From & To Sathish #6 - Page 152

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdS7VOkaXwg

Main Artist: Ichiko AobaComposer: Taro UmebayashiLyricist: Ichiko Aoba

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_QTaUuU8F4

David Gilmour - Between Two Points (with Romany Gilmour) [Tour Rehearsal]

Great laugh😅 for the day!

*NO ONE BELIEVES SENIORS … EVERYONE THINKS THEY ARE SENILE*.

An elderly couple was celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary. The couple had married as childhood sweethearts and had moved back to their old neighborhood after they retired. Holding hands, they walked back to their old school. It was not locked, so they entered. They found the old desk they'd shared, where Jerry had carved "I love you, Sally".

On their way back home, a bag of money fell out of an armoured car, practically landing at their feet. Sally quickly picked it up and, not sure what to do with it, they took it home. There, she counted the money - fifty thousand dollars!

Jerry said,: "We've got to give it back."

Sally said: "Finders keepers."

She put the money back in the bag and hid it in their attic.

The next day, two police officers, who were canvassing the neighbourhood looking for the money, knocked on their door. "Pardon me, did either of you find a bag that fell out of an armoured car yesterday?"

Sally said: "No."

Jerry said: "She’s lying. She hid it up in the attic."

Sally said: "Don't believe him, he’s getting senile."

The agents turned to Jerry and began to question him.

One said: "Tell us the story from the beginning."

Jerry said: "Well, when Sally and I were walking home from school yesterday .."

The first police officer turned to his partner and said: "Let’s get out of here."

*TOO GOOD NOT TO SHARE*

😀😀😀

Fasting as a cure for the big C and ....... by Steve Hendricks

Ten years before she found the lump in her groin, cancer took Ivonne Vielman’s father. It started in his lungs, although he had never smoked, and chewed through his body with such swiftness that by the time it was diagnosed there was nothing to be done. He died at fifty-seven. In the decade since, Vielman—a mother, wife, and corporate secretary, aged forty-two and living on the exurban fringe of San Francisco—had harbored a barely suppressed dread that cancer would someday come for her too. The knot in her groin felt like her fear made manifest. Big as a golf ball and nearly as hard as one, it must have been fast growing because she hadn’t noticed it the last time she massaged the area, which she had done regularly after a bladder surgery left the spot tender. Since her father’s death, the mere mention of cancer had disquieted her, and she tried to push the word from her mind in the days she waited to see her doctor, but it got a toehold in her thoughts and wouldn’t be budged.

The doctor, a by-the-numbers sort whom we might call Hughes, felt the node and asked whether anyone in Vielman’s family had had a lump before. Vielman barely got the story about her father out before Hughes picked up a phone and told someone on the other end that she had a patient who needed emergency CT scans—today.

The next day Vielman went back to Hughes’s office for the results, her husband along for support. The doctor said the scans showed tumors on both sides of her groin and in her right armpit, and they hadn’t been there when she was scanned prior to the bladder surgery two years earlier. There was little doubt they were cancerous, and she referred Vielman to an oncologist. Oncologist was another word whose mention unnerved Vielman, four syllables that struck her momentarily dumb. But she composed herself, turned to her husband, and said with as level a voice as she could manage, “We are going to take care of this. I’ll be fine.”

Then she burst into tears.

The oncologist, whom I’ll call Greenfield, biopsied one of Vielman’s tumors and told her there was no doubt it was follicular lymphoma, a cancer that attacks the white blood cells of the lymphatic system, the network of vessels and organs whose dual duty is to fight disease and rid the body of waste. Vielman’s tumors were in her lymph nodes, and the diagnosis contained good news and bad news. The bad news was that because the lymphoma was in both the upper and lower parts of Vielman’s torso and on both the left and right sides, it had to be considered advanced, stage III out of IV. Worse, there was no cure. The good news was follicular lymphoma grew very slowly. Four out of five people at Vielman’s stage were still alive at least a decade after diagnosis, and a sizable number lived two decades or more. Greenfield said she could reasonably hope for another twenty years. It was a death sentence but one that carried a long stay of execution.

Greenfield didn’t recommend treatment, not yet anyway. For the moment, chemotherapy and radiation were poor options because they could only slow the cancer, and since it was slow growing already, the toxic side effects of the treatment would far outweigh the modest potential for benefit. Once matters grew dire, such therapies might make sense, but for now he suggested they simply monitor the cancer with checkups every three months. There was, he said, nothing more to do.

