t experiencing any pain and I walked around for a bit and all was good so they discharged me!  We were home before noon.

Such a great experience – I seriously don’t have a single complaint.

Now I’m home and things are ok.  I’m sore; my belly feels like I’ve been up dry heaving for a couple days, or like someone punched me in the gut, but otherwise I’m doing ok.  Yesterday was tough because I was super tired but couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep.  My back was so sore, from laying down I guess?  I don’t know.  Sleep was challenging, but I managed.  I got up once during the middle of the night, around 245am, to walk around a bit and to take another Vicodin.  I sat up in bed for a few while that kicked in and my brother was also up so we texted a bit which was nice.  From there I drifted back off to sleep and didn’t wake up until 9am.

Today my back isn’t sore at all!  My stomach isn’t too sore, either, though my incisions (particularly my belly button) sting a little.  I’m overdue for a pain pill but don’t really feel it necessary just yet.  I’m doing ok.

Thank you for all of the kind words and thoughts and cheers I’ve received through this process.  I’m so grateful to my parents for keeping Wes until Monday evening, so I have time to feel much better before I try to chase him all over the house.  Just thinking about doing so today is overwhelming, but Brian reminded me I have a couple more days of recovery & downtime before I have to worry about that.  Good point, sir!

No complaints, otherwise.  I’m pretty sure my experience, at least thus far, is pretty standard in a gallbladder removal situation.  And that makes me very, very happy.

Pakistan says its prisoner Sanaullah Ranjay was subjected to ‘multiple assaults of unspeakable savagery’

Dr Sanjay Kumar Cardiac Cardiothoracic Heart Surgeon India

 

Chandigarh: The officials of the Pakistan High Commission, who visited injured Pakistani prisoner Sanaullah Ranjay in a Chandigarh hospital, today said that his medical condition shows that Sanaullah was subjected to “multiple assaults of unspeakable savagery”.

The officials, however, said that doctors are pessimistic about his recovery or survival and have ruled out medical evacuation. Sanaullah was airlifted to Chandigarh’s Post Graduate Institute of Medical Education and Research (PGIMER) yesterday, after he was attacked in a jail in Jammu.

The Pakistani officials visited Sanaullah after India granted consular access to them last night.

Sanaullah, 54, was assaulted with bricks by an ex-soldier convicted of murder. Doctors attending to him have said he has suffered a fracture in his skull. Doctors have also said there is severe fluid accumulation in his brain.

Sanaullah is accused of detonating bombs at electric towers and government buildings in Jammu and Kashmir in 1990. He was sentenced to eight years imprisonment by a Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA) and Prevention of Terrorism Act (POTA) court in 2008.

Pakistan wants India to allow Sanaullah to return home for treatment “on humanitarian grounds.” It has alleged that the attack on him was an “obvious retaliation to the death of Indian prisoner Sarabjit Singh.”

The Jammu and Kashmir government has ordered an inquiry into the assault on the Pakistani prisoner and the jail superintendent has been suspended.

The cases of Sarabjit Singh and Sanaullah Ranjay have provoked tension between India and Pakistan. After being attacked by the Opposition and Sarabjit’s family for being too soft on Pakistan, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh yesterday said, “The criminals responsible for the barbaric and murderous attack on Sarabjit Singh must be brought to justice.”

On Friday, Pakistan responded with equally strong words, asking India to “investigate the matter thoroughly and punish the perpetrators of this atrocity.”

Sarabjit Singh autopsy: kidneys, heart missing, say doctors

Dr Sanjay Kumar Cardiac Cardiothoracic Heart Surgeon India

lick to Expand & Play

Amritsar: Doctors who conducted an autopsy on Sarabjit Singh’s body near Amritsar last night after it arrived on a special plane from Lahore, today shared the chilling details of his attack exactly a week ago in a prison in Pakistan.

“The injuries were caused by heavy blunt weapons,” they said. They also said that the injuries showed it was a planned attack, by two or more men and aimed at killing him. Pakistan has described the incident as a scuffle.

The doctors in Amritsar said that Sarabjit seemed to have died of head injuries within 24 hours of the murderous assault and that they now want to see the report of an autopsy that was conducted at the Lahore hospital where he died.

