Top 10 Ways to Celebrate National Family Caregivers Month 2009
There are many ways to celebrate family caregivers and to take action and communicate the important messages of NFC Month. The following are ideas and guides to help you create a successful National Family Caregivers Month in your community:
* Offer a few hours of respite time to a family caregiver so they spend time with friends, or simply relax.
* Send a card of appreciation or a bouquet of flowers to brighten up a family caregiver’s day.
* Encourage local businesses to offer a free service for family caregivers through the month of November.
* Participate in the National Family Caregivers Association’s FREE national teleclass: Safe & Sound: How to Prevent Medication Mishaps The free one hour teleclass/webinar will be November 12 at 2 p.m. ET. For more information visit: National Family Caregivers Association.
* Help a family caregiver decorate their home for the holidays or offer to address envelopes for their holiday cards.
* Offer comic relief! Purchase tickets to a local comedy club, give a family caregiver your favorite funny movie to view, or provide them an amusing audio book to listen to while doing their caregiving activities.
* Find 12 different family photos and have a copy center create a monthly calendar that the family caregiver can use to keep track of appointments and events.
* Offer to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for a caregiving family in your community, so they can just relax and enjoy the holiday.
* A United States postage stamp honoring the more than 50 million family caregivers in America is officially “under consideration” by the U.S. Citizens' Stamp Advisory Committee for introduction as early as 2011. Sign the petition at National Family Caregivers Association and ask others to sign the petition letter.
* Help a family caregiver find information and resources on the internet or to locate a local support group.
I know many of us are caregivers and the stress is sometimes monumental. For me the internet and blogging are a welcome respite from this labor of love.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Sister, Love Thyself!
This blog was sent to me by a good friend in Jersey. I'm glad she shared it with me; and in turn I shall share it with you.
Sister, Love Thyself
It’s the Rosa Parks syndrome.
We black women are taught to be martyrs, to lay our bodies on the altar of our community, in the well-worn tradition of our mothers, and their mothers, and so on and so on and so forth, so that our children—preferably, our male children—can go forth.
Before Mother Parks sat down that day on the bus, she had done all sorts of work for the community as a civil rights worker, but she wasn’t given time to speak at the historic March on Washington. Neither were other black women.
But I can bet you all that fried chicken the male speakers invariably ate—after the March—was cooked by black women.
Every woman of every complexion is taught–outright or by observation–to ignore her own needs for the good of others; I think that’s a universal woman thing. But I don’t know any white women who are taught that, white guys just have the right to listen to songs calling them “bitches and hoes” because it’s part of white male rage, the need to for them to blow off historical steam. Unless it’s Rush Limbaugh, nobody tells white women that white guys have had it so hard in this country, so let them play their mean-spirited, woman-hating music.
And though a lot of white people, men and women, don’t believe a white woman’s testimony when she accuses a white man of rape, a white woman doesn’t have the entire white community on her back, telling her to recant.
Even black women’s magazines differ from “mainstream” (i.e. white) women’s magazines. You never get articles in mainstream magazines advising white women to marry men who have less education than they do and/or who make less money than they do or even, to marry men who have been to prison. You don’t have articles chiding white women for being uppity, reminding them that they can’t really be too choosy about their romantic partners.
Tangent: I’ll never forget years ago, in the aftermath of that “other” march—the Million Man March—Essence magazine had this whole spread on the March. But black women weren’t even invited by Minister Louis Farrakhan to attend the March, which was billed as a “Day of Atonement.” I kept asking myself, if this is a March for men, why is it in a women’s magazine? And then there were my other questions: if a brother wanted to “atone” for what he had done to his wife and/or the mother of his kids, how come he spent hundreds dollars to travel hundreds of miles away from her to say so? I mean, he couldn’t get a babysitter and take a sister out to the Red Lobster within a twenty-mile radius or something?
The notion that black women should never occupy an uppity space means that she must feel responsible for saving the community in which she was raised; she must never get above that community, even if she hurts herself in the process. I’m all for doing the essential work to help black folks, but it’s time for us to find a way to keep this community going without destroying black women in the process, and one of the ways I’ve decided is just to tell other sisters, “You matter, to me and to yourself.”
In my own life, I try to give my sister-friends affirmation, what I call the “woo-woo,” a term I stole from Sinclair on “Living Single.” Remember that show? It was the precursor to “Sex in the City,” only instead of living in Manhattan, those four black women lived in Brooklyn before it was all edgy-like.
