Yesterday I read a heartening news story of a 45-year-old woman who had earned her PhD in spite of a terminal diagnosis of cancer. Her university was so impressed by […]
The end of the inflammation would surely mean the end of the stiffness and pain. My hands would regain their strength and acuity and I wouldn’t act like a zombie every morning any more.
Getting the form for the prescription of medical marijuana was the easy part. Finding a doctor sufficiently well seated in the current century to give me the prescription? That’s a lot harder.
What would you have done in Ken’s plastic shoes? Move the patient or call for professional help?
I tend to push off bedtime. The other end of bedtime is waking up screaming.
When one considers the level of stress in our society, its effect on the adrenals and thus on the endocrine system, and the plethora of people sick with mysterious “auto-immune disorders”, is it really so crazy for a patient to inquire after the state of those endocrine organs?