That report is also expected to explain why several of Sarabjit Singh’s organs are missing. These organs – his heart, gall bladder and kidneys – might have been removed as part of the first autopsy for testing, said Dr HS Rai, Head of the Forensic Science Department at the Government Medical College and Hospital in Amritsar.

Sarabjit Singh, 49, was a death row convict at the Kot Lakhpat Jail in Lahore, Pakistan. On Friday last, a group of other prisoners had hit him on his head with bricks. He was taken to the Jinnah hospital in Lahore in a comatose state and was on ventilator support till he died early on Thursday.

He was cremated this afternoon in Bhikhiwind, his ancestral village in Punjab. Thousands of people gathered to pay their last respects. Rahul Gandhi, the vice-president of the ruling Congress party, and a host of other political leaders attended his cremation.

Sarabjit was sentenced to death for bomb blasts in the Punjab province that killed 14 people in 1990. His family says he was innocent and that he had strayed across the border into Pakistan when drunk.

Reduce your consumption of sodas and other sugary drinks. There is acid in soda. Acid can deteriorate and discolor tooth enamel. However, if you must drink soda, there are some simple things you can do to prevent damage and discoloration. Use a straw. You might also rinse your mouth out with water, then brush your teeth immediately afterwards.

Schedule regular dentist appointments to maintain a healthy mouth. Neglecting your teeth can cause significant damage in the future. Having a bi-annual visit with your dentist helps you maintain a cleaner mouth and catch dental problems at their onset.

san diego oral surgeon If you’re not fond of mouthwashes that are sold but still need to keep your mouth clean, you can use a natural alternative. Measure out three tablespoons of ordinary baking soda, one tablespoonful of hydrogen peroxide, and one tablespoon of salt; mix them into three cups of boiling water. You now have an excellent DIY mouthwash.

Very young kids are often very scared of dentist visits. Ease those fears by telling them that the dentist just wants to help them. Select a dentist that specializes in working with kids, since they understand their fears and will strive to make the experience more relaxing for them.

Before the first meeting with your new dentist, confirm that he accepts your dental insurance. If they do, consult with your provider to see what types of things are covered. This will help you avoid nasty surprises when it’s time to pay.

Change your toothbrush every eight weeks, even if it is electric. The bristles can soften to the point that they do not clean your teeth effectively. Your brush should also be switched out regularly because of bacteria concerns.

Replace your toothbrush approximately every 60 days to minimize the chance of problems. Avoid brushes with hard bristles. These can actually damage your gums. Get a popular toothbrush for the best results.

Before buying a brand of toothpaste, read it’s label. It is important that the toothpaste you choose includes fluoride. Toothpaste can also contain abrasives that are included with the intent of helping to clean your teeth properly. If you’re gums are too sensitive, look for a toothpaste that doesn’t have as many of these abrasive agents.

If you are feeling nervous when you’re in need of a dental appointment, spend a little time going over the various dentists near you. Read online reviews and find a dentist with a likable attitude and a good way with patients. This helps you to feel comfortable throughout your cleaning and other dental procedures.

There is nothing quite like having a beautiful smile. You will have more confidence and save money on expensive dental procedures. Your teeth will serve you well for longer. Use the advice you’ve just learned and you are sure to get the smile you’ve always wanted.

Background What is it? In simple terms: it is self-poisoning.  It is when wastes [like feces, bile, mucus, bacteria, etc.] remain in the colon too long, they produce toxic substances which are then reabsorbed by the blood, and then carried to the rest of the body. If this situation is not corrected, over time this process can cause diseases to develop. Before we get to the “how” and “why”, I just want to share a little background information.

This material is based on what I’ve learned, experienced, and what makes perfect sense to me. But I also want you to know that there are those in the medical community who view autointoxication, those who acknowledge it, or popular ways of treating it [like colonics and enemas], as ignorance, ancient theory, and even quackery. So, read the material, see if it makes sense to you, and then decide what to do about it.

In my Post, “A Perfect Storm”, I mentioned that my elimination habits were not the best for many years. Because of this I was always interested in ways I could improve things. One day back in the 1990s, while looking through a catalogue for used and out-of-print books, I saw several titles by Dr. J.H. Kellogg. I ordered three of his books. Yes, he is of the breakfast cereal Kelloggs. In the 1800s he and his brother W.K Kellogg, invented several breakfast cereals, including corn flakes.