Sinclair was my favorite character, a quirky, strange-dresser woman who looked at the world the way she saw it: through nice, sweet, loving eyes. She was the quintessential, idealized black woman, only without the crack-addict relatives sleeping on her couch always asking her, “Can I hold five dollars?” And whenever one of her friends was feeling down, she would pat her and say, “Woo-woo. Woo-woo.”
Whenever one of my close friends has been depressed, he or she will call me. Most have to call instead of visit, because all but two live in other states, far away. On the phone, if I hear sadness, I will ask, “Do you need the woo-woo?” And then I’ll begin my litany: “You’re fabulous. You’re so cute. The world doesn’t know your power. You are touched by the hand of God.”
Or if I’m depressed, I’ll call up one of them and say, “I need the woo-woo bad.” In this way, I can cut through the preamble, and get right to what I need, which is reassurance that I am loved and accepted, just as I am. Sort of like an emotional quickie, without the need for condoms and such.
There’s one friend I have, Kim, who doesn’t even wait for me to tell her I need woo-woo. She just knows. Kimberly is the can’t-live-without sister I’ve been friends with for thirty years. She’s the one I’ve shared every cycle of my life with. And I do mean every, if you get my drift.
Kim was the one who insisted that I start this blog. Really, she pushed me to start it because she knows that I needed to say certain things out loud, in public, even if it makes other people uncomfortable to hear them.
She’s not in this crazy, writing world of mine, where the publication of a poem in a journal that only a thousand people read—out of the three hundred million people in the country—can define a person’s self-worth, and can determine whether your peers will speak to you at the annual Associated Writing Programs conference.
And because Kim and I go back so far, have grown up together, we know that when you’re a young girl, you say you are never going to ignore yourself for others; you promise yourself you’ll never be your mother. Kim and I talked about that–laughed about it– just a couple of weeks ago. It has been on my mind ever since.
If you’re a black woman, in your secret heart, you insist you’ll never sing your black mother’s blues song–but then suddenly, you are your mother, for better and worse. Sure, you’ve inherited the good things, like her great skin, her cute and (mostly) firm breasts, her love of God and her recipes for cream biscuits and peach cobbler. But you’re carrying her emotional loads, too.
You’re taking care of others who can’t or won’t take care of themselves. You’re waiting in vain for somebody to say “I appreciate you” for the work you do at home or the office. You have an inability to stand up for yourself because “ladies” just learn to suffer with grace. You’re depending on God to change the hearts of others because Jesus can work miracles on even the worst person. (We ask a lot of Jesus in this community, don’t we?)
Everyday, you’re driving yourself crazy while repeating that same “keeping it together” mantra as your mother did– and you’ve probably also inherited at least one of her health problems, too. The same extra thirty pounds. Her grapefruit-size uterine fibroids. Her high blood pressure. Or her diabetes.
Usually, I blog about something that strikes me that I’ve read about in the news, but this issue with black women and self-love is something I don’t need to read about, because it’s going on with me every day—in my body, in my life, in my family, or on my job. It’s also going on with all my black female friends, whether they are married or single, child-free or mothers, and I see it with sisters I meet when I travel or who email me because they read a poem I wrote somewhere.
As a black woman, I have to give the woo-woo to myself, if I want to do more than just survive–if I want to thrive. And I am determined to do that. No disrespect to the mothers of our past, because they’ve given us some real gifts. But I decided this year that the Black Woman Martyr Look ain’t cute for me. I want my reward now, not in heaven, and I don’t care who thinks I’m selfish or unloving or “un-Christian” or too loud or too pushy.
When I say “reward,” I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about peace of mind. I’m talking about health of spirit and body. I’m talking about self-love.
I understand now that sometimes, you have to fight for self-love. It just doesn’t get handed to you–not when you’re a black woman. I strongly suspect it doesn’t get handed to anybody. And people can stand in the way of your self-love. If you can’t be ladylike and just calmly walk around them, then sometimes, you got to learn judo in order to kick people’s you-know-whats. Then you carefully roll them to the side of the road, so you can walk peacefully on your way.
The lesson about claiming self-love and leaving some people or causes to the side is a difficult one, because we sisters want to help and maintain our community and also, honor our mothers who kept this whole thing going for so long. And also, let’s face it: co-dependence has been going on a long time in the black community under the guise of “No brother or sister left behind.”