Vielman was of another mind. A few years before her diagnosis, her fear of dying young like her father had driven her to look for ways to live more healthily, and her search led her to an odd little clinic in Santa Rosa, just ninety minutes up the road from her home. In lectures she watched online, doctors from the clinic argued that many of the chronic diseases that had become epidemic in the developed world—type 2 diabetes, cardiovascular disease, hypertension, obesity—were caused by eating the standard American diet and could frequently be reversed simply by eating a healthier diet of minimally processed plants. For those wishing to speed up the healing process, another treatment usually helped: prolonged fasting. The doctors had some science to back their claims. In one study they published in a peer-reviewed journal, 154 of 174 patients with high blood pressure who fasted for a week and a half on nothing but water normalized their blood pressure. Doctors elsewhere were talking about managing hypertension, cardiovascular disease, and diabetes—incurable, lifelong conditions, to hear most doctors tell it—but the doctors at the TrueNorth Health Center were talking about getting rid of those disorders for good.

In 2010, four years before her cancer diagnosis, Vielman had driven to TrueNorth and consulted with Dr. Michael Klaper, one of the fathers of the modern vegan-health movement. She didn’t think she needed to fast, but Klaper’s suggestion to eat more plants made sense to her, and she went home and began eliminating meat, dairy, and eggs from her family’s diet. She didn’t go as far as Klaper and colleagues advocated—the TrueNorth diet was also free of salt, oil, sugar, and processed foods—but even with a lesser veganism, for the first time in a long time Vielman stopped gaining weight and then started losing a few of the 180 pounds she had packed onto her five feet, five inches. She felt more energetic and thought she was on the right track until cancer came calling. When she walked out of Dr. Greenfield’s oncology clinic in 2014, she had no doubt what she was going to do: she was going back to TrueNorth to fast.

On a gloriously sunny Monday in November she presented herself, suitcase in hand, at the doorstep of the clinic, a former apartment block on a nondescript thoroughfare in a not especially distinguished precinct of Santa Rosa. She planned a fast of fourteen days, which seemed dauntingly long but in fact proved rather easy, even buoying. Toward the end of her second week, she got to chatting with another patient who said her own fast of several weeks had healed a traumatic head injury. The clinic was swirling with stories like hers, fantastic-seeming tales of rheumatoid arthritis and lupus and colitis either going into remission or being greatly lessened with fasting. A theme of the stories was that the people who healed most thoroughly usually fasted the longest. The woman with the head injury, for instance, said she hadn’t begun to get well until the third week of her fast. Vielman thought of her two sons at home who, she would later write, “needed me to stick around longer than the expiration date traditional medicine had given me: 20 more years. I would be 62 by then, and I certainly did not want to die the day after I retired.”

She asked Dr. Klaper if she could fast three weeks instead of the planned two, and after checking her vitals and lab work, he said he saw no reason she shouldn’t. A day or two later, as she was palpating her largest tumor, she thought it seemed softer and smaller. Then again, she was losing roughly a pound a day, and what seemed a shrunken tumor might just be the dwindling of fat around it. But as the days passed, the lump continued to shrink, and the diminution seemed out of proportion to her weight loss. She asked Klaper to check, and when he did, a wide smile broke across his face. He checked her other tumors, found them in retreat as well, and patient and doctor exchanged a great bear hug. For the rest of Vielman’s stay the tumors continued to wither, and by the time she broke her fast after twenty-one days, they were gone.

“When Ivonne came to us,” Klaper would later say, “those tumors were the size of hen’s eggs. And in the end they just melted away.”

Vielman broke her fast twenty-two pounds to the good, weighing 152. Her body-mass index (a ratio of weight to height expressed in kilograms over meters squared) was a smidge above 25, the traditional dividing line between normal weight and overweight. She went home and reformed her diet further, now staying away from added salt, oil, sugar, and highly processed foods like white flour and white rice. Within a year, she had knocked off another twenty pounds.

Some weeks after her fast, she returned to Dr. Greenfield, the oncologist. He palpated her groin and armpits, evinced little surprise, and said follicular lymphoma sometimes did that: it fluctuated a lot, now flaring, now subsiding, even to the point of seeming disappearance. Spontaneous remissions, as the withdrawals were called, occurred in ten to twenty percent of patients, but the disease always came back. One hint Vielman’s would was that her white blood cell count remained quite low—one of lymphoma’s calling cards.

Dr. Alan Goldhamer, the founder and director of the TrueNorth Health Center, had a contrary view. In his three decades treating some very sick people, he believed he had seen many “incurable” conditions go away not through chance but through the restorative biochemistry of water-only fasting. He thought Vielman’s case a particularly important instance, not just because her turnaround was so dramatic but because patients only rarely came to him with “before” scans like hers confirming her lymphoma diagnosis. Those scans could help document her remission, provided she could also get “after” scans showing the tumors were really gone, not just lurking sub-palpably. If the after scans indeed showed that, Goldhamer thought he could publish a report of her case in a high-impact medical journal.