But Dr. Kellogg was also a physician and surgeon. In 1875 he was named Medical Superintendent of the Battle Creek Sanitarium [Michigan, USA]. This health resort grew out of the Western Health Reform Institute, started in 1866.

Today, Battle Creek Sanitarium [or ‘The San’] might be called a lifestyle center. They helped patients – rich and middle class, to regain their health. They didn’t offer drugs, alcohol, or coffee, but used vegetarian meals, vigorous exercise, sunshine, lots of fresh air, hydrotherapy – including regular enemas, and more. People got well! Some of their famous guests included John D. Rockefeller, C.W. Post, J.C Penney, Harvey Firestone, Henry Ford, Sojourner Truth, and Mary Todd Lincoln.

Over the years, ‘The San’ and Dr. Kellogg have been made fun of. I don’t agree with all his teachings or views. But I do recognize that he was ahead of his time in many areas of treating disease and helping folks recover from illnesses. Three areas that really impressed me were his use of all 8 of the Laws of Health, some of his inventions of exercise equipment, and autointoxication. Dr. Kellogg didn’t discover this process. French pathologist, Dr. Charles Bouchard, first used this term [1837-1915]. But it was in two of Dr. Kellogg’s books that I was first introduced to it: “Colon Hygiene” [copyright 1916] and “Itinerary of A Breakfast” [copyright 1918].

I guess I wanted to share all this history to let you know that understanding and treating autointoxication are not new. It has been a health concern for a very long time. Not only that, but The Western Health Institute and Battle Creek Sanitarium both used the 8 Laws of Health in treating their patients. These laws have been around a long time as well.

To Be Continued …

Copyright © 2013 Regina

After the H-Pylori test I was escorted to another room where there was a desk, computer and a few chairs and on the other side of the room a small examination table. It looked out of place.  I thought- I had no clue I was going to be examined!! But it wasn’t too bad. The doctor came in a few minutes later, and introduced himself. He was very courteous and to the point. He had an easy demeanor but wasn’t overly humorous. He explained to me the risks, I had to sign “my life away” so to speak. After many forms he asked more questions, family history, exercise level. He looked over my chart and BMI. He then had me lay down on the table and examined my belly.  He thought I did not need to lose any weight pre-op but said “don’t be gaining any either” He is original from the islands so the way he said that made me chuckle in his cute accent. My health insurance does not require weight loss either so I go in for my monthly weigh ins and as long as I stay the same weight I should be good. He then brought me back to the table and told me that my life was going to change. That I could no longer take certain medicines. That I may never be able to eat sugars or carbs again. (Dumping) He talked again about the risks. But also gave me stats on what the risks would be if I didn’t have the surgery.

We talked a little about if he wasn’t able to perform the RNY he and I decided on if I was ok with the sleeve. I said I was. He assured me since I was “healthy” and Only really had one surgery (gallbladder, C-sections he said did not count) he sees no reason why the Roux-en-Y would not be possible.

He then gave me the chance to answer all my questions, which he did.

I signed one more paper, the one saying I understand all this and I might die. I shook his hand and walked out.

I don’t know. It all seemed surreal. Like it’s never really going to happen. I am thinking surgery will be late summer or early fall if all goes well. Will it become more real then? Probably. I just know that I am ready for a change!!

Thanks to Netflix, I had the opportunity to not only watch the first installment but the second aswell, Hurrah for Netflix!! So I settled down, expecting the absolute worst, and I got hell!

Its a budget film so ofcourse the acting is not top notch, but oh dear lord, but its one of the worst horrors I have seen when it comes to the story. Ive seen messed up but this is above the bar! Whoever wrote this film needs to be institutionalized, seriously!

A surgeon is intrigued by the idea of a human centipede, and so kindnaps a man and two women, drugs them and stitches them together. After the operation, the surgeon gets the triple to perform acts as a human centipede and that’s about it. There is an attempt to flee from both women, but of course, like all horrors, they don’t get out.

Its a pretty average storyline, apart from the fact they end up stitched to each others bums, eating eachothers feces, but apart from that its nothing special.