The girl-children–even the grandchildren– of those black women from Mother Parks’s self-sacrificing generation are grown now, and some of us are even mothers. For those of us who still need to learn self-love–and that’s a whole bunch of us–we can’t say that we’ll start valuing ourselves only once we’re fully valued by others, love ourselves only when we’re fully loved by others, because that time may never come.
We can’t wait for God to give us our reward in heaven or for someone nice to hand us glory now. Remember what even the most self-sacrificing of black grandmothers used to tell us, back in the day? “God helps those who help themselves.”
Sister, Love Thyself
It’s the Rosa Parks syndrome.
We black women are taught to be martyrs, to lay our bodies on the altar of our community, in the well-worn tradition of our mothers, and their mothers, and so on and so on and so forth, so that our children—preferably, our male children—can go forth.
Before Mother Parks sat down that day on the bus, she had done all sorts of work for the community as a civil rights worker, but she wasn’t given time to speak at the historic March on Washington. Neither were other black women.
But I can bet you all that fried chicken the male speakers invariably ate—after the March—was cooked by black women.
Every woman of every complexion is taught–outright or by observation–to ignore her own needs for the good of others; I think that’s a universal woman thing. But I don’t know any white women who are taught that, white guys just have the right to listen to songs calling them “bitches and hoes” because it’s part of white male rage, the need to for them to blow off historical steam. Unless it’s Rush Limbaugh, nobody tells white women that white guys have had it so hard in this country, so let them play their mean-spirited, woman-hating music.
And though a lot of white people, men and women, don’t believe a white woman’s testimony when she accuses a white man of rape, a white woman doesn’t have the entire white community on her back, telling her to recant.
Even black women’s magazines differ from “mainstream” (i.e. white) women’s magazines. You never get articles in mainstream magazines advising white women to marry men who have less education than they do and/or who make less money than they do or even, to marry men who have been to prison. You don’t have articles chiding white women for being uppity, reminding them that they can’t really be too choosy about their romantic partners.
Tangent: I’ll never forget years ago, in the aftermath of that “other” march—the Million Man March—Essence magazine had this whole spread on the March. But black women weren’t even invited by Minister Louis Farrakhan to attend the March, which was billed as a “Day of Atonement.” I kept asking myself, if this is a March for men, why is it in a women’s magazine? And then there were my other questions: if a brother wanted to “atone” for what he had done to his wife and/or the mother of his kids, how come he spent hundreds dollars to travel hundreds of miles away from her to say so? I mean, he couldn’t get a babysitter and take a sister out to the Red Lobster within a twenty-mile radius or something?
The notion that black women should never occupy an uppity space means that she must feel responsible for saving the community in which she was raised; she must never get above that community, even if she hurts herself in the process. I’m all for doing the essential work to help black folks, but it’s time for us to find a way to keep this community going without destroying black women in the process, and one of the ways I’ve decided is just to tell other sisters, “You matter, to me and to yourself.”
In my own life, I try to give my sister-friends affirmation, what I call the “woo-woo,” a term I stole from Sinclair on “Living Single.” Remember that show? It was the precursor to “Sex in the City,” only instead of living in Manhattan, those four black women lived in Brooklyn before it was all edgy-like.
Sinclair was my favorite character, a quirky, strange-dresser woman who looked at the world the way she saw it: through nice, sweet, loving eyes. She was the quintessential, idealized black woman, only without the crack-addict relatives sleeping on her couch always asking her, “Can I hold five dollars?” And whenever one of her friends was feeling down, she would pat her and say, “Woo-woo. Woo-woo.”
Whenever one of my close friends has been depressed, he or she will call me. Most have to call instead of visit, because all but two live in other states, far away. On the phone, if I hear sadness, I will ask, “Do you need the woo-woo?” And then I’ll begin my litany: “You’re fabulous. You’re so cute. The world doesn’t know your power. You are touched by the hand of God.”
Or if I’m depressed, I’ll call up one of them and say, “I need the woo-woo bad.” In this way, I can cut through the preamble, and get right to what I need, which is reassurance that I am loved and accepted, just as I am. Sort of like an emotional quickie, without the need for condoms and such.
There’s one friend I have, Kim, who doesn’t even wait for me to tell her I need woo-woo. She just knows. Kimberly is the can’t-live-without sister I’ve been friends with for thirty years. She’s the one I’ve shared every cycle of my life with. And I do mean every, if you get my drift.