But Dr. Greenfield, who would have to order the scans, didn’t want to. He hadn’t been enthusiastic about Vielman’s fast in the first place, although he hadn’t opposed it. This was Northern California, after all, and certain allowances had to be made for the alternative treatments his patients sometimes pursued. (His tolerant ambivalence was enlightened compared to the reaction of Vielman’s family physician, Dr. Hughes, who had told Vielman before her fast that any studies claiming fasting was effective had to be phony and she was delivering herself into the hands of criminal quacks. Hughes wasn’t the least interested later in discussing the possibility that the fast had chased her patient’s lymphoma into remission.) When Vielman asked Greenfield for scans, he said it made little sense to subject her to more radiation just to confirm the disease was in temporary abeyance. But the doctors at TrueNorth had coached her in persistence, and Greenfield eventually relented and ordered the images, which showed no lurking tumors. Vielman’s lymph nodes had shrunk back to their normal size, her cancer to all appearances gone. In the coming months her white blood cell count normalized, and at her next checkup with Dr. Greenfield three months later, the tumors still could not be palpated. Nor was there a sign of them at the next three-month checkup, nor at the next.

Goldhamer and Klaper wrote a paper about Vielman’s case and submitted it to BMJ Case Reports, an arm of the British Medical Journal, one of the world’s oldest and most widely read medical reviews. In late 2015, the paper was accepted. Before it was published, Goldhamer wrote Greenfield to ask if he would like to sign on.

“I said to him,” recalled Goldhamer, who has a puckish streak, “‘Thank you for the confidence you’ve shown in referring your patient to us for therapeutic, water-only fasting. As you know, and I’m sure as you expected, she’s gone into remission, . . . and because we have a paper that’s been accepted for publication in the British Medical Journal, we’d like to invite you to join us as coauthor.’ I haven’t gotten a reply yet, but it’s only been six years.”

The offer of coauthorship was not extended to Hughes, who wouldn’t even release Vielman’s medical records to the criminal quacks at TrueNorth.

At the end of 2016, two years after her tumors disappeared, Vielman had another round of scans, which again came back clean. A year later she went back to TrueNorth and fasted nineteen days as a sort of house-cleaning measure. Scans following that fast came back clean as well. In lymphoma, most spontaneous remissions will un-remit well before three years have run, so Goldhamer sent a follow-up to BMJ Case Reports demonstrating Vielman was still cancer-free. One of the journal’s two external reviewers recommended the editor publish the paper, but the other did not. The gainsayer said Vielman’s cancer had to have disappeared through spontaneous remission, not fasting, but offered no reason why; apparently fasting was just too crazy to contemplate. The editor, who held the tie-breaking vote, published the article anyway. Nearly eight years have passed since Vielman’s tumors disappeared, and they have not come back.

https://www.thetakeout.com/1639197/microwave-poached-egg-trick/?utm_medium=email&utm_source=pocket_hits&utm_campaign=POCKET_HITS-EN-DAILY-SPONSORED&PAVED-2024_08_18=&sponsored=0&position=9&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=068d6c5f-f957-49ed-a813-d6d57c0c5e62&url=https://www.thetakeout.com/1639197/microwave-poached-egg-trick/

Some tips for microwaving poached eggs

https://getpocket.com/collections/how-to-take-back-wellness-from-the-wellness-industry?utm_medium=email&utm_source=pocket_hits&utm_campaign=POCKET_HITS-EN-DAILY-SPONSORED&PAVED-2024_08_18=&sponsored=0&position=10&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=c39a5d9c-8deb-4055-a1cf-7eb5a0a4b792&url=https://getpocket.com/collections/how-to-take-back-wellness-from-the-wellness-industry

There are many paths to well-being—you just have to look outside of what’s being marketed to you.

Can Divorce Make You a Better Parent?

By Kathryn Jezer-Morton, a columnist for the Cut covering modern family life.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like for my kids, having parents who are married. I have very few memories of my parents as a couple. They broke up when I was 9 and I only remember relating to them individually. Dealing with two parents at once must be kind of intense, right? Two whole different personalities, bearing down on you simultaneously? I’ve read about it in novels and sometimes, it seems kind of cute. Everyone kind of teasing each other, right? Exaggerated yet loving eye rolls, things of that nature. Last month, I read Catherine Newman’s novel Sandwich, which describes a family vacation of three generations — everyone still alive and still together — all staying in a tiny cottage on Cape Cod. I found it extremely anthropologically interesting. So this is how people might behave when everyone has stayed married, I thought.