Its safe to say that this film got all the hype because of the weird kind of horror it is.

Happy watching!

As you strive to reach the goals that God has given you, it’s important to remember that life on earth is just a temporary assignment. Knowing this truth should radically alter your values and fix your attention on the things that are eternally important.

As C. S. Lewis observed, “All that is not eternal is eternally useless.”

It is a fatal mistake to assume that God’s goal for your life is material prosperity or popular success, as the world defines it. The abundant life has nothing to do with material abundance. Faithfulness to God does not guarantee success in a career or even in ministry. Never focus on temporary crowns.

Paul was faithful, yet he ended up in prison. John the Baptist was faithful, but he was beheaded. Millions of faithful people have been martyred, have lost everything, or have come to the end of life with nothing to show for it. But the end of life is not the end!

When life gets tough, when you’re overwhelmed with doubt, or when you wonder if living for Christ is worth the effort, remember that you are not home yet. At death you won’t leave home – you’ll go home.

Ramblings from Evan’s dad – I won my 6th grade spelling bee. I made all-stars in baseball when I was 12. I was voted most likely to make you laugh in my senior class. I made Who’s Who in college.  I was among the worst when it comes to comparing myself to those around me.  ”Am I faster, smarter, funnier, or better”?

The first 20 years of my life I saved all my sales awards.  I had a “wall of fame” in our house…a little shrine to myself.  I liked to wear my watches I won, or look at the “trophies” I won, as I sat in my office and patted myself on the back.

God was not impressed. To Him it was the equivalent of catching the big fish, reeling it up to the boat, and then handing me the rod so I could “catch” the fish. All I really did was use the talents He had given me, with the body He had wired and accessorized, and then pounded my chest and said look at me.

Somewhere around 15 years ago I had an epiphany. I realized that I was very good at taking the credit God deserved. Hanging around Dr. Jim, a very talented surgeon, taught me that. Here was a man who sought constant perfection in his work. But surprisingly, it was to honor God with the best he could offer. Dr. Jim over the years had met with many men. I heard stories of smart men, suffering terrible financial pitfalls, that often were no fault of their own. Some stayed true to their faith. Unfortunately, many others turned their back on God. I went home  one day after meeting with him, took the “wall of fame” down and replaced it with a couple of framed pieces, some of inspirational pictures, others with scripture. If I ever get a tattoo, I think it would be the words of C. S. Lewis, “All that is not eternal is eternally useless.”

During our time of meeting together, I faced several storms. Dr. Jim reminded me that it wasn’t whether or not I went through storms, but rather, how I acted when I was in them. Even today that often is a hard pill for me to swallow. My natural tendency is to compare myself, to consider my “wall of fame”, my bank account, my scorecard in life. When things went wrong, when a deal got sideways, or an investment didn’t pan out, I would still want to compare myself, or grade myself against my peers. The only way I avoid that, is to daily get into the Word, and remind myself who really caught the fish!…

Where does one begin to say goodbye? Last week I attended a memorial celebration for Dr. David Hull. I had known him and his family since 1990 when he first saved my life. Dr. Hull was the head of the Transplant at Hartford Hospital but I was not a transplant patient. I had an extreme case of peritonitis poisoning due to intestinal issues. My GP had called ahead to Hartford Hospital to see who was on staff that Thanksgiving weekend and selected Dr. Hull to be my surgeon. He performed emergency surgery on me and that was the start of a long term doctor-patient relationship. 

During that first ten day hospital stay, I shared the Newtown Bee, Antiques & Arts Weekly paper with Dr. Hull who was interested in antiques. I kidded with him that if he came to the auction, I could recoup some of my hospital bill. In the spring of 1991, he did just that, arriving with his wife, Connie, to a Saturday night auction at the Canton Barn in Canton, CT.

David and Connie became very good friends. The first time I had them over for dinner, I had thoroughly impressed David by de-seeding everything in the salad I served. He looked at me in wonder and said he wished he could get his transplant patients to take “just one pill a day” while here I was de-seeding everything so I could continue living. Unfortunately for me, de-seeding everything religiously wouldn’t keep me out of the hospital.