Kim was the one who insisted that I start this blog. Really, she pushed me to start it because she knows that I needed to say certain things out loud, in public, even if it makes other people uncomfortable to hear them.
She’s not in this crazy, writing world of mine, where the publication of a poem in a journal that only a thousand people read—out of the three hundred million people in the country—can define a person’s self-worth, and can determine whether your peers will speak to you at the annual Associated Writing Programs conference.
And because Kim and I go back so far, have grown up together, we know that when you’re a young girl, you say you are never going to ignore yourself for others; you promise yourself you’ll never be your mother. Kim and I talked about that–laughed about it– just a couple of weeks ago. It has been on my mind ever since.
If you’re a black woman, in your secret heart, you insist you’ll never sing your black mother’s blues song–but then suddenly, you are your mother, for better and worse. Sure, you’ve inherited the good things, like her great skin, her cute and (mostly) firm breasts, her love of God and her recipes for cream biscuits and peach cobbler. But you’re carrying her emotional loads, too.
You’re taking care of others who can’t or won’t take care of themselves. You’re waiting in vain for somebody to say “I appreciate you” for the work you do at home or the office. You have an inability to stand up for yourself because “ladies” just learn to suffer with grace. You’re depending on God to change the hearts of others because Jesus can work miracles on even the worst person. (We ask a lot of Jesus in this community, don’t we?)
Everyday, you’re driving yourself crazy while repeating that same “keeping it together” mantra as your mother did– and you’ve probably also inherited at least one of her health problems, too. The same extra thirty pounds. Her grapefruit-size uterine fibroids. Her high blood pressure. Or her diabetes.
Usually, I blog about something that strikes me that I’ve read about in the news, but this issue with black women and self-love is something I don’t need to read about, because it’s going on with me every day—in my body, in my life, in my family, or on my job. It’s also going on with all my black female friends, whether they are married or single, child-free or mothers, and I see it with sisters I meet when I travel or who email me because they read a poem I wrote somewhere.
As a black woman, I have to give the woo-woo to myself, if I want to do more than just survive–if I want to thrive. And I am determined to do that. No disrespect to the mothers of our past, because they’ve given us some real gifts. But I decided this year that the Black Woman Martyr Look ain’t cute for me. I want my reward now, not in heaven, and I don’t care who thinks I’m selfish or unloving or “un-Christian” or too loud or too pushy.
When I say “reward,” I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about peace of mind. I’m talking about health of spirit and body. I’m talking about self-love.
I understand now that sometimes, you have to fight for self-love. It just doesn’t get handed to you–not when you’re a black woman. I strongly suspect it doesn’t get handed to anybody. And people can stand in the way of your self-love. If you can’t be ladylike and just calmly walk around them, then sometimes, you got to learn judo in order to kick people’s you-know-whats. Then you carefully roll them to the side of the road, so you can walk peacefully on your way.
The lesson about claiming self-love and leaving some people or causes to the side is a difficult one, because we sisters want to help and maintain our community and also, honor our mothers who kept this whole thing going for so long. And also, let’s face it: co-dependence has been going on a long time in the black community under the guise of “No brother or sister left behind.”
The girl-children–even the grandchildren– of those black women from Mother Parks’s self-sacrificing generation are grown now, and some of us are even mothers. For those of us who still need to learn self-love–and that’s a whole bunch of us–we can’t say that we’ll start valuing ourselves only once we’re fully valued by others, love ourselves only when we’re fully loved by others, because that time may never come.
We can’t wait for God to give us our reward in heaven or for someone nice to hand us glory now. Remember what even the most self-sacrificing of black grandmothers used to tell us, back in the day? “God helps those who help themselves.”
Monday, October 19, 2009
I am Sick & Tired of Being Sick & Tired
Just to recap and get everyone up to speed:
5/26/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy
7/6/09-7/24/09 The painful & heavy period from hell!
8/25/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy. That's not a typo, I had 2 surgeries in three months time. If only my garden grew things as well as my uterus grows fibroids.
9/4/09 Deep Vein Thrombosis of lower right calf.
9/20/09 I was watching Mystery Diagnosis and realized I have Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia 9/21/09 E-mailed my Reproductive Endocrinologist to tell her I have NC-CAH.
9/25/09 Post-Op check up & blood work. The idiot endocrinology resident insisted I had Cushing's not NC-CAH.
They sent me to the lab and took 6 vials of blood. And I was given an orange jug for the 24 hour urine test.