This was not a wistful thought — it’s just curiosity. If I ever wished my parents had stayed together, I don’t remember it. It’s so hard for many parents to believe that their kids will be okay after they break up — it feels so deeply embedded into our society, this belief in the inevitability of the kids’ suffering. I wish this belief — or maybe it’s more of a superstition — would fade away, become one of the beliefs from the past. But that seems a long way away.

Just a couple days before my father died, when I was 22, I was sitting by his bedside watching him fade when he turned to me and apologized out of nowhere. “For what,” I asked. I sincerely could think of nothing for which he owed me an apology. “For the hard time you must have had, when your mother and I split,” he said. I was incredulous that he had been holding on to guilt about the breakup all that time. I told him that he had nothing to apologize for. I’m not sure he believed me, but I hope he was relieved.

Statistically speaking, about half the people reading this either have divorced or one day will. The stigma of divorce itself is fading, but I wonder how long it will be before more parents accept that divorce is not necessarily traumatic for kids. In fact, many parents find that divorce made them better parents. This isn’t just because, as the writer Lyz Lenz has written, it sometimes takes divorce to create equality in a partnership, forcing both parents to do an equal share of caregiving — although the significance of that circumstance cannot be overstated. It’s also because the process of separating can force parents to discuss how they actually care for their kids, bringing habits and assumptions to light that otherwise would go on being taken for granted, never examined, and never changed.

Obviously, the success of your post-divorce parenting depends on a lot of other people, too: a cooperative and present co-parent (or, if your co-parent is a nightmare, their absence might be essential to your family’s well-being), and solid, low-key new partners who know when to speak up and when to let you raise your own kids your way. But when the conditions line up, your post-divorce household can be a real place of peace. I’ve heard this repeated by many parents.

A mother of two whom I’ll call Jane told me that her parenting style has completely changed since her divorce, and she traces it to the directive often given by mediators and therapists to parents when they’re first splitting up to “let the kids lead.” Listen to kids’ questions and let them ask them in their own time.

“It meant that I started that next chapter, of parenting alone, in a very humbled position,” she recalls. “I spent a lot of time listening to the kids, and a lot of time just with them, and that became my new way. I started to build my life around them more than I had in the past.”

When she was married, Jane and her husband had taken a “divide and conquer” approach to parenting — familiar to many of us, I’m sure. The idea was mostly that the kids had to be managed, handled, controlled, so the parents could have an ounce of sanity left for their own relationship. Jane sees her relationship with her kids differently now. Rather than “handling” them, she spends time with them. “We definitely divided,” she laughs, referring to her divorce. “Not sure what needs to be conquered now, though.”

Another mother whom I’ll call Maria said, “I didn’t have to struggle to be heard or seen. I had time to care for my mental health, and I spend less time defending my parenting and more time being a good parent.”

A father I’ll call Jake said that making agreements with his ex-wife about bedtimes and screen time for their 8- and 12-year-olds meant that he was able to be more deliberate about parenting decisions that previously had mostly been dictated by necessity or, as he put it, “both of us deciding we didn’t want to talk about it or deal with it, so we just did what was easiest.”

Not everyone I spoke to said it was all upside, of course. One mother said that, while divorce made her more relaxed as a person and improved her relationship with her kids, she was overwhelmed with the responsibility of being the breadwinner and also doing so much housework; previously, her husband had been the home-parent. “Twelve years later, I’m still exhausted,” she said.

More than one parent told me that being witnessed parenting — parenting as a performance for your co-parent — had always inhibited them and that parenting in private felt more natural and easy. There’s no doubt that our culture takes parenting more seriously today than it ever has. Mostly, this is good for everyone: Up until just a few decades ago, raising children was considered a private matter, more or less entirely undertaken by women. Now that men are implicated, and parenting is a whole marketplace of ideas, what used to be private can now be debated publicly. One unintended consequence of this overall good development is that there’s so much more to argue about — approximately every little detail of child-rearing, if you’re truly matching each other’s freak. It’s enough to break up a marriage. Or, put another way, the contentious politics of parenting might be just what it takes to break up marriages that were headed for unhappiness anyway.

https://www.technologyreview.com/2024/08/16/1096808/arpa-h-jean-hebert-wants-to-replace-your-brain/?utm_medium=email&utm_source=pocket_hits&utm_campaign=POCKET_HITS-EN-DAILY-SPONSORED&PAVED-2024_08_19=&sponsored=0&position=4&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=d37858d9-6ae2-4fe6-bf57-bb782ef3517c&url=https://www.technologyreview.com/2024/08/16/1096808/arpa-h-jean-hebert-wants-to-replace-your-brain/

The US government just hired a researcher who thinks we can beat aging with fresh cloned bodies and brain updates.