 In 1996 I was hospitalized twice in 5 days while vacationing in Maui. I called David back on the mainland and asked him to check out the physician who had so rudely walked into my hospital room, telling me he would be operating on me by the end of the day without ever asking me how I was feeling. Although his credentials checked out, there was no way I was becoming another tourist notch on his surgery belt. I flew home and at the beginning of 1997, David operated once again on me.  1998 saw me back in trouble again. I spent three days in the hospital but surgery was avoided.

During all this time, David and Connie, and my then husband Richard & I, spent lots of time socializing together. There were dinners, and the annual Red & Black Ball at Hartford Hospital, holidays & birthdays, and all those auctions they attended. Our bond was strong, our friendship deep. David was an incredible surgeon, a caring doctor, a good friend, an honest guy, a great family man and a loving husband. David always inquired after my health and my diet in a way that made it clear how much he cared for my well being.

 (David and Connie in the mid-1990′s at a holiday party I hosted.)

Richard and I amicably divorced in 2001. That caused a disconnect in our socializing with David and Connie. David treated me again in 2004 and medically counseled me in 2007, referring me to a superb gastroenterologist . Between 1997 and 2008, whenever I was in Hartford to visit a friend in the hospital, or had other business there, I would stop by David’s office to say hello. He always took time from his busy schedule to sit and chat with me for a few minutes…inquiring as to my health and how the auction gallery was doing, of course, and I would ask about Connie and the kids before the conversation would turn to our love of photography. He would share photos with me of the family trips and I would long for the closeness the four of us had shared.

After 2008, I never saw David again. My life was full as I had entered a new relationship a year earlier. In 2010, I had a severe intestinal flare up on Halloween night. I called David that night and spoke with him. He sounded very tired. David said he was currently out of the state and I should get myself to the hospital soon if my systems didn’t start to ease up. I apologized for calling him so late and hung up. That was my very last conversation with him. I was back in the hospital again within an hour of that phone call.

When I saw the Hartford Courant “Surgeon Survives Own Transplant” article by M.A.C. Lynch  in July of 2012, it felt like I had been kicked in the gut. I immediately sat down and wrote out a long note to David which I included in the card I sent. I hoped and prayed he would make it through his battle with lymphoma. This gifted doctor with his transplant surgery expertise, who had given so much of himself to a medical career by helping so many people be able to continue living, was now facing a cruel twist of fate. 

I replayed that phone conversation in my head over and over. I knew something wasn’t quite right but David was never one to complain or focus on himself. He was always more concerned about how the other person was doing/feeling. Maybe if I hadn’t been so sick myself that night I would have known it was something greater than his being tired and possibly being woken up.

David lost his battle in February to graft-versus host disease related to the treatment of his lymphoma. The memorial service took place at Hartford Hospital’s Education Resource Center last week. The room was decked in blue and orange, David’s favorite colors. The space was filled to capacity with family, friends, colleagues. Photos of his life slid across a projection screen in the beat  to David’s favorite music, some of which he like to listen to while performing his transplant surgeries. I saw Connie for the first time in many years and I could have held her and cried for days.

 (The striking blue and orange flowers that decorated the tables at the memorial celebration of Dr. David Hull on April 26, 2013.)

The world has lost a brilliant surgeon, a caring doctor, an amazing man. His family has lost an incredible father and a loving husband way too soon. And I have lost an amazing doctor, surgeon, friend. It is difficult for me to think about what the Hulls have had to bear in the past 5 years, and especially in the last 6 months of David’s life. I would have been there in a heartbeat to support them. I am sorry beyond words that I wasn’t.  David and Connie have three beautiful, smart, articulate children – young adults now: Jason, Stephanie and Aaron. Jason spoke with incredible candor about his dad and how all three of them had been shaped by their parents. He gave me a solid glimpse into the years I had missed being a part of their family circle and for that I am grateful. Several people spoke at the Memorial Celebration. I had wanted to so very badly but, in my grief, was at a loss of where to begin and where to end. What would I say? How could I tell my story in a few short sentences?  How could I ever hope to convey what Dr. David Hull, surgeon and friend, did for me…what he meant to me? How do you thank someone for saving your life more than once when he is gone? How do you say goodbye?  And in the end, surprising me, my new husband, Steve, stood up with tears in his eyes and shred the following: “Unlike many of you here tonight, I didn’t know Dr. Hull. He saved my wife’s life more than once. If it hadn’t been for Dr, Hull, my wife would not be here now and I never would have met and married her.”  Thank you, Steve. You said something when I could not. I will be eternally grateful. David, you are missed and will continued to be loved by those of us who cared so much for you. RIP