10/5/09 Shockingly bad news
Renal Failure
Well I had a complete blood workup done and thats what the results apparently pointed to. My primary care physician told me that I was anemic, had no vitamin D, am diabetic, and apparently I have very poor kidney function. When I asked what that meant she said I was at risk for renal failure. Which I automatically translated to mean I would need dialysis and/or a kidney transplant. I think I went into shock at that point because although normally very vocal, my brain just sort of shut down and I couldn't speak. It was at this point that my primary care physician told me that I should forget about ever becoming pregnant because it would probably kill me and if I lived my baby would be put at risk of various birth defects, such as low birth weight, heart disease, and other things.
When I say I have no vitamin D I mean zip, zilch, nada. She put me on a presciption dosage of Vitamin D, 50,000 iu's twice a week.The average over the counter vitamin D caplet has 400 iu's.
Yes, that's right I am as mouthy and brassy in real life as I am on line. I believe in asking doctors questions. But I was truly stunned.
Not sure about the rest of that day. I know I called my mom on my way home; but she wasn't there. When I got home I just kicked off my shoes, curled up on the sofa in the den, tried not to think about Julia Roberts character in Steel Magnolias, and went to sleep until dinner.
10/10/09 My repro. endo's nurse called me at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon to tell me they need to do more blood work. FYI - A call from a doctors office on a Saturday is NEVER a good thing.
10/15/09 I go into Atlanta for the bloodwork and this time I write down the test names so I can check them online. Guess what? They are just now testing for NC-CAH. Apparently the 6 vials of blood they took to test for Cushing's all came back negative. The 3 vials of blood they took Thursday were to test for Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia.
Son of a gun, turns out I do know my body pretty well. Imagine that? After only 43 years I know my body better than some young pup medical resident.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
This was of course in the midst of my computer dying and the Great Georgia flood of 2009. Meteorologists have said that this was not one of those piddly little 100 year floods; but a 500 year flood. Hence there being no previous record of a flood this bad. Seventeen counties have been declared a state of emergency including the one in which I live.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
Also during this time my dads neurologist put him on Mirapex for his Parkinson's Disease. Guess what? One of the side effects of Mirapex is visual, olfactory, and auditory hallucinations! Talk about the treatment being worse than the disease. Mom and I thought "OMG! He's gone senile overnight and it's getting so bad so quick." We didn't know what to do. We finally thought to call his doc as this was a new medication. Sure enough, he told us to cut dads dosage. Literally overnight his hallucinations ended.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
The really disturbing thing is my primary care physician, Dr. Sharon Haynes wait and see attitude about my kidneys and the diabetes. This is serious stuff! My doctor has NOT put me on any diabetes medication or insulin, has not recommended a change in diet AND has not laid out a treatment plan for my kidneys. WTF!?!?! Until a cousin who is a retired nurse, visited me on Saturday, I didn't even know that I should be seeing a nephrologist for my kidneys.
5/26/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy
7/6/09-7/24/09 The painful & heavy period from hell!
8/25/09 Hysteroscopic Myomectomy. That's not a typo, I had 2 surgeries in three months time. If only my garden grew things as well as my uterus grows fibroids.
9/4/09 Deep Vein Thrombosis of lower right calf.
9/20/09 I was watching Mystery Diagnosis and realized I have Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia 9/21/09 E-mailed my Reproductive Endocrinologist to tell her I have NC-CAH.
9/25/09 Post-Op check up & blood work. The idiot endocrinology resident insisted I had Cushing's not NC-CAH.
They sent me to the lab and took 6 vials of blood. And I was given an orange jug for the 24 hour urine test.
10/5/09 Shockingly bad news
Renal Failure
Well I had a complete blood workup done and thats what the results apparently pointed to. My primary care physician told me that I was anemic, had no vitamin D, am diabetic, and apparently I have very poor kidney function. When I asked what that meant she said I was at risk for renal failure. Which I automatically translated to mean I would need dialysis and/or a kidney transplant. I think I went into shock at that point because although normally very vocal, my brain just sort of shut down and I couldn't speak. It was at this point that my primary care physician told me that I should forget about ever becoming pregnant because it would probably kill me and if I lived my baby would be put at risk of various birth defects, such as low birth weight, heart disease, and other things.
When I say I have no vitamin D I mean zip, zilch, nada. She put me on a presciption dosage of Vitamin D, 50,000 iu's twice a week.The average over the counter vitamin D caplet has 400 iu's.
Yes, that's right I am as mouthy and brassy in real life as I am on line. I believe in asking doctors questions. But I was truly stunned.
Not sure about the rest of that day. I know I called my mom on my way home; but she wasn't there. When I got home I just kicked off my shoes, curled up on the sofa in the den, tried not to think about Julia Roberts character in Steel Magnolias, and went to sleep until dinner.
10/10/09 My repro. endo's nurse called me at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon to tell me they need to do more blood work. FYI - A call from a doctors office on a Saturday is NEVER a good thing.
10/15/09 I go into Atlanta for the bloodwork and this time I write down the test names so I can check them online. Guess what? They are just now testing for NC-CAH. Apparently the 6 vials of blood they took to test for Cushing's all came back negative. The 3 vials of blood they took Thursday were to test for Non-Classical Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia.
Son of a gun, turns out I do know my body pretty well. Imagine that? After only 43 years I know my body better than some young pup medical resident.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
This was of course in the midst of my computer dying and the Great Georgia flood of 2009. Meteorologists have said that this was not one of those piddly little 100 year floods; but a 500 year flood. Hence there being no previous record of a flood this bad. Seventeen counties have been declared a state of emergency including the one in which I live.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
Also during this time my dads neurologist put him on Mirapex for his Parkinson's Disease. Guess what? One of the side effects of Mirapex is visual, olfactory, and auditory hallucinations! Talk about the treatment being worse than the disease. Mom and I thought "OMG! He's gone senile overnight and it's getting so bad so quick." We didn't know what to do. We finally thought to call his doc as this was a new medication. Sure enough, he told us to cut dads dosage. Literally overnight his hallucinations ended.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
The really disturbing thing is my primary care physician, Dr. Sharon Haynes wait and see attitude about my kidneys and the diabetes. This is serious stuff! My doctor has NOT put me on any diabetes medication or insulin, has not recommended a change in diet AND has not laid out a treatment plan for my kidneys. WTF!?!?! Until a cousin who is a retired nurse, visited me on Saturday, I didn't even know that I should be seeing a nephrologist for my kidneys.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Diabetes Increases Risk of Eye Disease
Roughly 40% of people diagnosed with diabetes in the United States have some form of diabetic retinopathy. Retinopathy refers to non-inflammatory damages to the retina of the eye, in most cases, due to problems with blood supply. The retina is a tissue located at the back of the eye and sensitive to light. Retinopathy leads to decreased vision and eventually blindness.
Diabetics also has higher risk of other eye problems such as cataracts (loss of transparency in the eye lenses) and glaucoma (build-up of fluid pressure in the eye).
Early Retinopathy
Early retinopathy is also known as nonproliferative retinopathy.
Poor blood sugar control in diabetic patients makes small blood vessels in the eye (called capillaries) become particularly fragile and develop weakened spots called micro aneurysms. Fluid is then leaked onto the macula, which is responsible for precise vision. This problem is referred to as macular edema. As the disease progresses, some of the damaged blood vessels are closed off, blocking the blood supply to parts of the retina. No new blood vessels grow during this stage of retinopathy.
Later Stage Retinopathy
During the later stages of retinopathy, new capillaries grow in the eye to supply blood to the areas that are damaged. This is why this later stage of retinopathy is often referred to as proliferative retinopathy.
These new capillaries are very fragile. Bleeding from these new capillaries can severely reduce vision capacity and cause blindness. In some cases, bleeding can lead to retinal detachment and the retina is detached from the wall of the eye.
Risk Factors for Diabetic Retinopahy
According to the Wisconsin Epidemiologic Study of Diabetic Retinopathy (WESDR), 3.6% of type-1 diabetes and 1.6% type-2 diabetes were legally blind in the study.
The main risk factor for developing diabetic retinopathy is the duration of diabetes. Among patients with type-1 diabetes in the WESDR study, 8% develop any form of diabetic retinopathy at 3 years after diagnosed with diabetes, 25% at 5 years and 80% at 15 years.
On average, it takes 15 years to go from the first stage of diabetic to blindness if it is not properly treated.
Early Detection of Retinopathy Can Prevent Blindness
Early stage of retinopathy is treatable. If you have diabetes, you should have your eyes checked every year. If you have some difficulty seeing clearly, seek an ophthalmologist immediately. Good control of blood sugar levels, for instance through metformin use or lifestyle modifications, also prevents the onset and slows down the progression of retinopathy.