“You can’t direct the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”   A German Proverb

So I had A Puzzle

Getting down to my office, no sooner had I relaxed than my dailies dispatch man dropped a copy of the PUNCH newspapers for me. I was reluctant to skim across the papers but what drew my attention was how voluminous the pages were. What could have bent he contents? I pondered, then on second thought, I asked, yet again, has boko haram struck again? Various patterns of thoughts flowed through my mind and eroded feelings of true patriotism, I felt like letting go and taking a deep breath –that is to say Naija oti’baje? abi? Ok (pardon my weak Yoruba please)

A Life Of My Own

Curiosity Alert.

How does it feel when we yield to the temping desires of our thoughts? That was my sane mind rebuking me for attempting to open those pages of that newspaper when eventually I attempt reading the paper. To my surprise, it was Mike Adenuga’s birthday. Trust Nigerians and their various accolades being poured like fresh oil upon the persona and character of Mike Adenuga.

One of the congratulatory messages had a cheque with a billion seconds calculated as his stay on earth. “Hmm Nice concept I nodded, I gave them thumbs up for that, another message had called Mike Adenuga’s business  acumen as ‘business wizardry – So let’s at this point call Mike Adenuga Lord of The Glo abi? . But apart from those powerful words that ushered in a new realm of life for Mike  Adenuga, one thing I found out was that we, everyone I and yours sincerely writing this text needs a life of his own. Yeah? That true. Cos’ Adenuga’s got life of his own, impact a lot and that’s why folks took out time and money to celebrate him on his buffdae!

You have a life of your own when you begin to be an impact rather than a part. Like I’ve often times wondered that when one becomes reasonably well-to-do and as part of what he is entitled to, by virtue of his successes, becomes a public figure hence part of what is involved in life of his own is to deny himself the initial comfort of his own self and seek out to reach out to other people.

In one of my previous musings, I was of the opinion that one of the insoluble problems of a man who becomes a public figure is that he no longer belongs to himself or to his wife in the case of married folks, as a single man, he not only belongs to his fiancée or his girlfriend and also to his circle of close friends or to his family either, he begins to belong to the public where there is a very real sense of duty and commitment and there’s a supposed  meaning  in which that has to be so.

Think about this;A surgeon cannot refuse to carry out an emergency operation because he happens to have planned a family party. So also a pilot cannot refuse to fly a plane because his wife had just put to bed. A great captain of a ship cannot refuse to set sail because his family wants to relocate. A great police officer cannot refuse a sudden investigation of a crime simply because he wants to spend the night with his kids and wife at home. A great statesman cannot refuse a tour of the country when he would rather be with his family. A parson cannot refuse summons to comfort the sorrowing and soothe the troubled and the ill on an evening when he has planned an outing with his wife and children. Meanwhile, the demands of public life are merciless, inexorable and brute! on the man who has something, in large supply which the public needs and demands. Take my words!

These examples above are what it takes to get a life- refusing to let the selfish interests of yours take over the overall interest of people whose life you’re meant to inspire! On the flip side of the coin, this new phase of life makes things very difficult for those who are nearest and dearest to folks in such positions. Sometimes, the human relationship collapses under the strain of diverse commitments and duties. Take for instance in the tragic marital breakup of two couples whose lives have been of a worthy example to a lot of people whose wife in the end, left him

However no matter the field of endeavor we find ourselves, our skills, talents and creativity shot us up there. Hardwork passion and commitment sustained us and then imaginations sharpened with creativity will keep us soaring to greater heights for in the end, nothing is worth more that a well built up talent.

All talent is a responsibility. When left unused and unexploited positively becomes a great burden. You might want to know but that’s a different topic to another day. The greater talent a man has, the less he belongs to himself. Just as Jesus admonishes that a man who puts even the dearest relationship and life before him is not worthy of him (Matthew 10:37-38) but where Iove is great enough and where love lets itself known even this problem can be solved.