Diabetics also has higher risk of other eye problems such as cataracts (loss of transparency in the eye lenses) and glaucoma (build-up of fluid pressure in the eye).
Early Retinopathy
Early retinopathy is also known as nonproliferative retinopathy.
Poor blood sugar control in diabetic patients makes small blood vessels in the eye (called capillaries) become particularly fragile and develop weakened spots called micro aneurysms. Fluid is then leaked onto the macula, which is responsible for precise vision. This problem is referred to as macular edema. As the disease progresses, some of the damaged blood vessels are closed off, blocking the blood supply to parts of the retina. No new blood vessels grow during this stage of retinopathy.
Later Stage Retinopathy
During the later stages of retinopathy, new capillaries grow in the eye to supply blood to the areas that are damaged. This is why this later stage of retinopathy is often referred to as proliferative retinopathy.
These new capillaries are very fragile. Bleeding from these new capillaries can severely reduce vision capacity and cause blindness. In some cases, bleeding can lead to retinal detachment and the retina is detached from the wall of the eye.
Risk Factors for Diabetic Retinopahy
According to the Wisconsin Epidemiologic Study of Diabetic Retinopathy (WESDR), 3.6% of type-1 diabetes and 1.6% type-2 diabetes were legally blind in the study.
The main risk factor for developing diabetic retinopathy is the duration of diabetes. Among patients with type-1 diabetes in the WESDR study, 8% develop any form of diabetic retinopathy at 3 years after diagnosed with diabetes, 25% at 5 years and 80% at 15 years.
On average, it takes 15 years to go from the first stage of diabetic to blindness if it is not properly treated.
Early Detection of Retinopathy Can Prevent Blindness
Early stage of retinopathy is treatable. If you have diabetes, you should have your eyes checked every year. If you have some difficulty seeing clearly, seek an ophthalmologist immediately. Good control of blood sugar levels, for instance through metformin use or lifestyle modifications, also prevents the onset and slows down the progression of retinopathy.
Rude Questions From Strangers
Lately my mom has been perturbed by acquaintances and strangers asking her a weird question. My mom is 79 and my father is 81. My mom could pass for 50 in a heartbeat. My dad on the other hand is in the advanced stages of Parkinson's. He no longer walks but shuffles with the aide of a rollator. Sometimes he drools, and he has trouble speaking. Yet they manage to go to the local senior center three days a week. Last week a rather rude woman, whom she had only spoken to once or twice before asked if that man she came with every day was her father or her husband? Mom was aghast! When she told me I was horrified at the womans rudeness and audacity. It seems to me and mother agreed, that she should have quietly asked one of my mothers closer friends at the center. More importantly, why did she need to know?
Has Fear of H1N1 (Swine Flu) Changed Your Routine?
From Altar Wine to Beer Pong, Flu Fears Curb Life’s Rituals
Yolanda Ray works in the kind of place where people “really love to eat and snack.” Colleagues are quick to tempt one another, she says, with homemade dishes and sugary treats laid bare for the taking on desktops. Before the age of swine flu, the arrangement was fine. But now, employees at Rudd Equipment in Louisville, Ky., have new company-wide directives: No sharing of unwrapped candy. Cakes and pies must be cut and wrapped at home. Food needs to be served with utensils. She added, “Sometimes I feel like the swine flu police.”
In offices, churches, hospitals, college dorms and schools — and even at yoga classes and in apple orchards — the fear of swine flu is turning age-old rituals on their head. What used to be O.K. is not anymore, as the flu has ushered in new standards of etiquette that can be, in turns, mundane, absurd and heartbreaking. Students at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, N.Y., are being asked to refrain from playing beer pong, a communal drinking game, after an outbreak of illness that officials feared might be swine flu. Roman Catholic parishioners of the Diocese of Raleigh, N.C., have been instructed by the bishop not to shake hands at the sign of peace, and wine is not being offered for the sacrament of communion.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*
As many of you know I am kind of a germaphobe. I also have the immune system of a 2 day old infant. Yet, I am not freaking out about H1N1, because I'm already doing most of the stuff the CDC and various health officials recommend in so far as hand washing and cleanliness.
I think it's time for the religions who do communion from one chalice or cup to change. The first time I went to a church where everyone drank from the same cup I was about 7 years old and I was HORRIFIED! Even then I knew that 100 people drinking from the same cup was a great way for germs and sickness to be transferred. I know that the Priest or Reverend wipes the cup with a cloth which has allegedly been soaked in alcohol or some disinfectant after each sip. I just don't buy that it is really disinfecting after the 10th person or so. As for the 'Passing of the Peace' , I have never liked that tradition just because of the germ thing. During cold and flu season I find myself making mental note of just who is coughing and sneezing into their hand so that I know NOT to shake their hand at the 'Passing of the Peace'.