In getting a life of my own, I’ve come to understand the ephemeral nature of life, I’ve also struggled to come to terms with the holistic reality that a great man is always a thoughtful man and that no act of selfless service can possibly be humiliating, I’ve also come to understand that there is grace in giving as well as in taking. I’ve come to realize that I have to extend my sphere of influence for me to be able to create more lasting impacts on the future generations to come. Because I cannot imaginemyself  being part of a leadership that is not visionary-what I’d like to call a tragic leadership

I’ve come to be realistic about the fact that while I might not like a crises, part of getting a life of my own involves  me harnessing the opportunities such crises and disaster may bring across life’s way and turn it to a better stuff.

I’ve come to realize that I cannot condescend to the level of any situation I find myself and accept Hobson’s choice as my final paycheque!

But in getting my own life I’ve learnt an ultimate lesson and it’s a question for y’all.

Do you regard crises as a time to sit down and wail or a time to rise up and act? Mike Adenuga is where he is because he rose up from being a taxi cab driver in one of the cities abroad to becoming a booming CEO. What lesson have I learnt if you may ask?

My Answers In My Resolutions 

I will lead a life of integrity

I will refuse to look at anything vile and vulgar

I will not deal with folks who are crooked in their ways

I reject peverse ideas and stay away from every evil

I will not tolerate folks who slander their neighbours

I will not endure conceit and pride

I will earnestly search for  faithful people as my companions.

Psalm 101.

Happy workers day!

This Piece is dedicated to all Slum2School Volunteers.

When her marriage to a prominent Boston surgeon collapses, Abby Stanford heads west, back to her roots and her future. She goes back to heal and rebuild her life, complete her law degree, and become a champion for the environment, as she always dreamed.

She didn’t dream on running into Logan Mackinnon.

Logan is a man of the land, of few words, and the perfect antidote to Abby’s wounded heart and pride. But is her heart ready for love again? Will Logan’s honor let him pursue a woman who is still reeling from a love lost?

I hope you’ll enjoy Abby and Logan’s story as much as I did writing it. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s released!

The good news is that my son is not “road kill” and seems to have passed the balloon age.

Seriously…after the wait in the lovely Greco-Roman vacation postcard-ed room…my son was called back to meet with the surgeon. The short story is how pleased the surgeon was. He was not expecting my son to be healing as well as he had; much less standing tall and walking.

All Clear…Well Almost! Needless to say we have been told that he will be cleared about a week earlier than originally told.

This is great news!

I just had to share…now I need to go fix dinner!

Enjoy the rest of your day!

Peach State

Everything looked good.  I still weigh 196.  My total weight loss to date is 102 pounds.  He cleared me to kick up the exercise.  I am going to join a gym, do yoga, and I have been meditating.  The surgeon then wants to see me in three months.  In between, I will have my annual physical with my primary care doctor.

So far, health-wise, I’m doing pretty good.  I know I feel great, so much better than I did before.  Just the fact that I can walk as much as I like and not struggle to breathe or stand is a miracle to me.

Professor Lavy examining a patient in Malawi

Nearly 20 years ago, Oxford University-trained doctor, Chris Lavy, relocated from the UK with his family to become a professor at the University of Malawi’s College of Medicine.

As the only orthopedic surgeon among 12 million people, Professor Lavy carried out thousands of operations during his time in Malawi. Ten years ago, he opened the Beit Cure International Hospital, which specializes in hip and knee replacement surgery, one of the very few places where this surgery is available in sub-Saharan Africa. This has brought about increased survival rates, especially for children, from serious injuries and road traffic accidents.

In addition to his fundamental work at the hospital, Levy has worked with a Christian medical charity to set up a training program for orthopedic paramedics, and established the College of Surgeons of East, Central and Southern Africa (COSECSA).

Professor Levy’s interest in Malawi and sub-Saharan Africa has generated great progress in the region, and will  stand as a beacon of success for other doctors and professionals from all across the world to lend their efforts to the cause.

For more information on this story, visit the following link: http://www.oxfordtimes.co.uk/news/10225308.Healing_Africa__Oxford_doctor_reflects_on_his_work_in_Malawi/