In the church in which I was raised, we took communion from individual mini-silver chalices. None of this cross-contamination business happens in any of the dozens of United Methodist churches I have attended since childhood. In my current church they use miniature clear plastic cups. Kind of like the Nyquil cup, but smaller. I like this because they are disposable. There is no question that so-and-so didn't wash & polish them properly; because you get a new one each time.
Yolanda Ray works in the kind of place where people “really love to eat and snack.” Colleagues are quick to tempt one another, she says, with homemade dishes and sugary treats laid bare for the taking on desktops. Before the age of swine flu, the arrangement was fine. But now, employees at Rudd Equipment in Louisville, Ky., have new company-wide directives: No sharing of unwrapped candy. Cakes and pies must be cut and wrapped at home. Food needs to be served with utensils. She added, “Sometimes I feel like the swine flu police.”
In offices, churches, hospitals, college dorms and schools — and even at yoga classes and in apple orchards — the fear of swine flu is turning age-old rituals on their head. What used to be O.K. is not anymore, as the flu has ushered in new standards of etiquette that can be, in turns, mundane, absurd and heartbreaking. Students at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, N.Y., are being asked to refrain from playing beer pong, a communal drinking game, after an outbreak of illness that officials feared might be swine flu. Roman Catholic parishioners of the Diocese of Raleigh, N.C., have been instructed by the bishop not to shake hands at the sign of peace, and wine is not being offered for the sacrament of communion.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*
As many of you know I am kind of a germaphobe. I also have the immune system of a 2 day old infant. Yet, I am not freaking out about H1N1, because I'm already doing most of the stuff the CDC and various health officials recommend in so far as hand washing and cleanliness.
I think it's time for the religions who do communion from one chalice or cup to change. The first time I went to a church where everyone drank from the same cup I was about 7 years old and I was HORRIFIED! Even then I knew that 100 people drinking from the same cup was a great way for germs and sickness to be transferred. I know that the Priest or Reverend wipes the cup with a cloth which has allegedly been soaked in alcohol or some disinfectant after each sip. I just don't buy that it is really disinfecting after the 10th person or so. As for the 'Passing of the Peace' , I have never liked that tradition just because of the germ thing. During cold and flu season I find myself making mental note of just who is coughing and sneezing into their hand so that I know NOT to shake their hand at the 'Passing of the Peace'.
In the church in which I was raised, we took communion from individual mini-silver chalices. None of this cross-contamination business happens in any of the dozens of United Methodist churches I have attended since childhood. In my current church they use miniature clear plastic cups. Kind of like the Nyquil cup, but smaller. I like this because they are disposable. There is no question that so-and-so didn't wash & polish them properly; because you get a new one each time.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
MRSA - Infection Control in Dialysis Settings
My beau's mom is really sick. She has diabetes, high blood pressure, she lost 2 toes to diabetes in April. Since then she apparently has had a few bone infections. She is also on dialysis 3 days a week. To say she is unwell is the understatement of the year. Tex likes to know the bottomline, the worst case scenario, so he can prepare himself and his younger siblings. He won't like hearing that 23% of dialysis patients die due to MRSA but that appears to be the fact.
Infection Control in Dialysis Settings
68 slides:
Slide #4 - 23% of those who get MRSA in a dialysis setting die. :(
Slide #7 - Cause-specific hospitalization rates among hemodialysis patients, 2004-05:
• Vascular access infection = 132 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
• Bloodstream infection = 102 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
• Pneumonia = 86.3 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
Since 1993, rates have increased for:
Bloodstream infection (+29%)
Cellulitis (+24%)
Pneumonia (+19%)
Infection Control in Dialysis Settings
68 slides:
Slide #4 - 23% of those who get MRSA in a dialysis setting die. :(
Slide #7 - Cause-specific hospitalization rates among hemodialysis patients, 2004-05:
• Vascular access infection = 132 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
• Bloodstream infection = 102 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
• Pneumonia = 86.3 admissions / 1000 pt-yrs
Since 1993, rates have increased for:
Bloodstream infection (+29%)
Cellulitis (+24%)
Pneumonia (+19%)
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